"I wore their version of me like a costume… until it started choking."
Dear Diary,
Today, I woke up and made a decision.
I was going to be normal.
I smoothed my hair into a style I saw on a girl who always seems liked.
I wore jeans instead of my floaty skirt — the one that twirls when I spin.
I replaced my mismatched earrings with tiny gold studs.
And when I looked in the mirror, I smiled.
But it wasn't mine. It was theirs. The one everyone else wears.
At school, I laughed at the right jokes.
Didn't correct anyone when they mispronounced my name.
Didn't bring up the weird dream I had about floating libraries and birds made of fire.
Didn't ask if anyone ever feels like their heart hums in colors.
I was soft, quiet, normal.
And for the first time in a long time… no one stared.
But inside, something ached.
A small ache at first — like forgetting to blink.
Then sharper — like trying to fold a song into silence.
By lunchtime, I was dizzy from all the pretend.
I sat at the table with girls who spoke in polished laughter, their voices like glass tapping against marble. I nodded along, trying to keep the rhythm.
But I missed my own music.
I missed saying odd things that made people tilt their heads.
I missed doodling clouds in the corners of my books.
I missed laughing too hard.
I missed me.
By the time I got home, I ran to my room and ripped the earrings out.
Threw the jeans into the laundry.
Put on my floaty skirt.
Painted stars under my eyes.
And exhaled.
It was like breathing for the first time all day.
I stood in front of the mirror and whispered,
> "I'm sorry I tried to shrink you. You were never too big — they were just used to small."
Because here's what I'm learning:
Normal is a costume stitched from everyone else's silence.
But my voice doesn't sound right in their echo.
I'm not normal.
I talk to clouds.
Name my shadows.
Write poems on the back of receipts.
Cry when music moves me.
Laugh like lightning.
Dream like I have wings.
And if that's weird…
Then I don't want to be anything else.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌧️💫