Dysfunction-(dɪsˈfʌŋk ʃən) n.
No matter how you spell it, “it” is definitely not functioning the way “it” was meant to function.
Definition Number 1: “lacking NORMAL function”.
Such an odd definition; what, exactly is “normal”?
Who or what is the deciding factor with regard to what is “normal”?
From my perspective, “normal” = “Dysfunction”
When I look at my life in retrospect,and take into account all of the people I have known…Those I have loved, liked, disliked, hurt, been hurt by, wanted to hurt, feared, was feared by, inspired, and was inspired by…They all had but ONE thing in common: they were not “normal”.
I came to this understanding through a series of (not so) logical thoughts & memories.
Why? you may ask, would anyone waste their time on such a frivolous thing?
Ahh, my friend, the answer is not an easy one to put into words, my best description: Cerebral Intercourse.
Most of my life I tried to be “normal”. (or at least look like I was!)
This was not an easy task folks, because the reality of the situation is this: I had no idea, nor do I now, of what “normal” is.
How is a person supposed to act like a “normal” human being if they have nothing to reference?
In my youth, “normal” was: “put a smile on your face, and hide the bruises/cuts/bumps/scratches/tears the best you can”. If someone saw a mark on my little body, “normal” was: “I’m a klutz, I fell, or I ran into, or I was wrestling with my brother, or it’s nothing, I just bruise easily”.
Let me sum that up for you: “Normal” = Pretend, lie, smile (even if it hurt like hell to do so).
I was passive as a child. I shut my mouth and did what I was told no matter what, as to avoid being the outlet for someone’s rage.
I had strong views, strong feelings, strong opinions about everything, but opted to bury them deep inside my castle.
I hid them well, behind a heavy Gothic door which had several deadbolt locks, a drawbridge (which could only be lowered with the secret password, that only I knew) and a shark infested moat protecting it from ever being opened (except by me)
I filled that castle with so much stuff that eventually it was bursting at its seams, unable to contain anything else.
The day my castle exploded, was the day I understood what acting “normal” had done to me.
Like a Phoenix, I rose from the ashes of that horrible day when I left “normal” in the charred remains of all that I used to be.