Freak!

When you just don’t fit in.

I’ve always been different; for as long as I can remember. I was always the quiet one; the one who didn’t fit in; who would rather lose myself in the pages of a book than go out and sit in the local bus stop until it got too dark.

Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I had just done that, but I couldn’t understand the appeal. Sitting there, watching someone scrawl yet another tag on the rotting wooden bench held no interest for me.

As I got older, I spent more and more time on my own, lost in the world of my stories; both ones I read, and ones I made up myself. I guess you could say that I was born a writer.

When I was in my late teens, my friends all wanted to go out drinking. I didn’t. I was the one who stayed at home, reading, and working on my own stories. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t have gone out, but the problem was that ‘going out’ was actually defined as ‘getting drunk’ when it came down to it, and that’s not something that I wanted to do. Yet again, I found that I didn’t fit in.

Most of the time, I don’t mind it. I’m a freak. I know I am, and I’ve actually learned to be okay with that, but sometimes something happens that reminds me that I just don’t fit in and probably never really will.

I won’t bore you with the details, but have you ever been in a room full of people, and it’s like you’re both invisible and alone all in one go; like there’s a plate glass screen between you and the rest of the world.

It doesn’t happen all the time, but every now and then, it’s like life wants to send me a reminder that “Hey, just remember… you don’t really belong here, or anywhere, come to think of it”.

That happened today, and the reminder was a painful truth that I have to remember, because no matter what I do, I won’t ever truly fit in, and when it comes down to it, I now know that I just have to accept that and learn to live with it.

Lately that feeling has been less. I have some really good friends, who know me inside and out and are always there for me. I have also discovered the Ninja Writer’s group, which is filled with people who love to read and write.

These are my people. These people understand me. They get what it’s like to have stories bubbling around inside of you filling you up until you feel like you’re going to explode and you just have to write them out.

You see, I have come to understand that my writing is as much a part of me as breathing is. Words flow through my veins as blood (yes I know it sounds crazy, but ask any writer and they’ll tell you the same).

I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes you have to accept that you just don’t really fit in anywhere, and that that is okay. There is a place in the world for the socialites, and there is a place in the world for the partiers, and there is a place in the world for people like me; for the outcasts and the loners, and every now and then, I find myself lucky enough to find my people, and the only feeling better than that, is when I’m writing.