I'm Laying Down My Gun

There are times, when I'm dead tired and burned out, when my mind is completely wasted away and my body can barely move, that I ask myself:

Is this a war worth fighting?

I'm not talking about high school now, or life as a teenager. I'm not even talking about life in itself. I'm talking about the war within my mind, within the minds of everyone else who possesses the same kinds of gifts that I have. People who bear the same burden I must bear day after day.

It has taken me sixteen years to reach the point to where I am today. It seems like such a short time to you, doesn't it? But in those sixteen years, I've lived more than one life. I've been so many different people...

Each night I dream of worlds to which I can never travel. Every day I think about the world I live in, and wonder why I ended up in this one. So many more places, faces, times and tales--so many I'll never see. I will never have more than this world can offer.

In these sixteen years, I've come to see that I am indeed different from everyone else. My mind, even my brain, functions on a completely opposite plane than the rest of the world. No, I'm not more intelligent than the rest, and no, I'm not "special." I'm different.

You don't believe me? You think I'm just creating a miserable defense for my behavior and thoughts? A few key points of interest to consider when trying to decipher exactly how my mind works:

1.) I'm synesthetic [not synthetic, note the spelling difference]--for those who are unfamiliar with the term, it means that there are connections in my brain that very few other brains have. Bridges between parts of my mind that other minds never built. My senses are crossed. In the easiest description--words, numbers, shapes, some sounds, and even some smells each have an individual color to me. Some have colors that I can't even put into words. Imagine my discomfort when people unknowingly pair hideous letters with beautiful ones; or worse, when pretty smells and ugly smells clash in the air. It's awful sometimes.

Right there, you should already know I'm right about being different. Very few people are lucky [or cursed] enough to have synesthesia, and it's different for every single synesthete. Since birth, right from the bat, I have been dubbed "abnormal." [Spectacular.]

2.) I feel others' emotions. We've been through this one, and I don't intend to explain it again. It's weird enough the first time.

3.) The dreams! The vivid, imaginative, colorfully detailed dreams. Dreams that blend with my conscious mind and mix in with reality. How unnerving.

4.) All the dejá vu. Around six times a day, lasting anywhere between three seconds and an hour. Annoyingly persistent and indestructible. Darn it.

5.) Everything else--the hidden instincts that take me by surprise, the way certain facts just drift into my brain and prove to be correct, the constant flow of ideas that have nothing to do with anything and yet still try to hold my focus... It's like my mind is out of my control, and I can't stand it.

Now that you believe me that I'm different [but not a freak--remember that. Freaks are people who do unnatural things for attention or a reaction. I hate attention, and I'm really not that freaky anyway, so ixnay on the eakfray idea.], let's get back on track. I was talking about my internal war, the one in my head.

Here's my big question--is it worth it to continue to use these differences, these so-called "gifts," in the ways that feel right and moral? To use them to "combat evil," in essence? That may be why they were given to me--to save lives and society's morals--but should I keep at it so religiously?

Lemme tell you--fighting evil is a full-time job. An occupation that overshadows everything else in your life. The minute you try to manipulate your mind to save the world, you destroy yourself slowly and painfully from the inside out.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. School is hard enough--I don't need to be combating the evil of the world, too. Just because I was granted these gifts [curses!] doesn't mean I want to use them all the time. Maybe I'd like a break, ya know?

Tell me--did Jesus ever get scared? I'm no son of God, but I feel his pain a bit here [and he seems like a good example]. I was shoved into a position I could hardly fill and not given a choice in the matter. Did Jesus want to be a regular kid? Did he want to forget about saving people from their sins, and just live his gosh-darn life while he could? I wouldn't blame him.

I can't die on a cross to save humanity. Heck, I don't even go to church regularly. But I've been given a job to do, and I'm scared to do it. I've been told to fight for what's good, using the gifts bestowed on me, and I'm terrified. I don't want to be a hero. I just want to be me.

I'm absolutely terrified.