A Different Kind of Normal

Different Kind of Odd Ball - Sleeping Eggs

Over a jug of keg (some of you may call it a pitcher of beer), my friend looked at me and asked me if I could sum up my personality in one word. I could tell he had been mulling over that question for a while. So I smiled at him and said “Abnormal.” He laughed and said he thought as much, then we shot some pool and downed our beer and went to our respective houses.

That was early last year. And am no longer friends with him! Not because of the question though, it’s just our souls stopped clicking.

Since then, however, I have come to embrace that definition of my personality even more. Because there are things I do, and things I think of, and those that I imagine. All of which I don’t believe normal people would.

Sometimes I just sit on my couch, in complete silence and darkness, and think “Oh My God, am soooo… weird.”

 

Do you know how I can tell am weird, or the evidence I have to back my claims? Well, I will only give you six;

 

First of all, I know am crazy. And I own it. Because am too old to be ashamed of my mental state. But before you go throwing me a pity party, it is the good kind of crazy. The kind that comes with self-awareness, so I can often tell when my reactions will be out of the boundaries of social convention. Whether or not such awareness actually helps me dial down my crazy is a matter for a judge to determine, someday.

 

Second, I can tell am abnormal because I do not like being around people. I prefer to relax in my own company. Where I can think without having to look at others or listen to them or have them all over my space. My soul is often at peace when I can drift away to alternate dimensions without another person snapping me back to reality. Plus I don’t like being with people because it forces me to smile and that hurts my back. I don’t like smiling – it’s a tiresome undertaking, no?

 

The other clue I have that am odd is the fact that I can only be comfortable in my own house. Not a hotel, not another person’s house. Not even my siblings’ or parents’ houses. Am wired like that. If it’s not my house, it cannot be comfortable because I will be forced to adjust my routines. And that is too much work. Plus whenever I leave my house, there are these crazy and obsessive thoughts that camp in my head. I have to constantly ask myself whether I left the lights on. Or whether I left the shower running. Or whether I really made my bed properly, or washed all the dishes in the sink before leaving. Many are the times I have had to cut short a journey because I could not recall unplugging the iron box, or the TV set or closing the windows. Suffice to say, I need to be in my house in order to have peace. My compulsions will often make sure of that.

 

Fourth on the list of why I know am weird is the fact that I am always cranky and moody. I can shift from happy and excited to worried and thoroughly depressed in one second flat. I know it’s not exactly a bipolar disorder but it damn near feels like it. There are times when even I don’t know the emotion I will be having in the next minute. I could be happy, talking to someone or watching a movie, then boom, twenty seconds later am so sad, and angry, and depressed that I start having dark thoughts. Funny thing is, I like this ability, or rather disorder, that makes me switch emotions a lot like the Nairobi weather changes.

 

I can also tell am crazy and/or weird because my favorite character in the hit TV series Friends, is Phoebe Buffay (played by Lisa Kudrow). Because she is crazy and broken in all the ways that I love. Those who have watched the series may understand what am talking about. There is something about Pheebs that makes me connect with her character on a very strange level.

 

 

Finally, I can tell am crazy because I am writing this even though I do not have to. For all I know I could be spending this precious time washing my hands or rearranging my dishes and mugs on the dish-rack. But I am writing it just because am weird enough to do it. And because I know only people like me, who are not completely normal, will read it to the end, and understand it.

 

Am a different kind of normal.

And that is a good thing; because “normal lives are for normal people, and am abnormal…”

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