Days like these are the worst. Tangled within the vines of social norms and everything that defines what is common logic.
Where do you go for solace and comfort when the rest of the world sees the world in a different shade of grey? Where can you run to, away from the people who reject your notion of what is ‘normal’ and decide for you what is right and what is not? What can you say in defense when they dictate your intentions built on their own logic, the same logic that the majority accept and live by?
No where. No one.
Perhaps, the worst part of having a problem like this is that no one really understands. The only good comes out of all of this is the feelings that come with it. You start to feel like you can feel again. The consolation that you’re not a psychopath after all. You have the capacity for empathy, at least, to yourself.
To understand and accept that your beliefs, your actions, your behavior and everything that comes with it will never align with what is the norm. To understand and to accept would be to acknowledge that loneliness will always be a part of your life. These demons belong to you alone and you will face them for as long as you live, as you will face death, alone.
The world celebrates uniqueness. Unique people are acknowledged as being special. The same non-conformists are also the people who are perhaps, fortunate enough to be different in a way that lies within the area of acceptance while the rest are termed as ‘abnormal’. Yet, the real problem lies in ambiguity. Where do you belong when you’re not special enough to be celebrated, and you’re not abnormal enough for people to acknowledge that you’re abnormal? You are nobody. A ghost.
You’re a single entity that bears no significant relation to either ends of the spectrum. You exist on the continuum as an insignificant datum. Without definition or relation, you are nothing.
You want to hide, in the places you think are safe. Your home. You never want to leave, but you have to because the world doesn’t run by your logic, remember? You have to get out and do the things that they do only with the demons tearing you apart from inside day after day. That’s fine. By now you’ve, more or less, gotten used to the worst of it. It is the piercing loneliness that screams when every single time the demons strike and it dawns upon you that nobody else in the pool of bodies that you see scattered around you, laughing, talking, making merry and being normal, would be able to understand or relate.
You are you. You are alone, but not really.