I struggle to be normal.
I really, really, REALLY want to be normal.
I don’t even care that normal is hard to define.
Whatever normal is, I want it.
Ever since I was a little girl I have always felt different. Apart. Outside.
My fourth grade my teacher said I struggled with a low self esteem.
My row mate, Keith, did not want his desk to touch mine.
I had horrible eczema in between my fingers and we had to learn to square dance. The thought of someone seeing and touching my scabby pus filled fingers….shudder.
I was safer to stay outside, unaccepted.
Ninth grade, I finally made friends, older friends, friends that were juniors. They included me. The leader of the group called me her best friend. Yet, I pretended to be mad at her for absolutely no reason so she would pay more attention to me. Attention was my drug.
Incident after incident, of embarrassing sacrifice to the god of attention. Nothing was off the table. Nothing.
I’m 45 now and it still continues. I’m a wife, a mom, a friend to many, yet normalcy, acceptance still remains out of my grasp
There has been one big change.
I have a relationship with a God that loves me, created me, that accepts me now, as is, I am His forever.
But that other god, the god of attention, that god never sleeps. It never let’s me feel included, never lets me feel good enough, never lets me rest in acceptance.
This other god lives in me, haunts me, laughs at me. My loved ones wonder why I never fully rest, why I never believe I’m good enough, why I feel I have achieved nothing in this life. Sometimes I think they think I’m crazy. I’m not crazy, I don’t think. I’m just outside,
My head knows God of love can beat god of attention. Sometimes my heart, my body, my soul believe it too. And for the fleeting moment I am free.
But then I am claimed once more.
Different. Apart. Outside.
Writing this, naming it, speaking out loud about makes it seem darker.
It’s good to know your enemies right? Even when they live in your own skin?