When I was very young, I was teased for having a large nose. “It’s like a mountain on your face.” “Can you smell China?” “Your face must weigh a ton.” By the time I was in High School, I had decided I would have plastic surgery as soon as I was old enough. I desperately wanted to have the dainty, delicate noses my friends had, the button noses all the pretty girls had, and felt like the unsightly mound in the center of my face was the only thing people noticed about me.

Sometime in my junior year of high school, I started a geneology project going through my family tree. I knew my family was German because of all the times I cried to my parents about my nose. “It’s your identity with our family. Why would you not like something that defines you?” Uh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe I don’t want to be defined by the size of a facial feature? Anyway, my grandmother had kept family pictures datings back to the early 1900s. One picture that sticks in my mind is my great-great-great grandfather Zenidakr... uh... Zenaduka... His nickname was Zed. In Grandpa Zed’s picture was a stoic black and white german man with dark hair, bright eyes, and a large nose that looked exactly like mine.

I’m not sure why this impacted me so much, but here I was looking at an old photo of someone I had never met, but we looked so much alike. Here is this complete stranger, and I shared a bond with him that can only be claimed by a small community of people. In that moment, I no longer cared about the teasing and self-loathing of my appearance. Anytime I would start to feel down, I would remember my grandpa Zed.

I now love my nose, and I love telling the story about how my siblings and I inherited this feature. I got my nose from my Grandpa Zed, blue eyes from some freak gene my grandmother has (everyone else has brown eyes in her family), my curly fluff of mermaid hair is from my other grandmother, my hands are from her as well, waist and legs from my momma, and sarcasm from my dad. I haven’t figured out where my feet shape comes from. My sister and I are the only ones in our family with our specific toe and heel shape, and it’s quite strange. Ironically, my soul mate has different feet from the rest of his family, too.

I’m a huge mishmosh of features and temperments that can be traced through my family for years, and my children will carry on these traits into future generations. How crazy is that? To think that 200 years in the future, I will have a great-great-great grandchild who will look just like me, but they will at the same time be a completely different person. Humans are amazing, and I hope you learn to become fascinated by your traits as much as I have.

I'm indecisive.

No, wait. I'm naive.

No, wait. I'm introverted

No, wait, I'm attention seeking.

No, wait, I'm just a bit of a crybaby.

No, that's not it. I'm an impatient boy.

No. I'm not a boy. I'm... I don't know what.

No. I know who I am. Kind of. Maybe. Or maybe

I'm just nothing. No I'm this. No I'm that. Maybe I am

This and That. Tit for Tat. Who am I? None of your business.

Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I am trash. Maybe I'm underwhelming.

Maybe I am stupid. No, I'm just challenged. Challenges I face

Every day, but I don't know why I'm facing them if there's

No end to the rainbow. I face insecurity in my daily life.

I'm just a bit confused. I'm just a bit unsure. I know

I am full of maybes and questions with no answer.

I am full of yes and no, all mixed into one.

I am just a kid who's trying to figure

Everything out on his own. I am

Alone in a crowded room of

People that I know.

I am Maybe.

*ignore this i need to fill the word count limit. thanks for the challenge*

A casual look to the side, she's approaching.

Quick, put on a smile.

Good morning, how's your day?

The words matter not;

They're just to cope with the shared experience of life.

Laugh at her story, it's easier than making observation.

Interaction over. Whew, made it through another one.

The worst of it is over.

Or, not. Surprise!

A casual conversation takes a sharp turn.

Time to contribute. Maybe it's time for a story.

Stories always placate. The more personal the better.

It's not time for desperation. An intimate story of success it is.

Are they placated yet?

Say something to end this interaction. Anything to hide.

Being human, like any other endeavor, can be streaky.

Just remember: don't overact. That's a little too human.

To say that I don't feel human is a bit of a misstatement. It's not really a feeling, but more an observation. I observe the action, emotion, personality of others. They're all easily replicated, yet an actor is never truly the subject they interpret. In this sense, it would be easy to mistake the outward appearance of humanity one might detect as their gaze fell upon me. I would, however, caution one to not make the mistake of concluding that lacking humanity is inhumanity. There are no cruel concoctions, malicious motivations. Just the emptiness of a sweet breeze whipping about the open ocean.

