I’m not broken, just…different.
I’m not broken, just…different. That’s what I’d like to tell myself at least.
To convince my mind that nothing is wrong with me. To keep up the facade that I am just like everybody, that I am normal and perfectly imperfect just the way I am. That I’m not doing things the wrong way, that I am not…broken.
As the years passed and people around me start to mature into young adults, I’ve learned to dread the question “who do you like?” Attraction happens naturally, it’s inevitable that everyone will come to a stage in their life when they feel a force so powerful besides gravity.
It makes them giddy with just the thought of interacting with the other, sparks may fly, fireworks light up the sky, butterflies may even start to reside in their stomachs. Funny how some even starts to show symptoms similar to a person suffering from heart disease that it makes me wonder, is this force of attraction people insist to be “love” really good for you?
I might never know, I’ve never felt it.
That strong desire to be with someone, anyone. That desperate need to love and be loved back. That craving to be touched and feel warmth seep into my bones. To be the centre of someone’s universe. To have someone be the centre of my universe.
I shudder at the thought of being in physical contact with another. Hand in hand, skin to skin, lips to lips. I get nauseous at the very thought, and definitely not because of any butterflies.
And then the questions that I have no answers to starts to form filling my head, convincing my logic that something is wrong with me. And just like that, I’m back to zero and I have to work my way back up to persuade myself, to assure myself that nothing is wrong with me.
I have to re-convince myself that I am normal, just not their kind of normal. But the voice inside gets drowned by the loud incessant noise because their kind of normal is the majority and my kind of normal barely makes up the minority.
Or maybe I am part of the problem. Try as I might to convince myself that I am not dysfunctional, somewhere deep down in my consciousness is unaccpetance and self-condemnation. I myself haven’t fully accepted who I am, what I am and what is that I really want because truthfully, I don’t know what I want, I don’t know what I am, I don’t know who I am.
At the end of the day, as I lay down staring in the dark visually outlining where the ceiling is supposed to be, I try to unlearn dreading the question “who do you like?”
I might never fully understand and know who I am at the stage of where my life is at, but I know that the next time someone asks the dreaded question, I’ll come into terms with my inner turmoil and perhaps be able to answer straight up that I don’t really find the thought of relationships appealing.