Puzzle Piece

There’s another me.

No…no.

That’s not the right way to put it.

There’s another Autumn Johnson. I’d really like to know her middle name. My first name in and of itself is rare. But my name combination is even more so.

Facebook and what others have told me have both become handy tools for me to figure out who she is.

We have 31 mutual friends on Facebook.

She has red hair.

Tall.

Skinny.

Drop-dead gorgeous.

A model.

She does beautiful photography.

An only child.

Popular.

Very popular.

She lives in Oregon.

Popular.

Did I mention that yet?

Gorgeous.

She’s in TeenPact.

She’s the kind of girl I’m jealous of.

Gorgeous.

Stick thin.

There isn’t anyone who doesn’t like her.

Smart.

Confident.

Pretty much everything I want to be.

I suppose I’m being selfish.

Unfair.

But she’s not the only girl I’m jealous of.

If you’re a teenage girl and friends with me on Facebook, I’ve probably found some reason to be jealous of you.

It’s truly terrible.

But if you were to pinpoint my biggest problem, it would be the fact I put myself down. And people have already. It’s no one’s fault but my own, really.

I have difficulty remembering a time when I didn’t find myself wishing I was like someone else. Even as a little kid, I was different. I could never run as fast, climb as high, or hang on to the monkey bars as long. I was always that kid with her nose buried in a book. Or doodling. Or something.

On the soccer field, I was more interested in making a new friend than scoring a goal. When in t-ball, I was picking flowers or talking to one of the grown-ups helping out in the field instead of running the bases. I don’t have many memories of my early days in ballet, but drawing from other memories, I’m sure I found daydreaming more interesting than plies. Don’t get me wrong. I was happy to be in all of those activities. But…I wasn’t like the other kids.

You know how teams or dance classes and such have that sense of togetherness? Close friendship built by a love for a sport or an art. I never felt apart of that. I barely remembered the names of the other kids on my teams or in my classes.

Rarely have I felt that sense of belonging. I seem to always feel like an outsider. Someone looking in. Merely an observer. There are few people with whom I feel I “belong”. When I’m with them, or talking to them, the thought of oh…this is what it feels like plays through my mind. This is belonging.

Sometimes I feel like a stranger to myself.

I know sometimes I purposefully back myself away from people. But that’s part of these feelings. I can’t randomly join a conversation without feeling awkward. Like I’m not apart of anything. Even if I’m invited to join.

People think I’m quiet.

That’s true.

But really only when I feel like a complete stranger.

Which is a lot.

I cherish those moments when I feel like I belong.

Art classes.

When I held hands and prayed in a small circle of friends before we said good-bye.

Waltzing in a hotel breakfast room.

Staying up to all hours talking about nothing and everything.

Having a heart to heart with a girl I’d just met.

I don’t know why I’ve never felt like I belong.

I’m almost positive that if you took a scan of my brain and compared it with scans of others, it would be vastly different. I have never met anyone wired like me.

Or maybe, I’ve been too consumed to notice others like me.

My behaviors and mannerisms are all odd. My mind comes to conclusions that make sense to me, but convince others that I’m not listening.

I hear that a lot.

You must not have been listening.

One of the most frustrating things in the world is to not be able to explain myself and how I got to a conclusion.

I pick up a lot.

People think I’m oblivious.

It’s all selective.

Every single day I yearn to be like everyone else.

You’re all so different, but all so much the same. I feel like a random neon crayon in a world of primary colors. People always say being different is good. Not this kind. Sometimes it is. But only God knows just how much I want my puzzle piece to fit.

To be like that other Autumn.

Or many of the other girls I know.

Truthfully, I don’t know myself very well. I’m a stranger in my own body.

But I’m here for a reason.

God has a purpose for the way he made me. I’ve been crying out to Him as I’ve written this. To help me get it out. This isn’t easy. But it needs to be written. It needs to be said.

I keep feeling a pulling. Something that keeps my pen moving. God has a reason for me writing this now. And I’m going to keep writing. Even if it’s for just one person. Someone like me who’s crying out. Aching for the feeling of belonging. It’ll be worth it.

If you’re that person, you’re not alone. God is in control. There is someone else like you.

As I’m writing, God has started whispering to me. You the puzzle piece that I am? Maybe I’m trying to put myself in the wrong puzzle.

God,

I’m putting myself back onto the table. I’m a puzzle piece, desperately wanting to fit in. I want to belong. To be apart of something beautiful. Please, put me in the puzzle that I belong in. Don’t let me take control. Place me where You want me. I don’t want to be anywhere else.

In Jesus’ Name,

Amen.