August 28, 2019

a wish to reality | prologue



i was surrounded by 'normal' people my whole childhood. i say 'normal' because, what really is normal? we don't have anything to code as 'normal' and to veer from, because we're all different in our own rite, right? but then, if that's the case, how come we all know exactly what 'normal' is? how come we know what's different, and how different from 'normal' someone is?

i don't really know the answers to those questions, but i do know that as a child, i was a pretty normal, happy, fun child. i don't remember most of my childhood, but i know this from photos and stories that i am told. i'm not really sure why i don't remember my childhood, but i think it could very well be due to the trauma in my teen years, and how, with myself blocking those memories out as best i could, the door couldn't be left open to remember any of my childhood.

i remember for most of my preteen years, i heard stories. interesting stories. stories of people who faced real issues every day, and who made it to the other side to tell their story. those stories...they were captivating. they intrigued me and i couldn't get enough. i began to yearn for a good story. a story that made people listen, because, after all, being the middle child of nine, i was often forgotten.

that desire for a better story grew by the day. i wanted a story. i wanted a good story. i wanted a better story than the ones i heard. but how do i get that story? how do i go through those trials? how did they get their story? and what could i do to get my own?

i grossly misinterpreted the whole point of these people sharing their stories, and i hope that in saying what i am saying, others do not do the same. i truly believe that if you want something bad enough, you'll find a way to get it, or you'll wish it into reality, and i am sure that that is what happened to me.
i wanted a good story, but what i got was a nightmare that i've spent the past half decade of my life trying to work through, and know that i will likely spend the rest of my life trying to come to terms with. 
xx, rn
photographs by Alex Weyer
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