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Ever since she could crawl, the world was a noisy noisy place with noises indistinct and incomprehensible to a toddler's mind. But the noise never stopped, so on her chubby little knees she crawled to quieter places, which incidentally happened to be places where no one was. The only time from then where things were quiet was when she was cradled in Daddy's arms with him crooning some nonsensical tunes to her. The times when he raised her high into air, throwing her up and catching her, cuddling with her on the bed between Mum and him as he gently patted her belly to lull her into sleep.
Then he died and the world became a noisy place that never stopped. Then started school with its endless cacophony, with childish voices raised high in fun and pain and tears and terror and glee. So she learnt to become the noisiest and loudest of them all in hopes of drowning their voices with hers. Did not help in the least, but stubbornness was innate in her so she kept being the loudest.
Then came another man into Mum's life, he was different from what she remembered of Daddy. He was soft, and his mind was not as noisy as others, his voices were kind and gentle and so so good to hear that she didn't object to him. Then they were married and that was that. A year or so after this, when she had just started her first form, came the screaming and squiggling bundle that was her younger sister, Joyce. She was different too, loud yes, but not annoyingly so. When she heard the sounds of her baby mind it was full of her wonder about the world around her and curiosity and pretty colours and happy happy feelings. So being around her sister was good too, like Papa. But nothing could ever compare to her Daddy's sounds and the way they had made her feel loved and treasured.
As she grew older, she stuck close to her sister, her mind a calming and soothing balm to her troubled noisy mind filled with noises she couldn't block. When she turned ten, her mother took her aside to tell her about the truth of her heritage, how she was what they called a Reader, a sort of an empath but with the ability to read the various nuances of human mind from thoughts, emotions, feelings to their strength of will etc. She needed to control it, before she went insane from all the voices in her head. Her mother told her that the Gift manifested when the child turned seven, the year the children become aurally strong enough to handle their Gifts. But she had this since before she could remember, so what did that make her?
Her Mum came from clan of people who had these gifts, or Abilities as they called it. Her Mum had one of weaker and simpler ones, she could control the smaller life forms like birds or insects. Not a lot of them but enough to keep her garden pretty. Her Daddy was not from any clan, and according to Mum, didn't have any special Abilities except that he could neutralize the Abilities of anyone he touched, for as long as he touched them. So it was a big surprise to Mum when she found out that her daughter's Ability had come out so early and so strongly.
The clan was large and noisy and nosy and full of love and petty squabbles and little grievances, the sort of a typical clan with normal issues that was strongly united. Almost all of them had Abilities, some strong, some weak, but I didn't fit in because I've had my Gift for far longer than them, and that made me different. It's not that they didn't love me, they did, but they could never understand me. But Joyce was so bright, so strong, even as a baby, she could do things that others only dreamt of. She was the only person who understood me, even as a baby she somehow knew that the voices were drowning me and would just grab my hand and try to climb on to me, and as she did that somehow all the voices except my own just faded away.
Then Joyce turned two, and manifested her first Gift, Mum was worried and overjoyed. Papa was happy his daughter was strong, but worried for her health, because younger the manifestation, shorter was their lifespan. For a while everything was good, Joyce played with me using her gift, conjuring bright colours around us as we chased each other.
Then Joyce turned five, and manifested another Gift. This time it was a little dangerous but nothing Mum and Papa couldn't handle. My baby sister could stop and move things using her mind, small things but things none the less, she could do it. It was fun, playing with each others Gifts once Joyce got her Gifts under control. It was great. We went to school together, we came back together. It was fantastic, the voices and the noises of others were dulled and edgeless around Joyce, and she was such a bright and happy person that just being around her made me happy.
Then the year she turned seven, everything went downhill. She manifested all her Gifts together, she was in agony, anything and everything around her, hurt her. It went on like that for days, her Gifts settling slowly. Then finally tired of being held back from my baby sister when she was in such constant pain, I went to her, I knew better than to touch her, it would hurt her more, but I could use my Gift to help her. So slowly I siphoned off the pain from her, letting it gather at the finger tips of my spare hand. Once I'd sipjoned off as much as was possible she stopped whimpering, quietly lay panting on the bed. I could feel the beads of sweat gathering on my brow with the effort of holding her pain. When I settled a little, I braced myself to take the pain from the tips of my finger into myself. Holding it inside me I converted it into contentment, slowly and painstakingly, then from contentment to happiness. It took me hours to convert all of it, and by the end of it I was half mad with pain and half mad with happiness. Slowly focusing on to my baby sister, I gently released small bursts of happiness into her.
At the end of the week, both Joyce and I were drained and sore, but happy that we got through it. Exhausted we fell asleep in each others arms after what felt like months but was only one week. When we woke up it had been another three days. Once we had cleaned up and put ourselves together, Mum and Papa had worked themselves into a lather. I got the lashing of a lifetime, for putting both Joyce and myself into danger. But I didn't feel exhausted as I thought I would be, I felt stronger and more in control than ever before in my life. Things were good for me after a long time.
Then the war started and Joyce turned fourteen, so it was time for her to put her Gifts to good use, so off she went to war. Without the anchor that was my sister, I lost the absolute control of my Gift. But it it was still better than before. I managed along somehow with causing much pain to myself or others, baring a few headaches here and there.
Then the Banriona summoned me for my services in the war, to find out things, to work as an interrogator. I was good at it, but it took its toll on me, watching and reading people so closely, I felt what they did, saw what they did and sometimes when I didn't take care, I dangerously slipped into their selves and for a few moments became them. And when the emotion, the thought was powerful enough and I was exhausted enough, I would become dangerous to my comrades. And so I quit before they could discharge me for harming someone. And that was that.
And the rest as they say is history.
My drinking, my bad habits, my broken relationships stem from the war and the atrocities I witnessed and sometimes committed. Because my self-loathing goes deeper than just the surface, it is the core, or more correctly it has infected my core slowly, completely and irreversibly.