Warning: angsty ramblings ahead <!-- s

--><img src="{SMILIES_PATH}/icon_razz.gif" alt=":P" title="Razz" /><!-- s

--> I swear I’m content and happy frequently and do, in fact, feel an entire range of emotions.
I worry too much about what people think. I know this and I know I should stop because it hurts me. I know others think being otherkin is a choice. I didn’t choose this. Why the heck would anyone choose this? I know others think this is some form of escapism (I know I’ve been accused of it). Back when this was one of the roots of my depression, this used to be something I tried to escape from. I feel like I spend most of my social time and energy worrying that people will think what they inevitably think. Either that or pretending to be normal in the hopes that they would like me, but then I feel like I’m lying. I am lying.
Now that I actually am starting to enjoy it, I am afraid that gives the people who think I chose this more reason to think so.
Even in the otherkin communities (no offence), there is a lot of drama surrounding who is fluff and who is valid and all that crap. I have a pretty good idea of who I am, but I am still learning. I crave the ability to talk about this with someone. But I can’t. I know I sound like fluff. I am deeply ashamed of it. I end up not really having anything to talk about because I am afraid of talking about what I need to talk about.
Why do I care so much what others think? Because I don’t like being hurt. Because I want to be able to trust someone. I want someone to be able to talk about this with someone without fear. But I can’t.
How I feel about this when I ignore what everyone else thinks and the fact that I’m not supposed to exist: It feels natural. It feels right. I feel like myself. I feel whole. I still didn’t choose this. I don’t see it as special or good or bad. I see it as something that just is, something ordinary.
I am well aware of the fact that I am not supposed to exist. I am well aware of the fact that I am possibly insane. Yet, as hard as this is, I resist the idea of not being real. I would hate myself if I wasn’t real. I have hated myself because I know, intellectually, that I can’t be real. I am terrified of insanity and despise stupid fakes.
How do you guys deal with this?
I'm the one with the power around here. -Rumplestiltskin