Its the way I'm feeling right now that simply emphasizes the fact that I do not, in fact, live my life in the same plane of existance as anyone else. I feel so... detached. Like I am an observer of the person called Dorothy, mildly interested in her life and the choices she makes, but attached to her only as much one can be to a character in a story. I am almost certain that this is not normal. That, combined with my recent obsession with the fear of the unknown, like death, has caused me to conclude that I am very very strange.
It is as though I am two people, one girl who loves and lives and tries to make sense out of her life, and some being who is nothing, has no substance but only thinks and observes. Its so strange, I have had these thoughts and feelings for as long as I can remember, but I have never never shared them with anyone. But then, I haven't been trapped in this state, wavering between moods, stuck as part of one and part of another for so long.
This is the observer, the cynic, the one who fears and hates and writes and has no idea why its am trapped in the body of a girl who ought to be different than she is. Its in the night, when its quiet and the very air is thoughtful, that the observer comes out and ponders life. Its the reason I can't love myself. Its where all the doubt comes from. The observer is insanely intelligent, loves to read, to be alone, to, well, think. The observer hates all of the rest of who I am. The observer is the one who mercilessly teases, who does things just to see how other people will react (good or bad). And the worst thing perhaps is that its these characteristics that my family most associates with ME.
I don't really like talking about myself in third person, but I have a feeling that this would be even more confusing if I didn't.
The rest of me, the one who is passionate, who spends time in tears, who desperately wants to love and care about other people, the one who yearns so much to love God, who laughs, who sings, who is lazy sometimes but is so motivated at others, this is who I wish I could be. This is the one who has pretended so long that she isn't at all smart that she can frequently fool people into thinking that she is almost average.
I'm responsible for both, and I just wish that somehow, somewhere, there could be a melding and that would be me consistently. I can't explain the strange sensation of being myself but not fully myself. The only word that comes to mind is 'whacko' but that isn't really it. I'm just here, living my life in an alternate reality.