Everybody has something.
Maybe you were born with a metabolic disorder, or your body never made adult incisors. You have six toes. You're sensitive to light, or loud noises, or scents. You're allergic to shellfish, peanuts, milk, sunlight, or water. You have a temper. You need contacts or hearing aids or medications to get your senses up to snuff.
Maybe you were born in the wrong body for you, or the wrong religion for you, or the wrong country for you. Maybe you were born in the wrong century.
Perhaps your family is uncomfortably conservative, uncomfortably liberal, uncomfortably religious, or disconcertingly atheist. Your parents love you too much or too little. Your parents abuse you mentally, physically, or emotionally.
You could be dyslexic, or have ADHD, or find school really, really difficult for other reasons.
You are athletically, academically, or emotionally deficient. You are a certifiable genius, a professional athlete, or completely emotionally secure. You have issues with food.
You are painfully shy, perpetually insecure, or overly confident. You are socially awkward. You have hobbies that others consider strange, boring, or ludicrous.
Maybe, unlike your friends, you are attracted to boys, or to girls, or to boys and girls, or you're not attracted to anyone.
Maybe you are a loud chewer or the gas you pass is extra stinky. You bite your nails, pick your scabs, or moisturize incessantly. You have an abnormally large tongue, wide feet, or thin hair. Your skin is the color of night. Or clouds. Or noodles.
In any group of people, everyone is a little off. (If you don't know what is off about you, ask around. Some honest soul will share.) And, like everything else in the world, it's not a big deal. Our differences are what makes life interesting.
I blog rarely, because I'm writing books. When I do blog, I focus on writing, friendship, family, and books. Because my family's best nicknames are private, I use their birth years for shorthand: