I’m not normal for many reasons. In a sense, nobody is really “normal” because “normal” is a subjective definition. But I’m much less normal than most people who would consider themselves normal or who are perceived to be normal, or who fall into the norm (or whose name is Norm). And I’m darn proud of it too.
I’m not normal because I’m short, only 5’0 (1.52 cm) tall. That’s not midget size, but definitely quite outside the bell curve pediatricians use to measure your developmental progress as a child. I’m not normal because I look considerably different than most people born in my country. I’m not normal because I’ve always looked much younger than my real age. I’m not normal because I like to wear bright colors, most especially bright orange and lime green. I’m not normal because I don’t like olives or blue cheese.
I’m not normal because I’m not heterosexual. Nor homosexual, nor bisexual. I’m asexual. According to some studies, 1% of the population is asexual. Although that number can be debated. Either way, not many people are asexual, and not many people recognize that they are, and even less will admit it semi-publicly.
I’m not normal because I’m transgender. This means I have a body which is perceived as or was assigned to a certain gender, and according to normality I should identify with this body and its perceived gender. But I don’t. I have a body on the outside, and a body on the inside, and those are very very different.
I’m not normal because I’m not stricly transgender, or “in the binary” as the cool kids are calling it. I’m agender, gender neutral, and/or neutrois. The subtle differences between these terms aside, I am neither female nor male nor both – I’m neither. This means that given the choice, I’d rather not have either, mostly in the physical sense, but somewhat more complicatedly in the social sense as well. Moreover, I experience “gender dysphoria,” which means I experience emotional distress because of my physical and mental mismtach. I’m not content with what I see, and I have a strong urge to change my body to match what I feel inside.
I’m not normal because instead of passing notes along in 5th grade, I used to correct people’s spelling, until they told everyone never to pass a note to me. Their loss – most of them still can’t spell…
I’m not normal for a lot of other reasons, but you get the idea. And now if you see a spunky, short, boy-like person of indeterminate age, wearing a bright orange or lime green shirt, you can come over and say hi, and I’ll be sure to correct your spelling.
For my entire life I’ve been on a journey. Sometimes I didn’t even know it, at other times it was painfully obvious. This journey that is my life has been helped along the way by others like me and unlike me, who have shared their stories and their throughts about whatever was troubling them, which happened to be inline with what was troubling me. And now I wish to do the same for you. So grab a comfy chair, some coffee (or chocolate milk if you’d prefer), and enjoy this voyeuristic journey I’m about to take you on.