Allow me to begin by saying that difference is not really a bad thing. It's the awareness that kills. But, for those of us that are to socially illiterate to at least feign that amazingly complex but, apparently, inborn ability to say what we DON'T feel and do it convincingly no less(i.e. say that Sarah Alwais Mockinyew is your, "like, bff man!" while you tolerate her presence with clenched teeth instead of "I don't really like her." because THAT would be rude. THAT'S the "bitchy" thing to do)survival can be a very difficult thing to come by indeed. We are flung helplessly into a heap to watch as our "betters" search through us and pick out those that they deem worthy with gloved hands and pinching fingers, careful not to get any of our weirdness on them. And then we are tossed aside much the same as discarded toys. Defective toys. Do not even send us to the good will. We are broken.
Well wasn't that uplifting? Not to worry, the remainder of the post won't be nearly as sanguine. I will be sure to tone down happy before you all vomit. (that was a joke)It was merely something that I felt needed to be expressed before all of the thoughts swirling about in my head decided that they'd had enough of this clutter and forced their way out in a tremendous splatter of grey matter and such to decorate my dreadfully plain walls. Hmm...grey matter and blood splatter. Do I detect the beginnings of a room project? Quickly! We must find the nearest Lowe's and purchase paint!
HOHKAY, I promised you all an awkward moment but my mind does not seem to care about what my mouth(or hands)agree to do. Yesterday was not a social day. Yesterday was more of a....lock yourself in the bathroom and scream until lose consciousness kind of day. Not that I did that. No, I forced myself out of bed like everyone else and tried to deal. Everyone is cheerful on days like these. Everyone is my best friend EVER on days like these. Do you know what I hear on days like these? Rubbish. Never ending echos of nothing spiraling into the abyss. I can't make sense of anything. It all runs together. My brain feels like it is full of static. My shoulders arch....stiffen. I choke as the tension snakes it's way into my my chest. I rely solely on lip reading which I only do well while calm. I find myself talking endlessly in an attempt to keep the static from seeping into my subconsciousness and rendering speech impossible. Very Interested and The Artist are staring at me but I can't stop. "Are you okay?", The Artist wonders. Very Interested smiles and looks away. I think she understands. The Artist, however....he keeps asking me things. Dramatic Teacher watches us and says something that manages to muzzle The Artist. I pretend to understand. Lunch is next. I can't go in there. There are far too many people. They are all yelling. I will die. I flee to The Counselor to ask for her input. Maybe she can allow me to close the door and build a barrier around myself against the sounds while she explains this distressing phenomenon. Laughter from the cafeteria ricochets off the walls of my mind and explode sending shrapnel to impale itself where the feeling lives.
She has people. They are all talking and laughing and I hate them. She is "mine". Times like these...I forget that other people have problems too. That other people need to see The Counselor as much, if not more, as I do...that her office is not my private room to hide in. That is all pretty damn obvious when I am not losing my head. Like now, I know she is not my personal head shrinker nor is she a security blanket to be guarded savagely. But most days...I am NOT calm. Most days I guard "my" few people savagely and I fly into a rage when my nice little comfort net is disturbed.
I wait until I think I may scream...or kill the lot of them and leave to wander the buildings with ear buds deep within my canals...hands pressing painfully against them. Noise to drown out the noise. Something to be played in a endless loop. Normalcy why hath thou forsaken me? I feel crazy. Maybe I am. I don't know. I don't care. I just want to go home, curl into a ball and scream until my flesh stops crawling. Until the sounds stop echoing. Until the room stops spinning and I am just like everyone else. But I know that will never happen. I will NEVER be one of them. I am a broken toy.
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