Nobody ever talks about what happens to the losers- the punks, the nerds, the misfits- after high school. We didn’t all sell out and become normal. We didn’t all disappear into the fabric of society. Some of us manage to maintain an existence in a culture that at once demonizes and reveres us. We have become the exotic. The artist, the progressive, the visionary, even the hip. We all come from somewhere. Our trials and tribulations did not end after high school. We all have our stories.
Your entire life has been spent looking for a place to belong. Not normal enough but not weird enough- or rather not extrovertedly weird enough- you’re doomed to limbo. Refusing to sign yourself over completely to any ideology, you’ve sealed your fate as a perpetual outsider among outsiders. You fumble through life, constantly searching for something you know you can never have, more for something to do than anything else, really. If you didn’t do that you’d be so goddamn bored all the time. So you go through the pain and the heartache and the heartbreak for a few flecks of excitement. You willingly go through the contradictions that inevitably accompany a social life for people who are not meant to be social, until you feel like an oxymoronic moron. The pattern is the same: you try to learn from your mistakes, but most of the time you get stuck in a cycle, a single circle within the spiral.