Ladies and Gentlemen, something has landed:
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And if I consider it a lot - it means way out of my normal thinking cap, like huuuuge amounts of thoughts passing through my already overwrought brain. Anyway, and this is not even a new thought, but one I didn’t want to think about that much because there wasn’t enough room in there. (Let’s just say that thinking is my obsession lately.)
What I have come to realise is that: 1) I’m not very normal, and 2) I hate the word Normal. God knows if I ever was considered that among all the things people think me of. But I’m kind of ok with that not normal way of being. If people want to love me, I demand to be loved despite the fact that I’m a bit peculiar, because Love is a choice. Even for parents, although that must be considered radical. But friends - definitely. And partners - hell yeah!
I know my "good" and "bad" sides. I drink too much, smoke too much, talk too much, think too much, stay up until 5 in the morning, obsess over details, leave the dishes for a week, forget to eat, never remember important things, am always late, can’t finish any fucking thing I start with, and I can never make choices when there’s too many options. / Like for example. I got this idea that I wanted to wear glasses. Ok, so now I’m sitting here with four pairs (which is good because I can never find them if I had only two). One for every mood I’m in. Or perhaps one for every season. Or one in every colour? Variety!! Why do I have to choose? Thing is: as far as it is possible - I Want It All.
But I actually like my little weirdness’s, because they make me Me. More people should be proud of the things that makes them special!
And with that in mind now:
Those boxes people likes to put other people in.. Making it so hard; even impossible, to fit in if there’s just one fucking box of stereotypes that would have to contain all of me!
I’m sorry but i just can’t. Its against the nature, my nature. (Or I’m just too clumsy to fit.) Too rebellious. Uncomfortable. I will start to question it. I will break the safety net of that cage, with my un-cinderellable feet. I don’t like to choose; meaning those definitive choices of commitment to a certain box. And when I’m saying "box" I mean all those structures that tells us how to behave and to be, to fit in.
Fitting in is not a virtue. It’s to be a lost sheep.
I can be a black sheep, but not a lost one, because no one knows my road.
Because maybe Now I’m like this, and Tomorrow like that.
Maybe I’m gay And straight.
Maybe I am a buddhist But maybe i am not.
Maybe I’m just anything + nothing.
Let’s just indulge in my more doubtable sides for a moment, shall we;
When I get intrigued by something, I´m starting out with a curiosity to explore, that will blind others. But I spend soooooo much time collecting all the details around the subject that in the end I grow tired of the main target and never starts it out even, continuing on to something else, because I bored myself on the way. And I leave another unfinished project aside. Which is of course a reason to that I know sooooo much about soooo many things and issues but I never really arrived anywhere with it at all. Wasted knowledge, I know.
I don’t have the same time as everyone else seem to have. I mean, I am aware of the paradox of time being invented by man and not really exists in the way we live by it. But how can all those other people fit it into their lives? I have constantly; without exceptions, either too much time or not enough. I don’t think that I have been anywhere in a place right on time. It’s hilarious, because it’s so fucking impossible that other people can and i cannot. Is there a secret that I’ve missed out on from birth? It is as if I had my own time, ticking slightly out of synch from the rest of the world. For me; a moment is an eternity and eternity a moment. Actually, it’s not Me having a trouble with my time, but people around me of course. But I suffer with them on my behalf.
I have so many dreams that they don’t even fit in onto my Vision Board. And I didn’t make the damn thing yet. I don’t know which one is bothering me most.
I sometimes sleep in a dress. (blue one with circles) Just because it’s beautiful.
And the first thing I ever saved money to buy, was a tiara. It may not be the most natural thing to do. But I do see a princess in the mirror every now and then.
I’m in love with words. Fabrics. Beautiful pictures. Movies. Things. People. Moments.
I talk to myself. I talk to my cat. I sometimes talk to people I don’t know.
I am a bohemian soul, I control creative chaos.
Sometimes I love Life. Sometimes I want to leave it.
I am caring and loving, my arms are always open for comfort, I’m funny in that self-ironical way, I’m a good listener, supportive towards other peoples lives and choices, I’m devoted to things and people I love and not judgmental against things and people I don’t love, they all co-exist around me.
And sometimes I’m egoistic, grumpy, obnoxious, unreasonable, hurting, bitchy and superficial. I can be a failure too. I can be anything anyone thinks. It’s just labels. And I am a paradox.
Does any of all these things make me an alien? What about all of them together? Are they Good/Bad? Yes and No.
As it is, no matter what i do, i will always be outside of some box, beyond the labels (god how i hate those, who invented them?), or impossibly annoying to some. And you know what.. it’s OK!
I have forgiven myself for everything. For not fitting in.
Not to get away with it as some bad excuse, just stopped resisting the fact that I’m only me. Whatever will be, I’ll always be Me. Isn’t that great! I stopped trying to be fucking Cinderella with too big feet, stopped pretending that glass-shoe would fit me. I.don´t.want.glass-shoe. My feet are just fine - because they’re mine!
Normality, I never wanted it. On the other hand I sometimes envy it, imagining that tranquillity it would fulfill to just have an.ordinary.life. But again; what the hell is that?
The ordinary times - are just moments that we missed on making something extraordinary with!
I don’t want to be a Cinderella-character. And yet, at times I envy those Cinderellas who slip into that shoe and it’s just perfect, that too. Seemingly the right size to have it all. But then I remind myself; My aim was never to be perfect.
I think perfection is the greatest myth of all.
I guess the conclusion is: I Am Perfectly Normal For A Person Like Me
(I think I´m human, in every possible way.)
A/N: Now, just for your information: The Cinderella-reference has nothing to do with any obsession from my side concerning that fairytale (I hardly envy her at all, and I would never in my life be able to understand how a shoe would symbolize living happily ever after, due to Prince Charming, I mean - do you honestly think he could not recognize the woman that stole his heart but had to test it with a shoe. And made of glass by the way, how uncomfortable and absolutely deadly would that be walking around in?! The whole story is wrenching and totally misleading for young girls. It might also have had a strong influence on the female fixation of buying tremendous amounts of shoes, right?) It was used as a metaphor for "Not Fitting In".