The Definition of Normal

Some thoughts from my latest diary entry, while I recover from hernia surgery.

Not feeling too bad today, got one sore spot on the side of the wound, and still dealing with the itchies. Steve used some new dressings last night after my shower, but still not certain they are doing the job and stopping the eczema from flaring up. Funny how I used to not be allergic to anything, and now I’m more and more allergic to things which never bothered me before. I’m wondering if the all-over itchiness is a reaction to the antibiotics – even though they aren’t penicillin, maybe other forms of antibiotics are going to cause me issues from now on. Oh, to be normal.
Mood wise, I’m a bit better today, but still not ‘right’. Of course, I’m not even sure now what ‘right’ might be, it seems so long since I’ve been what I would classify as ‘normal’.

The true question is, have I ever been normal? I find myself thinking back over the past, and realizing that there were many instances in which I was displaying the type of anxiety that I suffer from now, but I kept bulldozing myself into overcoming it, kept trying to be ‘normal’. What I’ve begun to realize, is that this is my normal. This is the reality of how my life is. While other people are taking themselves out there, having new adventures, experiencing new situations – I am safer, calmer and more in control of myself if I don’t attempt these things. In some ways, I find the concept very sad. Will I always be this way? Will I ever have the opportunity to travel, to experience new things? Or will the fear continually hold me back from embracing life in the outside world.
And the bigger question this poses. Does that make the way I choose to live my life ‘wrong’ in some way. Who chooses what is the right way to live, and what is the wrong way? Where is the line drawn, which says the way a life can be acceptably lived and passes whatever the test for such things is. Is there even a test? Is it wrong to be happy in my own environment, to only travel through my imagination, to seek out knowledge through the pages of a book, or the screen of a laptop?
Who makes the rules? Who is to say what is the right way, or wrong way, of living this life?
I often feel the guilt is being placed upon me, by me, to be something I’m not certain I’m capable of being. I like the way my life is now. I don’t pander for travelling to other exotic destinations. I am comfortable within my enclosed environment. Does that make me wrong – and everyone else right? Are there other people out there, who feel the way I do?