Confession of an anomaly. - by Zibah Black

The day I discovered I was different, a lot changed.I couldn't tell anyone what I had discovered. This wasn't the usual “I am different” situation.Anomaly was a better fit. There was something in me that didn't feel... normal. And I had to suppress that part of me because it was becoming dominant. It can't be.I won't let it.I needed to learn how to control it. So I created a coping mechanism. Looking back, I had noticed the signs when I was younger. I just didn't understand what they meant. I only knew that some things didn't come easily to me. Things that seemed normal to everyone else felt strangely difficult for me. I tried adjusting.I tried fitting in. I tried convincing myself that I would eventually grow out of it. It just... Never worked. As I grew older, it grew with me.And somehow, I still didn't pay enough attention to it. Until it became so much bigger than I was prepared for.I didn't see it coming. Then I slipped. I tried so hard to convince myself that I wasn't like that.I came up with excuses for what happened.I explained it away. Anything to avoid looking at what was right in front of me. I didn't even want to research it.I was scared of what I would find. So I stayed in denial. That was the denial phase. Until it almost happened a second time.That scared me. I locked myself away from everything and everyone.I went off-grid. It was just me and my thoughts. For the first time, I was forced to actually look at it.And somehow, in that isolation, I was finally able to think clearly. I summoned enough courage to learn about my...kind And suddenly, things started making sense. The decisions I'd made.The things I'd done without understanding why.The patterns I had ignored for years. There was an explanation for all of it.As much as I didn't want to believe it, I had to. I had to accept it. Because if I refused to understand what was happening inside me, who knew what could happen next? That was the acceptance stage. But acceptance didn't mean I wanted anyone else to know. The day my mom caught a snippet of... it. She was... I don't know. I couldn't even explain the look on her face. She just didn't take it well. Then, on another occasion, I slipped in front of a girl. I won't call her my friend anymore. We don't talk. I don't even know where she is now. But I remember the way she reacted. She panicked. And that's when I understood that Maybe hiding this part of me was better. So I went back to what I knew. Suppress. Suppress. And suppress. I became good at it. At hiding it. At controlling what people saw. At making sure no one noticed the things I didn't want them to notice. But sometimes... I wonder how long I can keep doing this. Because I have this strange, persistent feeling that one day, I won't be able to suppress it anymore. One day, it might become too strong. And when that day comes...I just hope I have enough control by then.

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