Beautifully different. (reverb10.com)

Prompt: Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what make you beautiful.

Beautiful? Lighting people up? Those phrases would never be used to describe me. Not by anyone. It would be worth a chuckle if it wasn't so pathetic. I've always been a bit dark and serious, not by choice I assure you. Blame it on circumstance. Blame it on geography. Blame it on always being the new kid. Nature versus nurture if you'd like. Last in line of a dysfunctional family. Parents antisocial isolationists. Sociopath siblings. It's a wonder I'm not crouched in a corner playing with my drool. I've never been able to shake that darkness. It clings to me like soot. I smile, I wave, I play nice but it doesn't matter. It's like wearing one of those clear plastic masks that only slightly distort your features. People can see through it and know there's something not quite right underneath. But the thing is, there is no mask. I smile because I'm happy. I wave because I'm friendly. I play nice because that's the right thing to do. Sometimes I feel like there is this giant shadow looming just behind me that threatens people. They look at me as if they can't believe I don't know it's there jibbering just behind my back. There has to be, right? What other explanation is there? Animals love me. If I were evil they'd keep their distance.
I'm married, if you can believe that. He's a wonderful man. He's aware of the darkness, can feel the vibe as he calls it. Like a harmonic dissonance, thrumming just below the level of cognitive perception. That sound, that underlying track, that causes anxiety with no perceptual reason. He has the ability to tune it out. He may be the only one. Or maybe he's just tone deaf. His taste in music is questionable.
My darkness also allows me to see the darkness in others. Those people who dazzle everyone else, the life of the party, but whose eyes are flat and glassy. The ever present smile never reaches them. They're like buttons on a child's rag doll. Lifeless. And they know I can see. The shadow behind me recognizes the depth of their darkness and clutching my spine, sends warning bells off in my head. That's when the hairs raise, the flesh dimples. I wonder what their eyes see. Can they see something in me? Do they think they see a kindred spirit or an adversary?