After 38 years on this Earth, I have come to the conclusion that I am… an alien.
It’s ironic actually because I joked recently that I may have been switched at birth—due to the fact that I have a blood type science says it’s impossible for me to have given my parents’ blood types—and my son, upon hearing my statement said:
“You’re an alien.”
At the time I laughed. It was ridiculous. Me… an alien… what!?!
Now I’m more positive than ever that he had the right idea.
I don’t fit… literally… on this Earth.
I use both sides of my brain equally—which I’ve been told for years is scientifically impossible, but every one of these crazy tests they put out to measure whether you’re right brained or left brained tell me I am equally both. Some of them don’t even know what to say about it—they just tell me the news with some odd sense of panic… does not compute.
I don’t fit into any of the tried and true personality tests or profiles or categories. I’ve taken hundreds of them and they all give me wildly differing results—none of which actually describe me. Oh they might get one or two things on the mark, but everything else is describing a person who is not me.
I don’t think like anyone else I know… or have met—in real life or online. My brain simply does not process things the same way as anyone else on this planet. Things that make perfect sense to me, make other people crazy and things that I perceive as positively insane make perfect sense to everyone else.
Here is also the perfect time to point out the ongoing argument about my writing. I have insisted for some time now that I am not a “plotter” or a “pantser”. My writing style does not fit into either of those categories. It doesn’t even fit equally in between. It is a world unto its own… and the amount of “worlds” that I have inside my head at any given moment is quite simply staggering—as is the fact that I live inside them all… at the same time… all the time.
I can see in the dark. And sunlight—even on a cloudy day—is excruciatingly painful to my uncovered eyes.
I see colors differently than everyone else. I hear sounds differently. I smell things in a way no one else does.
I fall, trip and/or lose my balance constantly—and for no good reason. And I am rarely seriously injured. People comment that it’s amazing I haven’t broken every bone in my body considering how often I fall over… absolutely nothing! And they’re spot on. I fall, bruise, get up and go on with my day.
Medication has a completely unpredictable and often dangerous effect on me. No cold/flu/allergy medication has the desired effect—and believe me when I say I have tried enough different ones to say that with absolute certainty. Strong pain medication a) does not work the way it is supposed to, b) wears off ridiculously fast, and c) makes me violently ill. I could go into detail about other medicines, but it’s all the same thing.
I don’t fit in… anywhere. I have friends, but no one really understands me and no one ever has. I am literally happier being unattached than I have ever been in a relationship of any kind. I love my children and I connect with them in a way that is foreign to pretty much everyone around me.
When I talk long enough—openly—about how I think or feel or see the world around me, people have a tendency to look at me like I’m crazy.
And then there’s my beliefs; I believe there is life out there in the universe on other planets. I don’t just write about aliens and alternate histories because it’s fun. I write about it because I absolutely believe it’s true—and I believe it’s Biblical too!
So I ask you. . .
What other possible explanation is there?
© JC Morrows 2017