Taya (In Progress)

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                     Have you ever just woken up, stared at the ceiling, not being able to move? Looking at the baby monitor on your nighstand that is there so your parents know when you wake up. If you're breathing. If you fall. Because you can't yell. You can't call their names to help you. That is my worst fear. Knowing I'm going to die, but being stuck in my own head with my screams for help. Nobody can hear me.         

          How many people have you met in your life that you had to spoonfeed at age 14?

          Now, hear me out. I can speak. But I can't stand the sound of my own voice. I don't talk like others. Think like others. And frankly this is in a whole different point of view. It's not me who is writing this but the spirit of me. My thoughts are different. My body is different. I am normal.

          But really I'm not. 

         My parent's lives revolve around me. They bathe me, feed me, brush my teeth. My mom is the one who sees me. She sees me as a teenage girl who has different variables than others. She shaves my legs, which I know is wierd under any other circumstances. She puts on my makeup. She does my hair. Every day. There is dedication. That's love. 

          I have my mom, my dad. My dogs and my grandma to support me. I know there are a lot of kids with normal bodies that would switch lives with me to have people that love them like that. There is no cure for my disease yet, but I go to physical therapy, and I am learning how to use my hands. When my mother was pregnant with me, my nerves were severely damaged, and I was paralyzed from mouth down. The nerves in my arms are getting stronger, and I am learning. I will never be normal. But what is normal anyway?   

          Waking up, pressing the snooze button at least six times before rolling out of bed groggily. Making breakfast, getting dressed. I do all of these things, just not by myself. 

          I hate my body. I hate my reflection. The face looking back at me isn't the face that anyone would ever fall in love with. How could you love someone so ugly? Every night before bed, for my whole life, my mother would tell me I'm beautiful before I went to sleep. I think about that. My mom wouldn't lie. She tells me what she sees and in her eyes, I am her beautiful daughter who she made, held in her body for 9 months. My spirit is more valuable than my appearence. I am the most breathtaking thing she has ever seen. 

          I just wish that I could see it too.