I have felt out of place my entire life. Not really fitting in anywhere. When I have found myself in crowds, I notice every voice becomes one constant humming of sound; no one thing separate from the other. It used to bother me, the not fitting in. But I found that I now enjoy it.
Most people are content with casual conversations. Sometimes I can generate responses, but most times I just try to avoid conversations all together. I’m also okay with that. Life gets lonely being disconnected, but trying to stay with a crowd is exhausting and I don’t like it.
I am just different. I have lived life differently than most of the people I know. My experiences have caused for a lack of trust and a lack of being heard. It’s more painful trying to be someone I’m not. I have found that being who I am in my own, small place, gives me a peace of mind that I am thankful to have now.
Loneliness has various angles attached. Craving human contact is in abundance some days. I may be physically alone, but I respectfully know I am never truly alone. I like distractions. I like being busy. I like that no one sees me cry on my hardest days. I like that I can laugh out loud with no one else in the room. I procrastinate in production – whether this is learned or innate, I may never know but I just know it is a part of who I am.
I like that on the days when I am just going through the motions in existence that I don’t have to try harder. I find some days are just harder to focus as I overthink and rethink the places I’ve been and the parts of me that I’ve shared.
I have become greedy with my time, making it my own. A precious commodity rediscovered. But I think having been broken does this, it makes time something you are wary to give away while being spiteful in its existence, simultaneously. I have been guilty of drowning out the ticking of the clock on my wall. I have been guilty of cussing unnecessarily to an object and an idea that bears no place anymore for a point of reference for myself.
I am here. I take up the space where I am. I choose the places I want to be a part of and I am careful of who is around me. Having been broken makes me want to avoid it from happening again.
It had been so long since I had a place of my own that I forgot how safe it feels. If I want to stay to myself, I can. If I don’t want to be made to feel out of place, I don’t have to allow it to happen. Some days I wonder how long being out of place lasts. Does it last forever? I think it might.
If I was born not fitting in then I refuse to believe I should be anything but out of place. Maybe being out of place is the only place I am meant to be. And maybe I’m okay with that. Maybe, just maybe, I’m finally okay with who I am.