My Real Name

My first name is the same as my mother's, and my paternal grandmother's. My mother went by a diminutive of it, and my grandmother by the formal name, which left me kind of screwed in the name department. Not only do I use my middle name, but I use a nickname for my middle name, so nobody really knows what the hell to call me or who the hell I am. It's odd, when someone says my name, I don't have that feeling of recognition, of knowing that name belongs to me. I feel like a fake, almost guilty, as though I've usurped someone's else's identity.

I've spent most of my life feeling like an outsider, awkward, unsettled, uncertain, displaced. Sure, I was popular in school, but I never felt like the other kids. I aIways felt like I was just pretending to be one of them, and that I would be found out at any moment. I never expected to have the things in life that "normal" people did. You know, the husband, 2.5 kids, white picket fence, the eventual happy retirement enjoying the grandchildren. Don't get me wrong, I wanted those things, but never thought I would ever really have them. There are times I feel ashamed of myself for feeling that way, as though I've created a self-fulfilling prophecy, but here's the thing. I really HAVE always felt that way.

And I wonder sometimes, do I feel this way because my name has never felt like me? Or have I just never felt like me? How closely tied to our identity is our name? Maybe everyone feels this way, and it's just that no one ever talks about it.

Or maybe I'm just full of shit, and have been screwed up from the get-go, and would have been no matter what my name was.