Black Sheep 1 (Photo credit: Ionics)
“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.” -Morticia Addams
I don’t do normal. I am, by my very nature, contrary. I can’t help it. I don’t do it on purpose. And because of this I possess many nicknames in my family. All given with love and affection, mind you, but they’re not what you would expect to be given. Nor what you expect to be cherished. The Mysterious One, The Dark One, Morbid Child, The Black Sheep. These are my names. They’re not normal. But then, neither am I.
The Mysterious One. My lovely aunt started the trend of nicknames. She gave one to the four oldest cousins. My sister, the eldest, is The Straight Arrow. She always must do what is right. Always. Regardless of the consequences. My eldest cousin is Risky Behavior, i.e. the wild thing. Multiple piercings, dyed hair, sky diving. The thrill enraptures her. Kissy Casey is Risky’s younger sister and moves from one boyfriend to the next. Every time I see her she has a new boyfriend She is the youngest of the four and yet the first to get in a relationship (though my sister is the first to get married). I am The Mysterious One, for I am unpredictable. My thoughts and feelings are my own. And what I show may not be what I feel. Only those who raised me may perceive me. I am an introvert. A loner. An observer. I stay in the background but that does not mean I cannot enthrall those around me. Even though I like my solitude and being invisible, I can command a room-if I choose to. I am distant but warm. I smile easy and laugh often. I am kind and nice to everyone. I draw others in. Without trying. And without notice. Most of the time I don’t even realize that I wound others around my fingers. I am myself. And yet they flock.
The Dark one and Morbid Child are presents from my sister. She is my opposite. We love but don’t understand one another. I am the scientist, she the historian. I look to the future, she the past. I possess high ambitions, she’s a homemaker (not that there is anything wrong with that). Because of our dissonant, what I find fascinating she finds disturbing. I once dissected lizard eggs when I was six. She as a child would not leave the blanket to step upon the grass. I often read books and watch shows on forensics, criminals, and mysteries. She prefers Disney and love stories (nor is there anything wrong with this). She finds my hobbies dark and morbid, thus my name.
‘Black sheep, black sheep got any wool’ says my grandmother. I’m the odd one out. I’m not like the rest of my family. I’m quiet. I’m serious. I’m aloof. I get along with my family and love them desperately but we are different. Such is life.
Normalcy is an illusion. It simply does not exist. But we pretend that it does. If there is no concept of normal then how do we distinguish ourselves from others? I’m not normal, but then again, neither are you.
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