I’m not quite sure what I’m implying to say but this is what I have got to tell right now.

If I have to tell anything about myself, I don’t think you’ll be interested to know my feelings. Well, this is what I have observed recently. People only would want to listen to your feelings only if your feelings are different from what is basically heard. Different! Difference is what matters I guess.

Everyone hate themselves they say but that’s what almost all says and so do I. This hate probably has its source in the problems one face. Everyone’s problems are not same and they are not small either. But my problems are certainly small and they hurt even so the same.

I’m not, as everyone, someone who can stand strong in the predicament’s face. I’m so scared of most of the things and now I feel bad for saying same lines said by most people.

I think that a beautiful song can stir the soul’s silence, also a sad song can conjure up the soul’s cries.

Well I believe that :

A solution to get away from problems of reality is imagination, and a dose for over imagination is a cup of reality.

Something about myself : I have unstable mind that jumps unknowingly from one theme to another.

Why I feel that way : Already said and proved! Each paragraph was not much related to the next.

All my life I was seen as “different” by my family and so called friends. The reason? My upbringing of course! As a black kid whose father was in the military, I moved around a lot and experienced different cultures, accents, foods etc that other kids living a stationary life did not experience. Due to this, I never got a chance to develop solid childhood friends, I never developed a regional “accent”. This caused me a great deal of lifelong problems.

You see, I developed my own likes and interests. I had a few associates so I read a lot, wrote a lot, and I tried my best to pronounce words correctly and learn their definitions so that I could utilize them in daily conversations. I loved pro wrestling, comic books, video games and novels. I didn’t realize those were negative traits until I moved to the south.

“Burnt cracker!” That was shouted to me quite a few times throughout high school. Not by white kids, but black kids. Kids that shared my same skin color, kids that shared my same heritage, treated me like an outcast because I “sounded too white,” because I “liked white things,” and because I “have a dad” (yes, that really was said to me, I was too white because my mom and dad were still together and in my life). Therefore, since white people were known as “crackers” I, being black, was a “burnt” one. That left me in an ugly position in the school social hierarchy. I wasn’t a jock because I didn’t like sports. I wasn’t a nerd necessarily, because my grades were average at best, plus; the nerds in an attempt to be cool, didn’t want to be seen associating with me. I wasn’t accepted by the cool kids because I acted too white for them. I wasn’t accepted by the cool white kids, because they wanted to be accepted by the cool black kids and associating with me would kill that for them.

So, out of a school with over one thousand students, I was alone. I felt in a way, that my “people” had turned their backs on me. In turn, I turned my back on them. I don’t associate with people long nor do I value friendships like I may have if things were different.

My loneliness has brought me more peace then trying to fit in.

I hate my inability to just give up.

As I have started in a few of my previous posts, the most domineering aspect of my personality is my determination. At school, it's what I'm [in]famous for. Everyone knows that if I get fired up about something, there is no stopping me. I am known for my ability to deliver passionate inspirational speeches to get other people motivated.

But what people don't know is how I sometimes just lie on my bedroom floor, trying desperately not to cry, because I want to give up, but I can't.

I want to give up. I do. I really do.

But I just can't find it in me to.

It's like my body won't let me.

It's for the best, though.

I mean, even if I was able to give up, I probably wouldn't anyway because of all the people depending on me.

Because of my determination, I am the person that everyone in my life turns to for confidence and motivation. They always know that if they are feeling down, I'm there to pick them up.

And I love doing that! I love being able to help other people!

But at the same time, I feel scared to tell someone about my wanting to give up but being unable to (it's not really depression, it's more like... well, it's not depression) because I'm worried about how people will react. I don't want to let them down.

I know I should tell them. They would want me to.

But the same thing that is keeping me from giving up is keeping me from telling them.

Call it pride, call it cowardice, call it whatever the hell you want.

I don't like it, and I don't want it anymore.

how is it possible to hate Everything about yourself? To not like one singular thing, i hate everything, i hate my hair, i hate my face, i hate my eyes. Yes Hate. a strong word that tells you how i feel about myself.

