A friend remarked to me recently that it doesn’t seem I identify as a human; but more as if I am masquerading as one of you.
“Greetings human,” is a common form of address for me.
It’s because I don’t… see myself as human. To understand this you have to understand me as an observer of humanity.
A humanoid; often enough mistaken for human, given advice for humans, that wonders why what they have seen afforded to humans… has only ever been given to them when mistaken for a human.
You must understand that I started reading about genocide when I was younger then ten. I have been reading about the depravities that other humans visit upon each other because I sought lives worse than mine to take comfort in… knowing that if they could make it… so too could I. For over two decades I spent a good portion of my reading; LEARNING about darkness, when I wasn’t reading about dog breeds, how to live in the desert, and shells.
You must understand that from the age of five to the age of eleven I wasn’t a person. I was an Amie. I was the thing that kids would write an X on their hand to inoculate themselves against my germs so that they could hit me. I was the thing that they banded together to stop from touching (and infecting) their favored (whatever I wanted to use really) playground equipment.
You must understand that they put me in the garbage can while my teacher was there.
You must understand that the bus driver continued driving while they shoved chewed up candy in my hair for sitting where I wanted instead of in the front of the bus.
You must understand that by the time I was eleven I was leaving my body by putting my head in the corner of the window and watching the telephone pole lines and just … not… hearing them. Not… noticing that they were passing around my backpack (again). Trying to stop them garnered a resistance I could not deal with. Nothing ever worked.
And I kind of think it’s because I’ve run out of available futures. I was supposed to die when I was eleven. I was supposed to not get pulled out of school by my mother who knew something was drastically wrong by then. They were supposed to kill me.
I was supposed to be their lesson. Or I was supposed to never leave the codependent relationship that ‘saved’ me from my family.
Somehow… given advice for humans…. I thought there was a future that I couldn’t see waiting for me.
I lied to myself. There was never a future for me. Not my own. That’s why I feel like I’m navigating the ocean without a ship. It’s why people sail past me wondering about the audacity of the swimmer.
I often think that it’s because I have always tried to live outside my caste. Very few of the people I know that lead meaningful lives SHOULD know anyone like me. People like me live in trailer parks. People like me are on the street. People like me are in mental wards. People like me are in jail. People like me are living part time in weekly rate motels trying to find enough money to not have to move… which also costs money.
They aren’t thinking about the things I think about. They aren’t trying to talk to the people I do. They talk with the others. The ones like them. The ones that understand.
Because you must understand. I was raised by a person that learned to protect themselves by isolating themselves, a person who could not understand why I kept letting the others hurt me. Why I kept letting them know I wasn’t one of them. Why I kept talking… when silence would garner me safety…
Silence. A silence that comforts others and hurts me is all I can ever hope for.