I am anything but normal.


I am broken. And I doubt I’ll ever be whole again.

There’s a hole, and I have no fucking clue how to fill it.

How do you start to mend, if you cannot remember what you used to look like, what you used to be like, what you used to feel like?

I am half the person I was seven months ago. And now I am merely existing in the shadow of my former self.

I have disintegrated into a million little pieces, and it’s taken me all this time to figure out how to begin to reconcile. There’s no accumulative process, no accumulative healing, and each day I start again. Yesterday has no significance. Yesterday barely exists. Some parts appear to be where they should be, but it doesn’t feel quite right. It never feels quite right. I have made it this far, but I have no fucking clue how to make it any further.

Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe I’m not supposed to be the same. Maybe I’m meant to have changed. I just want to feel normal. Not happy. Not good. Just normal. Whatever normal is supposed to feel like.

I am a loner.


And I value few things more than my own time and space.

It’s a way of life. It’s my way of life. I escape – I have to escape – from the never-ending chaos in the outer world. The perpetual noise is exhausting, and I need time alone to decompress and recharge. I experience high highs and low lows, and solitude restores my inner equilibrium.

I feel confused and empty when my balance is out of sync, but solitude fills me with purpose and grace. I need time to reflect, analyse and understand, because few things out there make any sense at all.

It’s a simple need, really, but over time I have grown tired of explaining. I have stopped trying to justify myself. I retreat whenever the need arises, and go back out there when I’m brave enough to risk it. Or, when I have no choice.

It isn’t so much a reflection of the world, but rather a reflection of my true self. It’s a survival strategy, and it keeps me sane, on track and normal. At least, it makes me appear sane, on track and normal. It makes me feel sane, on track and normal. It isn’t so much about walking away, as it is about running towards. The one cannot exist without the other.

Time is the only thing I feel there will never be enough of. And, sometimes I choose to spend it alone. Sometimes I choose to spend it in a way that makes me feel safe. Sometimes I choose to spend it in a way that helps me heal. I want to spend it in a way that helps me grow. I want to spend it in a way that brings clarity. I want to spend it in a way that prepares me for my ultimate purpose.

This isn’t about you, it’s about me.

I am a living, breathing paradox.


I am two opposing forces, forever fighting against one other.

I feel trapped between the good and bad of all my character traits. And every day is a new battle to see which one will win. I am forever fighting for clarity, forever trying to let the better part of me win. I hardly ever succeed.

I relish in the fact that I am different, but I also resent that. My deep, authentic empathy and compassion drive me crazy, but it is also my greatest gift. It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply. I love it, but I also hate it.

I am painfully introverted, but I cannot survive without the people I love. I am brave amidst the chaos, but I break when I finally surrender into solitude. I have a dark side, but not without understanding there will always be light. I know I am loved, yet I cannot shake this perpetual feeling of loneliness.

I am calm and composed on the outside, but my head is a jumbled, chaotic mess. There is a crazy storm forever brewing beneath the surface, and the levelheaded person you see is merely another contradiction. It is simply the chaos hiding in plain sight.

I am forever at odds with the world, yet I am classified as a human being. I read people like a book, yet I am unable to understand how I fit into the narrative. I can see the bigger picture, so clearly, but I sometimes get lost in the rabbit hole of details. I am forever searching for ways to connect the dots, but what I find is anything but dots. The one is nothing like the other.

I am gentle and compassionate by nature, but I am still learning to be kinder to myself. I am sensible, but I have ridiculous and unreasonable expectations of myself. I understand the intricacies and complexities of emotions so well, yet I am unable to articulate my own. I know why others are hurting, even if they don’t. I am forever hurting, and all I need is absolution.

I am the best – and the worst – of both worlds.

I am a serial procrastinator.


Mostly because I fear the reality of my visions will not be as good as the vision itself.

I am a perfectionist, and more often than not, I am not satisfied with substandard results. Especially, if those substandard results are an extension of who I am. It is a good way of approaching life (I think), but it sometimes cripples me to take action on things I truly believe in. My fear often stops me from doing any work at all, no matter how convinced I am that whatever I imagine is a good idea.

Over the years I have learned that sometimes good enough, really is good enough. At least, I believe it sometimes. It is hardly as simple as that, because even after tons of persuasion the harsh self-critic is always lurking around the corner. It is always waiting to emerge from the darkness that is my self-doubt. It is forever telling me that I will fail; reminding me that there will never be enough time to nurture the skills I need.

I am the ideal idealist, put plainly. I have big dreams and bold visions. But, I am also incredibly tenacious and I will not rest until I am done. The truth is, that longing feeling to get my work out there never goes away until I’ve actually done it. I am putting myself and my work out there, because the anxiety I feel over unfulfilled dreams and missed opportunities is worse than the crippling fear to try.

I am a gentle voice amongst the chaos & noise.


And sometimes I just wish the world would listen.

In fact, I wish the world would just pause from time to time, and give me a chance to formulate and articulate my thoughts. My head is never quiet. The noise in my head never stops. It is in a constant state of creation; conjuring up ideas of what could be. It formulates patterns; some sort of order that probably doesn’t make much sense unless you’re in my head. I am constantly processing and analysing whatever information I come across. I can assure you, behind this quiet exterior there is a vividly imaginative world of ideas that are waiting to be known.

In a world that persistently screams for attention, being quiet and gentle proves remarkably difficult, when all you want is to be known. World, just give me a chance to be known.