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Who am I?

Well, isn’t that a question and a half? I can say what I am, that’s easy. I am human, I am female, I am fifteen years, one hundred and ninety three days old (as of March 30th 2006) and I’m a little over five foot two inches tall. But who I am is still a mystery. I have no idea who I am, and the more questions I ask, the more the answers seem to elude me, I just seem to be faced with more and more questions. In all reality it’s a vicious spiral, dragging me down deeper into the midst of an identity… well… it’s not an identity crisis, more of an identity search. I’d love to know who I am, but the fact is I don’t and I may never know. I have to ask why it matters? Why do humans constantly strive for acceptance, to be wanted and to fit in with everybody else, whilst at the same time strive for their individuality? How can it be possible to be both?

I am half Irish, and half English, born and raised in Leeds, West Yorkshire, England. Those are facts. I’m good with facts, you can’t argue with them, you can’t change them. I don’t like change, it bothers me. Lots of things bother me. The school bell for example, it rings one minute out from the BBC clock, that probably shouldn’t bother me, but it does anyway. I have to have a special routine, I watch TV at a certain time, I brush my hair at a certain time, and I live my life according to this schedule of certain times. When my routine is disrupted, that bothers me. People! They bother me a lot. I don’t understand them and I don’t expect them to understand me – how can they? I don’t even understand this ‘me’.

There’s that girl again – ‘me’. Even though I keep mentioning her, I don’t really know who ‘me’ is. I know that she’s not anything particularly special – kind of bright in the intelligent sense rather than the social sense, she’s not very pretty, and is often misunderstood; dismissed as difficult, or awkward. I suppose I am difficult, I suppose I am awkward, but why bother telling me it, if I already know? The other day when I cried in frustration and refused to talk to anyone, someone called me a ‘brick wall’ that really hit a nerve. As I’ve said before and will most likely say again, I don’t understand people. Well emotions confuse me even more. I think they’re completely unnecessary, they’re nothing but a waste of time.

I’m like a computer; I take information in and I process it. Emotions do not compute. It’s like; recycle bin, control alt delete, system failure! So… I turn on the anti virus and block it all out. I am a brick wall, but don’t call me one; I’ll only end up crying. I cry a lot, for a girl who doesn’t understand emotion. I tend to cry out of frustration, when things don’t go my way, confusion, when I know what’s right and everyone tells me it’s wrong, sheer irritation when things aren’t it order, or sleep deprivation when I’ve been up all night, rather than cry for feeling sad.

I don’t sleep. At maximum a few hours rest each night, the minimal needed to keep myself alive. That’s another thing I don’t get, another meaningless waste of time created by this species that claims I am a part of it. Why do people only live part of their lives and spend the rest of it sleeping? If we’ve been given it, why waste approximately one third of it with our eyes shut? While you sleep away at 3am, I’m awake, living my life. You might think it’s lonely, but at least I’m living and I like being alone. Not only do I not understand people; I don’t like them either. I don’t get along with them, and never seem to adhere to their so-called ‘logic’. So being alone suits me, and it always has done. As soon as I was old enough to crawl, I’d try to crawl away, as soon as I learned to walk I’d try to run. I never let anyone too close to me; I know I’ll only end up getting hurt. The few people in this world who will accept difference and will tolerate ‘eccentricity’ as is often used in reference to me, will end up hurting me one way or another. They will all leave, move on, or die, so why bother?

People tell me that the ability to think and feel real thoughts and real emotions is what separates us from the animals, shows what people know. Nobody ever seems to agree with my way of thinking but does that mean it’s not real, and we’ve already established it’s system error with me for emotion – but does that mean I’m not human? I’m questioning facts now, which isn’t good. Facts are facts. I have two eyes, ten fingers, and two feet – yes, I’m most definitely human. Even if I don’t understand them.

I sometimes worry about getting through this thing we call life, when I am whatever it is I am (which is what I always will be) and people are people (which unfortunately, they also will always be). How am I supposed to function in humanity, in a society full of stereotypical up and down life forms, that seem to exist solely to frustrate, confuse or irritate me on some level?

I am an alien, a stranger here, one who does not for the most part, feel welcome in your world. You and I might sit under the same vast sky, breathe the same polluted air, and we might happen to be situated on the same planet, but it’s a completely different world to me. My world makes sense, facts are facts and nonsense is nonsense, whereas in your world people seem to have trouble with those two, there never seems to be a clear line separating them, but instead a space in the middle, an emptiness to which they can seep through and combine. Why can’t black be black, white be white and we ignore the shades of grey? Does there always have to be something more complex? Why?

I said at the beginning of this essay something along the lines of everytime I ask a question, I seem to end up with dozens more and I never seem to locate any of my answers, which irritates me. This essay has left me with so many more unanswerable questions, and I still haven’t answered the eponymous one.

Who am I?

