My Skeleton 

Everybody has them nobody admits to them. That I understand. Well I did. Then I realized something. EVERYBODY HAS THEM. 

You get to a certain point in life where you realize everyone is different but the same. If nobody talks about embarrassing or shamefull things yet everybody has them why don’t they? My guess is it is kind of a bit scary. Judgement can be a son of a b****.   

The only way to change that is to make it comfortable and completely normal to talk about crappy things that everyone goes thru. So on that note let me throw my hat into the ring, not full force to protect those involved, but more to just say screw it crap happens. 

I have many more skeletons on top of this but those will be saved for another day. I WAS MOLESTED AS A KID.  For a long time I thought this was a big shameful thing. I’ve come to realize it really isn’t. It is something crappy that happened to me. I also have came to realize after reading numerous studies is that this person probably couldn’t help himself. So now I’ve came to the realization that the only people I feel sorry for are anyone who this happened to from him because I was to much of a coward to speak up, and him. I am truly sorry. 

I don’t believe that the man that did this could help it. I also don’t care. Everybody has challenges. I felt for a long time sorry for not myself but my existence. I felt I was a burden to the world in general because crappy things happened to me. Slowly thoughts changed. As I’ve said before I am very literal/analytical. So I started to think I got 2 options kill myself or be happy.

I thought for a long while about the whole just end it thing, that didn’t make sense to me. It didn’t make sense to me because I didn’t do anything. It would be totally different if I harmed someone, or did something that was my fault, but I was the victim. Well if I was the victim why did I feel like shit. Then I had a light bulb moment. I felt like shit because I was the victim. I let myself think poor me. I liked it. I liked being miserable.  That was my hold on the victim situation. The situation where I was wronged and only I could understand that. Now I realize everyone has been wronged at some point. That’s life. The longer you hold onto the poor me mentality is the longer the skeletons haunt you. You got to decide are you going to be happy or miserable because I pretty much guarantee the only person commiserating over that decision is you. The person that wronged you isn’t thinking man I really feel bad for what I did. They are living their lives. Crap happens, dust out the closet and bury your skeletons it’s a normal thing your not special. 

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Normal

  I was always called weird growing up. At first I took it as a compliment. Eventually I took it as an insult. Slowly it started to bother me. Finally it kind of depressed me. It bothered me so much that for a long time I thought damn I wish I could just be normal. That was my goal in life to be as average and normal as possible. So I tried for a very, very long time to be normal. Then I started to get frustrated because I never could get there. 

So a little background I’m very analytical. I’m a person if you just do what most people do then by definition you will be normal. There in lies the problem. I got frustrated because I started to realize that I could not define “normal.”  So I looked it up. Apparently the definition is conforming to a standard, or what is usual or expected. Well there are 7 billion people on earth and no one does everything the same. So what is usual or expected if everyone does it differently? So slowly I started to realize there is no “normal.”  Everyone is weird.  No one can be normal because no one is the same. No one is the same because everyones daily interactions are different from the moment they are born. So I finally figured out I’ve been normal my whole life because I’m weird. To me it’s kinda messed up ain’t it?