what makes me NOT normal, let me count the ways…

(this was my first article published in Vital Signs, the official school publication of WVSU-COM)

I am NOT normal. In fact, I am a 22 year old who loves to watch SpongeBob Squarepants ,ore than my kid brother. My favorite book is Oh-The-Places-You’ll GO! by Dr.Seuss, and my reaction to stress is to suck on a finger, particularly the thumb, until I feel better.

I am not normal. I have two ways of reading a book: from front to back and from back to front. you know there is always a different story when you read a book backwards? It’s kind of like back-masking or reverse engineering. You’ll be amazed at how one thing could be something completely different when viewed from a different perspective or tackled by a different approach. But one better be careful. Perspective is a tricky thing. Kin to opinion and point of view. Things many normal people feel highly about but care less of when it’s not their own.

I am NOT normal. In fact, I would rather do things people find strange. Eccentricity is my key to freedom and discovery. Don’t you ever wonder how artists can be so original? It’s because they don’t care that people hate thier long hair and lazy view of the world. in one of my front-to-back readings, i learned that Einstein spent Sunday afternoons fishing in a river long since known to have an abundance of everything else except fish. if Einstein had chosen to be like everybody else and fish where the fish were abundant, he might not have contemplated on his theory of Time and Relativity. Trust me, the only way to contribute something meaningful to the world is to be eccentric!. Deviate from the norm and be original! the line between genius and psychosis is very thin. Think John Nash.

I am NOT normal. In fact the nursery rhyme “Rock-A-Bye-Baby” scares the hell out of me. Do people even listen to their lullabyes?! Rock-a-bye-baby on1 a tree top. when the wind blows the cradle will rock.When the bough breaks the cradle will fall! And down will come baby! Cradle and ALL! REALLY! Baby should be terrified! Baby could be disfigured, malformed, amputated! Baby’s brain could be damaged from the trauma! baby should be scared! Imagine how growing up would be for baby! baby would no longer trust anyone. Baby would grow up to be a confused individual. Baby would ask questions like, “Who am I? why did they put me on the treetop in the first place?” Horrible! Heartless! Downright horrific!

I am not normal. In fact, I am an obsessive compulsive. If I received a letter from a psychiatric institution doing a study on Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, they would be so happy to receive a million responses to their ad. But only until they find out that all the responses came from just one person. Me. I just could not convince myself enough that my previous responses would reach them. Just like I could not convince myself enough that before I lay down, I have switched off my light, after switching it on and off over a hundred times. Do you have any idea how baffling it could be not being sure if your light has been switched off while you contemplate it over in the darkness?

I am not normal. In fact, I’m a sadomasochist. Pain is a test of power. Vincent Van Gogh was not normal. Rumr has it that he cut off his left ear and gave it to a nurse with whom he had affections for in the psyciatric hospital where he was institutionalized. They say that’s the reason why his later self-portraits where done in a right-sided profile. To hide his missing ear. One day, the parents of the unlucky person to win my affections will recieve a package wrapped in floral paper containing a still beating heart. A sign of my gratitude. That is, of course, after I have drained his capillaried of blood and mix it with my own and place it in a golden goblet where the seperate streams that once gave us life will become one peaceful, eternal river.

I am not normal. In Fact, i’m narcissistic. Narcissus fell into the lake and reincarnated into me. Even if they deny it, people worship the ground I walk on and hate me because my perfection is a constant reminder of how infuriatingly inferior they are. Well, I’m sorry! But it’s just not my fault! Me and Einstein and Mother Teresa of Calcutta are just trying to live our own peaceful lives. PLEASE! Leave us alone!

I am not normal. In fact, I am an antisocial in disguise. I hate it when peeple smile. Smiles distort faces otherwise perfect. Even Mona Lisa refused to complete her smile, because otherwise, she would not have been famous for anything. My friends greet me with hugs and kisses, but they don’t realize their valuables are gone, thier ATM PIN numbers memorized and that there is a “kick-me” sign taped to their backs. HAH! And those are but my lesser crimes. I have no regrets whatsoever. In fact, It’s my pride and joy. Oh, where would the world be without people like me, causing havoc and adversity so that you normal people can see that you have in you a store of strength of spirit otherwise unrealized?

I am not normal. In fact, i’m paranoid. Normal is for capitalists. It is a term they confound with colorful ideas used to make you conform with their plans of world domination. It is their secret weapon, making you easier to control and manipulate; making you a willful slave without you even realizing it. Normalcy is being brainwashed by your television, yourcomputer, by the Internet! Even the battery-operated walkie-talkies are tools for world domination, designed by the most brilliant engineers to feed you the dictates of someone elses malgnant conceptualization of how the world should be.

I am not normal. One day, the secret bureaus of the world’s conspirators will track me down and others like me. I must hide! Pretend to be a medical student conforming with the norms of society. Writing articles. Reading books the proper way. Eternally suspicious of anyone in dark glasses.

I am not normal. but if you think about it, neither are you. Nobody is. It is part of being a unique creation all by yourself regardless of where in the normal distribution curve you fall. Besides, when one is faced with something out of the ordinary, something ABnormal, that is when one’s true self emerges from hiding. Like frantic little ants panicking out of their holes when the rock that covers their sanctuary is lifted from its place by some extraordinary force. Besides, normality is statistically evidenced. Numbers with their stable and balanced formulations can tell you a lot of things. But they will not tell you who you are. That we all have to figure out for ourselves in more ways than one. So, why base your definition of yourself on a concept based on numbers when even Statistics, by the way, always have percentages or margins for errors.?

Food for thought. Think it over.

Here is another one. I am also a compulsive liar.