The Price of Being Different


There are days that I compare to older ones that make me feel as though I've been walking a long, hard mile. And those days I look where I've stepped, seen where I've fallen, struggled to find my footing and felt like a stronger, better person yet to run into another wall. The wall for today was being in social interaction with 'normal' people. Young people, newly graduated. When I feel like I've acheived something great, as though I've fought and won back a part of me that was lost long ago days like these show me how far off I am from the mark. These long days that make me feel like I'm speaking in a language no one can understand.
Something as simple as an introduction divides the chasm even further.
and all I can do on the long walk home is ask, 'who am I? and why am I here?'
Around me is the rhythm and pull of a normal life; they can talk about the place they work, the future that job will bring, the plans of an ordinary life. The people they've dated, the birthdays they've celebrated, the bright and open path without question or worry.
I'm just the background.
Smugly congratulating myself on worthless endeavors. Wondering someday what-if, what if I were free? Leaving behind cold isolation and uncertainty, warm and happy in a niche made for me.
I wonder if I'm delusional.
Give up freak, go back to the closet of seclusion where you belong. There is no place for you, perhaps anywhere.
These are the long days where I survive and it has to be enough. and I try not to wonder if I have a place somewhere in the world and if I will ever find it.