“You’re different.”


I’ve been hearing those two words my whole life. No matter how hard I try to come off as hip, or sincere, or even just plain regular, the fact is I’ve been afflicted with an unsightly disposition. It’s in the way I walk, talk, and socialize. It’s the invisible mannerisms.


I was born with a disorder, but that’s hardly my one concern. I also come from a broken household, a toxic upbringing, and a blank generation. I’m diagnosed high-functioning and I’ve always found a way to adapt to my environment (albeit turgidly), and at times I feel older than my peers. Am I the world’s youngest 46-year old hipster? Maybe that’s why I say “I miss the 90s”.


I do miss the 90s though. Back when I was a care-free little nymph. Weened on video games and Nickelodean, and harnessed to proclivities that would later evolve into drug addictions. I had not a care in the world, even when I could so blatantly hear the screams.


High school and college were delusional periods. I was on some non-sense quest to be “cool”. Sometimes this meant being a database that happens to smoke cigarettes. Sometimes this meant coasting myself with liquor, and impressing friends that I wasn’t afraid to talk to those more beautiful than thou. Times where everything was paltry, except for the spring-feel. How I longed for that ever tricky rebirth though, internally wondering how goddamn long it was going to take?


My post-collegiate years found me in a playground called Gentrified New York City. I spent my days writing and consuming, and the nights found me looking for drugs and plastic fucks. Most of the time I got egg on my face, but it was all about living in the moment. I told myself I was doing what I needed: breaking my status quo. I felt like I was finding myself in decadence.


I wasn’t happy. My hangovers were unending, and I was alienating myself from the ones that really did love me. The ones that did get me, but I just had an image to uphold…


Then I almost died.


One year later, I can say I’m doing things a little differently. I’m not dependent or desperate, and sometimes I even think I’m genuinely happy. Hey, I always told myself things were going to get better, I just didn’t realize how much worse they’d have to get first. I may not be a new man, but I changed a substantial 2 degrees.
Not too shabby


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