The Box: Part II
Why do I have to be like this? I'm not some thing to play with or to feel guilt or justify your own goodwill nature. I'm not some thing to be bought or pawned off like some trinket. You are damning me into a tight box where your guilt resides in and your fucking sympathy makes me feel like I'm going to slit your throat and cut your vocal cords off. How fucking dare you speak to me like that! I've suffered enough and I'm fucking tired of it and I just want some peace and quiet and if you can't fucking give me that peace and quiet then I will literally raise hell fire over your mind and your thoughts. I'm not some fucking gatekeeper of your fucking guilt.
I do write this out of fucking frustration. I'm not some fucking poster girl for respect. You need to learn how to speak to and understand and fucking grow up! I have no time for this. FUCK IT! I hate being in a wheelchair!
If you have an ounce of empathy you will fucking leave me alone! Fuck it! Fuck it.
Fuck this society. I am done being pretty and sweet. I'm mad and angry and most of all, I'm fucking tired. I'm just fucking tired of my fucking disability.
(This feels good!)
I'm trying to cope with fucking small-minded people. Just leave me alone. Please. I don't need you to fucking manipulate me into your own thoughts or to your own fucking goodwill. I'm not some fucking charity shop.
I'm just an author. Who has fucking wheels for legs.
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YOU ARE READING
Love From Me
Non-FictionA short anthology about my experiences of being a disabled person living in the 21st Century in Australia. Love From Me is about me having Cerebral Palsy and me coming to terms with it. In retrospect, for people who have known me, you know that I ne...
