Why I'm not so Special

I am nothing special, maybe a little strange and demented, but I am human, meaning you and me and the billions of people on this planet all have a million things in common. We breathe air, are covered in a layer of hair, have nails and a conscious, friends, enemies, parents. We eat and drink, play and die, scream all our hurts into the void. But all of these things that we have in common are infinitesimal to all the differences that makes each and every one of us oh so special.

I have seven tattoos, each an intimate part of me. Three come from my trauma, the defining points of me. Losses of my childhood friend, my cat, my soul, colors and gnarled faces, memories repressed not so long ago. Two come from my desires, hidden deep down and dark; a band of lunatics, a demon, all the things I love that I'm not supposed to. My last tattoo is pure, ironically my first, outlining my passions, the Gaelic lettering and claws nothing but a gentle caress, it is plain and private, a lot like me and will therefore stain my skin, another dark mark on me.

My hair is currently blue, with a little bit of green, shaved on the one side and longer on the other. It is no surprise that everyone stares at me. My mother doesn't approve "you look like a boy" is on constant repeat, but she doesn't know that's the intent, she isn't quite ready. The bisexuality went over smoothly, although they still have their doubts, the boys I have dated were nothing to write home about. I am so over boys, even if sometimes I dress like one, I have yet to find one that treats me how I want. It makes me a little selfish, to want something sweet, someone who looks past my aggression and wants only to take care of me. So girls are the next best thing, and I can't say they don't look hot, tall, with long hair, large curves and muscles abound. I am a twig "perfectly proportioned" as I'm told, but I wish I had more to me, maybe then I wouldn't be constantly cold.

However, dating will have to wait, school is my only priority. I study and tutor and work twelve hours a week. I get a few hours to myself each day, and breakdowns have been all around, but I only have until May, then I'll finally be done. I hate my Anatomy class, learning each body system in only two weeks; I like Psychology better, it makes way more sense to me. But I had no choice in the matter, doesn't mean I won't complain; I'll scream it from the rooftops, and even worse, the class starts at eight. I am not a morning person, anyone who knows me will tell you, I prefer the darkness and the quiet, what can I say, it runs in the family.

I have a cat and a brother, only a year younger than me. We aren't like most siblings, united and friendly since we were only eight. Sure we argue and debate but nothing substantial; we would kill for each other and isn't that what love truly is? He is going to Phoenix and we plan to live together in Chicago, next winter is only a year away. Oh my home may be Detroit, and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but Chicago is where I came from, where my cousins and grandparents all are. The city is beautiful, Lake Michigan vast and gray, the skyscrapers just keep on going and I have fallen to the ground trying to see follow it up all the way. The Willis Tower is a lie, any Chicagoan can tell you it's Sears, but the view is spectacular, "I can see Michigan from here!" I plan to make it my home, or at least visit more often, but school comes first and I currently don't have the funds.

And speaking of money, while my job at school isn't that glamorous, when I am home I work for what I consider to be the best coffee house. Starbucks is stressful, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't, but making the drinks and talking to customers, a shift there always brightens my day up. My coworkers are angels, kind and accommodating, I miss hearing them laugh and insult one another. And the company isn't too bad, Starbucks does better than most, with competitive wages, flexible hours, and benefits out the wazoo. But my dream job is even better, full of lions, tigers, and bears. Of giraffes and Eagles, snakes and everything except spiders. An Animal Ambassador is what I want to be, it's why I get up each and every morning. To spend everyday with a different animal, to do my part in saving the world, not that it will really amount to anything.

And I guess at the core, the one thing I have for myself, the darkness and depression that makes up my whole self. Writing is one way I deal with all the pain, but sometimes there is too much, the voices in my head too commanding. "Jump off that building, stop eating for a month, lay in bed until you wither into skeletal mush." The voices of my anxieties, my doubts and my hate, that inner voice that is so cruel, shoving all my mistakes in my face. I'm doing better now, or so my therapist says, but I think I have just suppressed it all, found a way around it, simply come to accept it. That darkness inside me, the other Steph in my head, she is angry in order to hide her sad, she screams in my head and I've taken to just telling her to fuck off. Somedays she listens, and recedes into the quiet, but then all my anxieties scramble to fill in the void. I guess in the end, I don't really mind the other Steph, she is always there for me, even if she is kind of a bitch. But she aides in my writing, pulls the darkest thoughts from the back of my mind, of the texture of blood and how exciting it is to watch the light leave someone's eyes. And in the end I will say, please appreciate my candor, when I am panicking and can't breathe, I miss that other Steph and the numbness of the depression she brings.

My happiness is fleeting, the constant noise of darkness always right there, but everyone in my generation has felt it at one point or another. So I guess there is nothing special about me, statistically there are seven other people who look exactly like me. Death doesn't affect me, my trauma sewn deep, but is it really anything that someone hasn't felt before me? I let my trauma define me, my aggression and snark the first thing people see, my sexuality actually the majority. I am lonely and heartbroken, my plans for the future nothing but a dream, the pandemic was the best time in my life, the earth coming to an end too soon for those dreams to become a reality.

I am Stephanie Lynn Ruff, my name meaning "garland from the lake" and there is nothing special about me. But I exist. I am a person and saying that I am special, that everyone is special, is admitting to the truth that no one really is special at all.