Description
Who am I?

Well, isn’t that a question and a half? I can say what I am, that’s easy. I am human, I am female, I am fifteen years, one hundred and ninety three days old (as of March 30th 2006) and I’m a little over five foot two inches tall. But who I am is still a mystery. I have no idea who I am, and the more questions I ask, the more the answers seem to elude me, I just seem to be faced with more and more questions. In all reality it’s a vicious spiral, dragging me down deeper into the midst of an identity… well… it’s not an identity crisis, more of an identity search. I’d love to know who I am, but the fact is I don’t and I may never know. I have to ask why it matters? Why do humans constantly strive for acceptance, to be wanted and to fit in with everybody else, whilst at the same time strive for their individuality? How can it be possible to be both?

I am half Irish, and half English, born and raised in Leeds, West Yorkshire, England. Those are facts. I’m good with facts, you can’t argue with them, you can’t change them. I don’t like change, it bothers me. Lots of things bother me. The school bell for example, it rings one minute out from the BBC clock, that probably shouldn’t bother me, but it does anyway. I have to have a special routine, I watch TV at a certain time, I brush my hair at a certain time, and I live my life according to this schedule of certain times. When my routine is disrupted, that bothers me. People! They bother me a lot. I don’t understand them and I don’t expect them to understand me – how can they? I don’t even understand this ‘me’.

There’s that girl again – ‘me’. Even though I keep mentioning her, I don’t really know who ‘me’ is. I know that she’s not anything particularly special – kind of bright in the intelligent sense rather than the social sense, she’s not very pretty, and is often misunderstood; dismissed as difficult, or awkward. I suppose I am difficult, I suppose I am awkward, but why bother telling me it, if I already know? The other day when I cried in frustration and refused to talk to anyone, someone called me a ‘brick wall’ that really hit a nerve. As I’ve said before and will most likely say again, I don’t understand people. Well emotions confuse me even more. I think they’re completely unnecessary, they’re nothing but a waste of time.

I’m like a computer; I take information in and I process it. Emotions do not compute. It’s like; recycle bin, control alt delete, system failure! So… I turn on the anti virus and block it all out. I am a brick wall, but don’t call me one; I’ll only end up crying. I cry a lot, for a girl who doesn’t understand emotion. I tend to cry out of frustration, when things don’t go my way, confusion, when I know what’s right and everyone tells me it’s wrong, sheer irritation when things aren’t it order, or sleep deprivation when I’ve been up all night, rather than cry for feeling sad.

I don’t sleep. At maximum a few hours rest each night, the minimal needed to keep myself alive. That’s another thing I don’t get, another meaningless waste of time created by this species that claims I am a part of it. Why do people only live part of their lives and spend the rest of it sleeping? If we’ve been given it, why waste approximately one third of it with our eyes shut? While you sleep away at 3am, I’m awake, living my life. You might think it’s lonely, but at least I’m living and I like being alone. Not only do I not understand people; I don’t like them either. I don’t get along with them, and never seem to adhere to their so-called ‘logic’. So being alone suits me, and it always has done. As soon as I was old enough to crawl, I’d try to crawl away, as soon as I learned to walk I’d try to run. I never let anyone too close to me; I know I’ll only end up getting hurt. The few people in this world who will accept difference and will tolerate ‘eccentricity’ as is often used in reference to me, will end up hurting me one way or another. They will all leave, move on, or die, so why bother?

People tell me that the ability to think and feel real thoughts and real emotions is what separates us from the animals, shows what people know. Nobody ever seems to agree with my way of thinking but does that mean it’s not real, and we’ve already established it’s system error with me for emotion – but does that mean I’m not human? I’m questioning facts now, which isn’t good. Facts are facts. I have two eyes, ten fingers, and two feet – yes, I’m most definitely human. Even if I don’t understand them.

I sometimes worry about getting through this thing we call life, when I am whatever it is I am (which is what I always will be) and people are people (which unfortunately, they also will always be). How am I supposed to function in humanity, in a society full of stereotypical up and down life forms, that seem to exist solely to frustrate, confuse or irritate me on some level?

I am an alien, a stranger here, one who does not for the most part, feel welcome in your world. You and I might sit under the same vast sky, breathe the same polluted air, and we might happen to be situated on the same planet, but it’s a completely different world to me. My world makes sense, facts are facts and nonsense is nonsense, whereas in your world people seem to have trouble with those two, there never seems to be a clear line separating them, but instead a space in the middle, an emptiness to which they can seep through and combine. Why can’t black be black, white be white and we ignore the shades of grey? Does there always have to be something more complex? Why?

I said at the beginning of this essay something along the lines of everytime I ask a question, I seem to end up with dozens more and I never seem to locate any of my answers, which irritates me. This essay has left me with so many more unanswerable questions, and I still haven’t answered the eponymous one.

Who am I?