Down the Lane

When you’re little, nursery rhymes make it seem like being the black sheep is a good thing; their wool is more valuable, after all. They’re desirable. They’re loved.

When you grow up, those perceptions change. Suddenly, being the black sheep means being the outcast, the loner, the one who doesn’t quite fit in.

I’m the black sheep.

I’ve always felt awkward around my family. I’ve never quite felt like I belong, and it’s been this way for as long as I can remember.

At every party I drift from person to person, conversation to conversation, never really settling. It’s been 25 years, and I still feel like I don’t have common ground with any of them. We don’t have the same interests or hobbies, the solid of foundation of any small talk. I can talk for a few minutes about a TV show or movie, perhaps, ask about someone’s job and answer questions about my own, but that’s it.

I feel uncomfortable almost the whole time. In the back of my mind, from the moment I arrive, there’s a countdown to when it will be socially acceptable to leave, tick-tick-ticking away, slowly edging closer to freedom, to relief. This isn’t fair to them, or to me. I know that it’s wrong and shouldn’t be doing it, but I can’t get it to stop; thus, the guilt spiral begins. I end up retreating even more because of it.

Just this weekend we had my extended family’s Christmas party. There were over 40 people there - which is incredibly, by the way. How many people are lucky enough to have a family that big that all gets along?

It was way too much for me. I don’t think I had a good conversation with a single person, and I spent the whole time feeling like a nuisance to the people I did spend time with.

And the whole time I was checking my phone for the time.

I want to be perfectly clear about something: this is my insecurity. My family, should they be reading this, needs to know that this is all the fault of my wonky brain, and I don’t want to pawn my issues off on anyone else. I love my family, and I know they love me. I have an extensive support system, and, ultimately, I would do anything for them. I don’t mean to complain, but it’s the way I feel.

There’s more I could talk about - so, so much more -, slightly more logical reasons for my disconnect, but I’m not ready to discuss them here, yet. There are some things that I need to say in person, not via a blog. Maybe someday I’ll get the courage to tell you all.

Hopefully you’ll still be reading when I do.