I'm not sure how this is going to go.
I have this image I create for myself. People don't understand me sometimes, and we're naturally bothered by what we don't understand. So I tend to offer one side of myself here consistently, and the same side over there all the time. They're all the real me, but they're all just pieces. It's far easier to deal with, I guess. People started saying I was less weird then.
I actually like being unique, but I don't really go for making everyone uncomfortable. Surprised, yes, uncertain, possibly, uncomfortable, not so much.
The main problem just seems to be the melding of everything. I've been breaking every stereotype laid on me since I started high school. The only one that still holds is the writer, because writers can be almost anything, but they're almost always intelligent, and unpredictably moody.
I like seeing the world from a different point of view. A kiss doesn't mean the same thing to me that it seems to mean to my peers. Blood is interesting, but not always compellingly fascinating. And being naked can either be being vulnerable, or strong and free from the bonds of society - but when I draw it, it's rarely representing a sexual definition.
I just don't THINK the way everyone else seems to. Almost no one fully understands me. I have a few friends who accept me no matter what, and just accept that they won't understand what I'm talking about. I have one friend who usually gets what I mean, until it goes off the edge of darkness and is more about exploring the darkness from a philosphical point of view than a depressed one. There's one person who always takes the time to understand me, and while sometimes I have to explain where I'm coming from, he usually seizes onto the concept quite easily.
I can't write about my blood in my notebooks, because people think I'm sucidal. I can't talk about what things are sometimes like with my friends, because the people I hang out with who don't understand think I'm cheating on my boyfriend. I can't follow my impulses, because a lot of people at school think I'm bi already, and my younger sisters will have to live with the stigma for two years after I'm gone.
I'm not suicidal. I'm not afraid of death, though. People don't understand that. And I was for awhile. I went through a very dark period, and now I want to go back, sifting through the memories I've salvaged, to try to understand it, maybe to offer hope to someone else, or myself. But people don't understand wanting to know the darkness without letting it take you. I don't focus on physicality as much as a teenager is expected to, and so I miss that when I touch a person in comfort or protection, it frightens them. Because they know I'm different, but no one knows how.
Maybe I'm a treasure. Maybe I'm a freak. Maybe I'm precocious. Maybe I never grew up. Maybe I'm just like everyone else, but I'm not afraid of something, and I don't hide. Maybe I'm mental. Maybe I'm special.
I just don't see things the same way. Why not?
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