“Normal”

Disfunction-(dɪsˈfʌŋkʃən)adj

lacking normal function

Dysfunction-(dɪsˈfʌŋk ʃən) n.

1. impairment of function or malfunctioning, as of an organ or structure of the body.

2. a consequence of a social activity or structure that undermines a social system.

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”

A Paradox?

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.