Singing In Riddles

I've found myself wistfully, dreamily saying, "I wish I were normal..." I realize, this is not what I should be thinking, let alone feeling wistful about. Sure, things get tough... is it fun to know that any given moment, I could lose track of myself in public? (I have to get past my fear of that... here is why I need to learn to trust those I keep close... those very few, that quirky, marvelous little group.)
Sure, I might be getting myself into a nice boiling little pot trying to sort that out here. I've never learned to hold back before, I doubt I will soon.

Is it fun... knowing that I sometimes pack my schedules so deeply I can't settle when I need to settle... until my body disconnects itself? I still use certain phrases, I still use dis-associative  language. It's not "My brain" it's "the brain," "acts as CPU" "Operates sort of like an electrical line that gets overloaded"... sometimes... the circuits just... overload.

The thing is... I can be told a million times, while I sigh dreamily... "Sweetie, there is no normal." and really, there isn't. I know this... and I think I'm wistfully looking out and seeing ease that doesn't exist.

I'm still sorting. Getting past, "This is impolite, this is something to delicately sweep under the pretty Oriental rug. Where it will sit and fester and we will politely ignore it. Or we'll ask the questions that make you pale and bite your lip in consternation. 'Why you'? (I have no answer but the technical. It happens. Something went wrong in the wiring. Obviously, upping meds that don't work isn't going to help. Nor is guilt-tripping when I show I'm having an obvious reaction.)"

Was I asking, why I couldn't somehow be comfortable anywhere, be loud and brassy, brusque, anything but the terrified shell of myself I can become? Anything but the difficult child? Why I couldn't... I have no idea. Be what my mother wanted--wants--- even while being quiet and good and sweet and...ugh... are smiled upon... (ugh here is a fill in. You pick the phrase, I'm kind of avoiding it.)

But this should help me. And I will attempt to remember it even when I'm looking out and going "How are you able to just... be?"
"Trying to conform is like kissing ass to a moving butt."