…and yet another one, today is one of these days were there’s always yet another slap in the face – a song, an expression, a picture,…I can’t cope much longer. I’m running out of skills. Everything that’s happening today reminds me of how fucking wonderful ist is to be “so special”. And I don’t mean my being different as I’m bisexual and mentally ill but rather the fact that I’ve been told very often how special I was in the past and can see how much pressure could have been avoided if people had just regarded me as “normal”.
In kindergarten I was special because the head of kindergarten teachers liked me. I didn’t have to sleep when others had to, I was allowed to be on stage at celebrations when the other children were the ensemble, moreover, celebrations were actually postponed when I couldn’t take part. The fact that the other children didn’t like me anymore (surprise, suprise!) apparently was part of being special. Thank you.
Then I was special to a relative of mine. So special that he taught me many things that didn’t seem as creepy to a four-year-old as I realized around sixteen they had been. But that was a gift, after all, I was special. It didn’t matter why it had to be our little secret because nobody else was as special as me. How I hate those words – “our little secret”. In my family there were no secrets. All the small innocent things other children kept secret were things that I had to tell but this one secret I should have told someone in order to protect myself remained a taboo until today.
I was also special in my teenage years – for people who told me I was the only one who understood them. And as I was the only one, I had to be there for them, right? Sacrificing myself although I wasn’t much more than a child. And not caring for myself – because there was just me. And no, that didn’t put any pressure on me, don’t worry…as special as I was I could handle that easily.
Today I like being different – different from people who are scared of things they don’t know such as refugees or persons who aren’t white, straight and catholic. I like being different from people who think shopping can make you happy and generally I like being different from what’s average.
But pretty, pretty please, never again do I want to be so special to anyone that my needs just cease to exist.