I won’t bore you with the nights i spent crying wondering why i could be prettier or more skinny. but i will tell you what I’ve done to try and get skinny. I’ve gone a week with little to no food, I’ve forced myself to throw up I’ve done it all and hated what i saw in the mirror. I am the type of person who researches things before they try them and that precisely what i did.

Bulimia gives you heart problems, you can create a tear in your throat, you can destroy your teeth with acid, Etc.

Anorexia you have low everything honestly. you bruise easily, your organs can fail, you can randomly die one day.

i know it all and i don’t care, i just know i need to be a certain way to be pretty. skinny, tall and i defiantly need a pretty face which i dont have. i hate everything about myself. not one thing i like, sometimes i look into the mirror and imminently burst into tears wondering why i couldn’t look like my sister. most of the time i have to avoid mirrors. so that doesn’t happen.

I’ve effectively made you bored with my story i give you free rein write whatever you want happy, sad, glad, mad. until next time reader

The thoughts start to swirl. I look to my left and I turn to my right but I can’t move. I am stuck in my own mind again, hearing the same words over and over. Oh the self hatred. Oh the constant questions. “Will I get better? When will I get better? Will I ever get better? When will this be over?”

I am in another mood again.

I hate my inability to change myself quickly. I hate it because it prevents me from making progress. Why can’t I snap my fingers and lose 100 pounds? Why can’t I just drink a potion that will give me self-esteem? Why do I need to take medicine to make me not want to throw a toaster in my next bath?

I get stuck in my thoughts. I am losing Hope. If I ever have a daughter (as if I am worthy of reproducing anyway even as my child birthing years die with every New Year’s Eve) I will name her Hope because then I can always say “I have Hope!” and never lose her or the feeling. But alas, I am a waste of time, a waste of space, a waste of a person.

“It’s not good to hate yourself,” everyone tells me. I know this. I tell the kids to love themselves. I am a hypocrite. I need to change this...but my personal development changes as fast as a snail.

I’ve been able to see “people” since I was young. It got stronger when I was a teenager.

I’d get these visitors while I was asleep or thought I was and wake up scared because I didn’t know if I was safe.

Also, sometimes I’d dream things that came true or that when I was dreaming it felt like it meant something I didn’t understand yet.

And to tip the scale of weirdness, I could meet real people or be with friends and just know something about them and months later it would come out.

These things still happen to me. They don’t scare me as much because I can usually tell if the things I see are meant to harm me. I pay more attention to my dreams and seek their meaning so I can try and find peace of mind. As for the knowing things, it catches me off guard every time still.

When I was a little girl my mom said she was a witch and that meant her children were witches too. It was cool when I was little but I rejected it as a teenager; obviously.

Now as an adult I love and respect these abilities and wish that I had tried harder (or at all) to understand and nurture them.

Perhaps if I had I’d have grown up with less anxiety or would have been able to take advantage of opportunities I didn’t understand were opportunities. I wonder how different my life would be now and what things would be the same because they were meant to be. The only thing I can do to eliminate this sense of regret or envy of my past self is to nurture these gifts now and see where it takes me.

I'm too damn dependent. If I wanna do something, no matter how badly I wish to do it, or how passionately I want to, I need approval. I need someone to tell me it's ok to do. I need someone to provide steps on how to do it. I need someone to tell me they'll be there with me, or will do it with me.

Also, I'm very backwards. I'm strong, yet very weak and cowardly. I'm smart, but very naive and a bit dumb. I'm closed off, but too trusting. I'm set in my beliefs, but openminded. I care about almost nothing, yet I also care about way too damn much. I'm cold and numb, yet can be sensitive and easily brought to tears. I'm afraid of so much, yet I want to do and try everything no matter how scary. I am very depressed and I hate myself, yet I have an extremely strong will to live.

Basically, it's like a giant storm is going on inside me and it's ripping me apart into so many conflicting feelings and I just need someone to stay by my side and tell me it'll be ok and that they're always there to help. But no one wants to do that and I completely understand why. I wouldn't want to have someone who always depends on me either. So it's a bit hard to push myself to keep going and to try, when I want nothing more than to just give up and not exist anymore. I wish there was an easy way to do things, but there's not. And wishes don't do anything. Actions do. And I hate that I can't bring myself to act.