I keep having this urge to call my mom and ask her if she thinks I’m weird.  Which will be alarming, even though it doesn’t mean I’m doing anything alarming, so I won’t do it.  I just kind of want to be like, ‘Am I fucked up?  Have you all been just hoping I’ll get some kind of normal?  Am I disappointing?  Is anything I tell you about genuinely interesting?  Has the damage dad did turned me into a different person every time I talk to you because I’m trying so hard to juggle all the things I think I should be and the things I am and the things that are safe?  Mom, am I fucking weird?  Would you like me if I wasn’t your child?’