Picking Up The Pieces-An Introduction

Picking Up The Pieces:

An Introduction

I am an ordinary person. Nothing special here.

For a long time I struggled with that. I appeared to be different. Moderately intelligent- probably in the top tenth percentile, decent looking without being too attractive, weird name; I seemed to have the external qualities of a unique person.

Struggles came abound, I had problems truly connecting with anyone, an apathy that at times was convenient yet crippling, a big heart that was caged: these are the things I thought I possessed. Key word: thought. Over the years, I realized how unspectacular these things really were. More importantly, I realized how much of this I faked in order to perceive uniqueness.

Look at my track record. I’ve cheated (numerous times) on the only person I truly loved without much explanation, I drink way too much on certain occasions, can be hardheaded and outspoken, like beer, have said horribly racist things even though I inspire to be fully liberal, want to look good and desirable without my shirt on, find a song/movie relatable to “my life,” base happiness around how well the Jets and Mets are playing; none of these things are special. Sure, they may not be so-called stereotypical, but they fit some sort of mold.

So if I strive to be “outside” the mold, yet strangely find myself stuck in numerous molds, just who the fuck am I? Am I a robot? Am I Haley Joel Osment from A.I? Pinocchio? Am I ever going to be a “real” boy? I don’t know.

These stories are the only things that I know. They are the only things that make me who I am. Some of the stuff is perverse, some of it immature, some of it disgusting, some of it truly heartfelt. I’ll let you decide how you feel about me by the end of it.

That being said, none of this is glorified strictly for glorification purposes. I’m not basking in my shit. I don’t want you to give me high fives when you see me, name stupid keg parties in my honor, I don’t want to be your idol. That’s just stupid. In the same breath, I don’t expect you to feel bad for me or try to rationale my actions. I made my bed and it’s mine to lie in.

For now, I’m content with who I am. Fractured and broken and not quite sure is good enough for now. While I try to pick up my pieces and glue them back together, you might as well join me.