normal
Everyone’s normal until you get to know them.
I so wanted to be normal.
In second grade, the night before Field Day, I imagined running the races and playing the games in anonimity with the rest of the second graders. But when the day arrived, my team laughed at the funny way I ran–along with the rest of the class.
In sixth grade, I wanted to have beautiful feathered hair like every else and to be asked to dance to a Journey song. But I spent the dances, crying in the bathroom with my curly, frizzy hair.
In high school, I wanted to do all the things my classmates were doing–attending Snake Dances, going to prom, taking the Senior trip and worrying about my peg leg jeans. But instead I worked at a jewelry store after school and every weekend, I got dumped to the prom (twice) and I worried about my family’s living situation.
The more I discovered learned other people’s exteriors, the more I realized it didn’t match my interior.
My mind works in spiraling circles, the internal dialogue never stopping. I can worry about problems that would never occur to anyone else. I have more hang ups than a coat closet.
But on a good day, I can pretend to be normal.
For the most part, I have given up wishing to be normal. I actually have a sedate, normal marriage with the two sane children. But my mind still works in crazy circles. I still have baggage that would cost thousands in carry on fees. And I get tired of pretending to know the rules of the games sometimes.
But if I were normal, what would I write about?