What’s your excuse?

My childhood was plagued with the question: What’s wrong with you?  When I was small, it was my father. He was an only child straight out of the army who had the idea that there was one ordained way to do anything and that it was obvious to all sentient beings. Thus my actual or perceived failures brought my sentience into question. Did I mention he has a rather forceful quality when he’s mad? Oh, yes, he can scare the wits out of grown men, so as an undersized preschooler, I was S.O.L. (In retrospect it made me stronger, I kind of wish I could have given weak a try.)
So at home I was asked how stupid I was or some such variation on the theme. Then I went to school, where Miss C. continued the fine tradition of asking me and herself what was wrong with me. Of course, she wasn’t angry or annoyed-- hers was more a puzzled dismay, but that sealed the deal for me. The same question everywhere but at my grandmother’s house (thank God for that). I’m sure that Miss C. had no intention of leaving me wondering about myself and I know that in general, (that is: not frustrated by the ways of small children) my father both likes and respects me. Unfortunately, I came away with the ingrained habit of asking myself what my problem is. I must say, while it’s not the worst possible habit, it isn’t particularly helpful either.
I have noticed that at various points of my life, I have supplied a sort of official answer so that I wouldn’t be blindsided by the disappointments and judgments of others. It’s not so much that I want to please them (or displease them) but that I go through this awful analysis: ‘Have they caught what my problem is? Have they figured it out and nailed me with it?’ Of course, they rarely are making a valid critique or offering meaningful feedback, they’re upset because they wanted something particular from me and I didn’t ‘play right’.
But the question nags me and the fear of being blindsided by the lack of an answer is terrible. I’ve found that some of my official answers protect me, but they create this set up where I’m then drawn to either fix it or they start to take a toll on my self-concept. So, for example, I’ve used ‘I’m a freak’ which worked fairly well in that late high school/early college range. But at some point the answer became counterproductive. My last excuse ate itself several years ago, and I’ve tried the ‘there’s nothing wrong with me’ approach but (since I am actually a fallen, limited human) that answer doesn’t work either.
In the past, I kind of stumbled into my answer and this time I’m trying to be more mindful. Right now I’m toying with a slightly different approach. I’m thinking of presenting a need, a minimum requirement that must be met--one that is not really a fixable quality, but a fillable one. The current draft is something like: I need a minimum amount of creative expression or else I get depressed and irritable and generally unmotivated. That way the ‘fix’ is to give me the time/space for creative expression and the problem is an unmet need. I just have to convince myself that presenting this as a need will survive the critical lawyers in my head (my mind is a fun place to live, but it’s not for everyone--actually, there’s only enough room for me and God, sorry). So, I’ll let you know if I decide to go with this, or if I make some changes. Either way, you’ll know my excuse.