Set to some overly touching tragic-story music like they do in movies:
Ever since I was little, I’ve been different. I didn’t realize that I was for a long time because I was just me and my own thinking was all I knew so I had nothing to compare to. My parents didn’t push the issue, which I think is pretty cool of them, and were happy enough that I was healthy and not missing any limbs or anything. But then school came along, and with it peers, and all of a sudden there was a whole group of kids that were not like me that I couldn’t help but compare myself to.
At first I didn’t care that I wasn’t the same as them; I was me and I saw no reason to change that just because they thought I was weird. But it didn’t take very long to start trying to squash down the otherness, even if I didn’t truly change who I was, and never bring it up or try to hedge around it or change the subject when confronted. It was just easier that way. Sometimes the creeping thought even presented itself that maybe they were better than me, that maybe I was less than them somehow.
Then I got a little older, and the other kids still thought I was a freak, but I didn’t care so much about what the world thought anymore, at least not for myself, and I started to not be so embarrassed by my weirdy preferences. After all, who were they to dictate what I’m allowed to like or not like? But still I never brought it up and tried to just ignore it for the sake of not being given a hard time, as I had been and knew I would continue to be.
More years later, and I’m still the same different as I was when I was a kid. Guess it’s not just some phase or something after all. But now I’m starting to see that this freak characteristic of mine is maybe not such a bad thing. Maybe, even, it’s something I can not just tolerate about myself, but something I can be proud of.
I don’t care who knows it, even if they judge me for it. And so I declare: I am Bailey, and I don’t like peanut butter. Or chocolate. Or any combination thereof. Think what you want, but I’m happy with my so-called “deprived” self.