Called a Freak?

My sister drew my attention to one of Scott Williams posts.  He is a therapist that writes about some interesting topics.  This one I almost avoided reading due to the title.  I was called a freak and worse.  Especially during the time growing up when no one knew what was wrong with me.  Some people denied that my behavior was unusual at all.  Heavy sigh.  None so blind as those that choose not to see.  I didn’t want to see myself as a freak, weirdo, the nut, or any of the other terms tossed at me.  I became an expert chameleon until I nearly loss all identity.  I shuffled through behaviors until I could pull off the desired cheerfulness, helper, doormat, or whatever.  So I didn’t want to read Scott’s post.  I was afraid of a name.  My sister recommended it and I ventured down the page.

http://scott-williams.ca/2015/07/10/freaks/

Reading through it I nearly bailed several more times.  He was setting off all sorts of triggers in me.  I trusted my sister and kept reading.

I read this paragraph…..

We have talked about learning to play a little nicer, and we have discussed what it feels like to live with a marginal personality, but here and now I want to remind us all that every single person I know is unique and strange and broken and weird and worried and vulnerable. Some of us have a harder time than others, but no one gets out alive. You’re all weird. Welcome aboard.

How cool is that? I am welcomed with my weirdness.  We are not as different from each other as we had hoped.  Or believed.  Our struggles may seem overwhelming or tiresome or tragic or whatever descriptor meets your need.  Which ever way you look at it, you are not alone in your struggle.  I felt isolated.  I felt cut off.  I felt shut out.  That was an illusion.  I’m not alone, welcome aboard.

 

 

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