May 20 2017
Socially awkward to my core, I spent years clinging to the notion of that which makes me different and weird separated me somehow. I thought I was a martyr of some long, drawn out and noble cause, like I was somehow meant to rise above. As I get older though, I am starting to realize I am not a chosen one or a mid-century victor, this is just life and in life there is a little bit of “doesn’t belong” in all of us. It’s what makes us unique and beautiful.
I was doomed from the start; in addition to the intrinsic isolation stemming from years of emotional turmoil from an undiagnosed chronic illness, I was also home-schooled in high school. I could blame this decision on a lot of things: parents who wanted to bubble wrap me from the world, an under-funded school district, or maybe even the illness itself. But I won’t place blame. That isn’t really my forte.
I am choosing instead to offer some reflection on a life filled with loneliness, emptiness, and introspection through my blog, in the hope that someone can take away something or maybe connect with me on that level.
I read a lot, I am never pop culturally relevant, and nine out of ten times I don’t pick up on proper social ques. I have had to develop a thick skin and learn to laugh at myself. I am an over-anxious thinker and worrier. I spent so much time stressing and wondering “What if?” that I often miss out on the best the world has to offer.
I rarely see outside the black and white. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I cling to my loner status as a form of protection. I hate caring so much about what people think. I never feel good enough. I want to be accepted. I want to fit in. I want to belong. I feel alone in a crowd. Guilt consumes me. I live in a world of fiction and fantasy. I believe in the magic of a good story.
The thing about fairytales that has always attracted me to them is not the happily-ever-after; it is knowing that the dragon can be slayed, that evil can be destroyed, that the days I fight my hardest are not done so in vain.