A week or so ago someone made a comment about my maturity
level. They wondered if “normal” 26 year olds act like I do. They were
referring to the fact that I want batman seat covers for my car at the time,
but other things were being referenced as undertones. Like the fact that I have
a collection of what could be deemed “immature head wear.” Like, a minions hat,
a cat fur hat with ears, a sock monkey hat, an owl hat and a hat that is neon
colored with bright yellow pigtails. I also enjoy dying my hair odd colors. I’ve
done fuchsia and aqua streaks, green and most recently raspberry. I love
glitter and I like painting every nail a different color. I laugh loud at
things that probably aren’t funny and I sometimes act before I think. But I
mean well.
And maybe these things make me immature. Maybe these things
mean I need to do some growing up. It’s true that on holidays I sit with the
little cousins. I make the young ones laugh and love listening to their
stories. And yes, I do still live at home. I mean, I tried to make it on my
own, but my mental health interfered with that. And when I look around me most
of my friends are getting married, already married, having children, married
and having children. I look at myself and say “No way am I ready for that!” I
mean, I don’t even want a boyfriend right now…let alone a family! So maybe
there is some truth to the statement that I’m not a normal 26 year old. But
then again, I have never been normal by anyone’s standard.
I never really had a lot of friends growing up. I kept to
myself. I read books and lived in an imaginary world far longer than what
psychology would deem normal. I wore hoodies with the hood up so I could run my
headphones up and listen to music. I perfected the art of being present in a
room without ever actually being present. If I wasn’t listening to music
doodling…I was in my imaginary world. I made good grades so no one ever
suspected I was guilty of not paying attention. I enjoyed watching people live
life more than I actually wanted to live it. Sure, there was a lot going on
where no one could see…but for the most part I lived under the radar.
I chose a community college outside of my county because I
didn’t want to go to school with everyone from high school. I went to community
college and made no relationships with anyone…for literally two years I went to
school, made my grades, went to work and came home. I had basically one friend
and we have known one another my entire life basically. So, even after high
school I didn’t form relationships well. And honestly I still don’t. I doubt
this is normal for a 26 year old. Even now I watch the people that are close to
me go through life and they form new relationships and hang out with new
people, and they invite me along…but it’s hard for me to interact with new
people…I’ve just never been good at it.
I stay up during the night for many reasons…one of which is
that you are alone when everyone else is sleeping. And I like being alone…to an
extent anyways. I like watching Friends on Netflix. And writing to the sound of
the heater and the heavy breathing coming from my brother’s room. It’s peaceful
not to have anyone demanding anything of you. Another reason I don’t sleep at
night is because I tend to have more nightmares if I sleep at night. I’m pretty
sure having consistent nightmares is NOT a normal 26 year old thing either.
But here’s the thing. I’m ok with not being normal. It’s
kind of fun. People that do know me know I will make them laugh. I bring a
smile to people’s faces. My best friend once told me that her mom called me a
ray of sunshine...because when I walk in a room, it’s like a bright ray of
light comes in too. I already adored her momma, but I could have kissed that little
lady if she had been there.
I guess what I’m saying is, if not being normal means taking
half an hour to do my makeup because I want to do a fun colorful design…then I’m
cool with that. If not being normal means I got really excited when I got
glitter in the mail, then I’m okay with that. If not being normal mean I get to
see my grandpa break his poker face for a millisecond when he sees my bright
green hair on Christmas…then that’s cool too. If not being normal means I get
to dye my hair raspberry and wear fuzzy cat ears, a hoodie, blue plaid fleece
pajama pants and no shoes, because I couldn’t find the one’s I wanted to wear, to
the my therapist’s office…then that’s freaking awesome as far as I’m concerned.
(And really funny according to my therapist and the entire office staff.)
So, I’m not normal and I’m okay with that.
Love, Randi
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