An Inconvenient Truth

I have a lot of friends who are, for some reason or other, psychologically damaged. I don't know why or how I attract them, but it happens. All the time. Maybe it's because I had sensed an inner darkness within them from the get-go (which would be about the only thing I can sense), and I had an irresistible need to figure them out. Maybe they're like my little projects that I want to fix--do I even like fixing things? I'm not sure. I'll let you know when I come to a satisfying answer.

Or maybe I can just cut to the chase and admit that the reason I'm so much closer to my fucked-up friends is because I'm looking for darkness within myself too. That sentence makes about as much sense as quantum physics, but it's true. I come from a loving, happy family that has its own hang-ups and issues, but nothing like what I've heard from other people. The more Dirty Secrets they tell me, the less complicated and interesting I feel as a person. I come off boring and two-dimensional because I'm always vacillating between giddiness or mopeyness. And whenever I am legitimately sad, my reasons for it pale in comparison to some of my friends' deep, dark Depression Sessions.

It's as if I don't have a right to feel anger or sadness or depression or any other negative emotion because I come from such lucky circumstances. What reason do I have, really? I wasn't abused or abandoned or neglected or had parents who shot up and drank every day. Sure, I've been hurt by a guy. I have a semi-complicated relationship with my father. I've tried to commit suicide before. All of these are isolated incidents though (except the dad bit.) Other than that and a few other minor problems I won't delve into, I am whole and undamaged. I am normal.

So no matter how strange I am with my noises and sound effects and laughs, or emo about my family/self-existential mini-crises, I am still considered to be normal by society's standards.

And I hate normal.

This post sounds selfish and self-absorbed, which is kinda the point of having a blog, but anyway. I'm not making light of my friends' Closet Skeletons. I don't want to exist in that extreme; I wouldn't wish it on anyone either. Somewhere in the middle would be nice, though. I can be interesting and multi-layered and mysterious and complicated and hard to figure out.

Instead I am a typical, normal girl lost in a sea of typical, normal people. And that is a truth I'd rather not say out loud.