Mother, am I normal?

Who knows what is normal? I know I don’t. I often catch myself thinking I must be crazy, crazy for having these thoughts and ideas, ones that, surely, nobody else can have. But – like I said – I don’t know, do I? Maybe everyone’s heads and hearts work the same way. If that is really so, and you are all like me, then we’re a sick bunch, that’s for sure…

One of the things about myself that bother me the most, is the fact that I am so hopelessly unable to let things go. Friends, family, dreams, things, everything I have ever lost that I wasn’t supposed to lose. And I cling to the memories of these things as if they were arms, dragging me out of water that would otherwise drown me. I truly am a memory-junky, although it is not much of a high that they give me.

Being unable to let go, sadly often also means being unable to move on. I find myself putting things on hold, seeing them as temporary, when, really, my “real” life, my old reality is long gone, dead even. I find myself not daring to open my heart to someone, because they won’t be in my future, I have all of that planned out with someone else. Only, that someone seems to have made a change in their schedule.

It is the same thing when I read a book. At least when it is a good one. I often cry at the end of it, simply because its over. Then I immediately start reading it over again, not to lose the feeling, the moment.

But moments disappear, they always do.

It is a very human thing, I suppose, lingering like that. It is one of the many things that make me what I am. But does it make me normal? Does it make me good? Not that the two necessarily have anything to do with each other… I just wonder sometimes. And I certainly do not know, I definitely do not understand.