Several Shades Less Than Normal
For years I’d been riding blindfolded in Depression’s sidecar
Along the road of my life; Bipolar at the wheel
As we chased Anxiety’s tail around the bend,
Self-harm standing ever vigilant in the chariot behind me.
I never wanted to see that this was me;
That the stickers fit their silhouette edge-to-edge
Leaving no gaps for wormy doubt to wriggle through,
And that the labels left little to the imagination.
I’d been Fat and Ugly’s minion since birth,
Why would I want to run in Bipolar’s footsteps
With Depression draped over me like tight-fitting chainmail,
Anxiety strangling me like an iron snood
While Fear built walls around my heart.
Something was not right with me, they could tell
But I refused to accept,
For if I accepted then I would be admitting to being more abnormal,
More, strange/weird/odd/pathetic/loosery than everyone else.
I thought I could handle it, when I eventually had to accept
That the sticker stuck fast and true,
I could handle it because it was just mental and I could hide, easily,
Behind books and words and cons conceived by my mind
To fool the world – the eternity of ‘fine’ and ‘ok’ and ‘good’.
It was all a disease of an inferior mind,
I could pretend to live and love as a normal person.
Depression, the little kleptomaniac, stole feelings,
Hiding them behind Fear’s walls in Pandora’s boxes of emotion.
For a lifetime my brain was every alert to every situation...
“Quick, you should be happy in this situation...smile damn you smile”
Or “it’s a joke, you should laugh...do you remember how?”
I never dreamed Depression had a partner in crime.
Never would I have wanted to add another label to the party;
Another dark mark from which to run and hide.
For you see, whilst puberty brought many things
It never brought feelings.
My brain would sit in confusion – the only feeling often left over,
Apart from Anger and Fear – and it would wander empty broken pathways.
“They say he’s cute, he must be cute,”
It would tell me countless times.
“Oh, he looks nice and so does she,”
(SHE! Where does that come from!)
But six-pack abs and slender physiques never caused my heart to beat
Any shade faster than normal,
While classmates and media coverage told me it should.
Books would write about it – boy and girl see each other
And, heartinears, heartinmouth, they fall in love – movies would show it,
But I would be left merely confused and faking interest,
(I’ve always preferred dramas and fantasy).
I never asked for this,
For Depression’s sexually kleptomaniac friend Demisexual to make its home in me.
For Demisexual to bring along its buddy Asexual
And turn me several more shades darker than normal.
I’ve always been a curious one,
Lost in realms of imagination provided by written words power,
But my curiosity only brought confusion when things turns sexual;
How can I find both genders pretty – am I Bisexual? Bicurious? Biconfused?
How can I find both genders pretty and not feel anything about it?
For years I thought Depression had just stolen too many feelings from me,
That it had stolen that gut-wrenching longing described my by wordfriends
And replaced it with eternal nothing.
But Depression wasn’t the culprit this time it seems.
Now I can safely say that Demisexuality, and its partner Asexuality,
Have been stealing sexual feelings from me since puberty
And dividing them up amongst themselves for sport – dangle logic in front of the reader
And she might follow us.
I was blind to them as I begged God on bended knee to let me have something normal
And not another classification, for it turns out that Demisexual and Asexual hitched a ride
In Bipolar’s chariot, all along using their thieving ways to molest feelings from my heart and mind
Into boxes and boxes and boxes of ‘I don’t know’.
But now I know more than before;
I am aware,
And I am reviewing the situation:
Once a weirdo you’re a weirdo ‘till the end it seems.
For I fall far short of the ‘normal’ standards set out for normal people;
I have so much abnormal in charge of my life it’s a stressor.
However, I can now say that what was stolen was hidden somewhere,
Behind walls and in boxes and even in bricks.
Demisexuality will never return what it stole and keeps stealing,
And I need to get used to the fact that it is now another power ruling over me
With its best buddy Asexual.
So devoid of feelings am I that I can’t help but need help finding myself...
Do I like boys – like is a feeling gone.
Do I like girls – same feeling problem.
Do I like both – like is a feeling hidden from me and longing is a feeling that won’t come.
I now have a new sticker to label me:
And this sticker drags me further away from that wishful wanted stance of normal;
I’m many stages behind normal,
No longer blindfolded but still in Depression’s sidecar
Riding on Bipolar’s bike
As we chase Anxiety’s tale around the bend,
Self-harm guarding me from the rear – my safety net should I fall.
Only now Demisexual and Asexual ride in the car with me,
Poking and prodding and nodding at my confused glances
With self-satisfied smirks upon their faces,
For they know I have accepted them, have stuck another sticker on myself,
Have smudged my pretense of ‘good girl’ with the dirt of
Bicurious, Demisexual, Asexual.