Forgiven

This wasn't real. Life wasn't supposed to turn out this way. Why? Why me? The shocking realization came over me that day that I wasn't normal, that I never would be anymore. I would spend my life in a wheelchair, I would be laughed at, I would be the heart of gossip. I would be worth only medical bills, and when my parents looked at me, they would see only a remnant of my dead sister, who would always be better than me. "Why did she have be the one that died?" they would say, pitying their bad luck. "You should have died instead of her." Keeping me alive was already a hassle, one that they would groan about to me all day. Because yes, favoritism exists. My sister was the one with the IQ of 175, my sister was the one who was pretty and popular, my sister was the one that should have lived instead of me, and my sister was the one who was adored by everyone, including my parents. Now that I was crippled and disabled, all the more reason for my parent's bitterness to be directed to me. Cursing, I hurled insults to the drunk driver that had done this to me. Then, I sobbed until I slept.

I cried over my sister, about my losses. However, my depression and despair soon overwhelmed me. As life went on, I became a different person. I had no purpose. Suicidal thoughts began to fill my head. Intravenous fluid had to be pumped into me to keep me alive. My parents became spiteful, talking about how I was a waste of their money, an even more utterly useless waste of space. They locked me in a dusty closet for days, with no food. During these times, I would be so close death, yet I cherished them as a time of peace. A crazy part of me enjoyed it. I knew I should seek help, but perhaps I was still in denial. I wanted to pretend life was perfect.

At school, I had been transferred from my normal classes to Special Ed. My mental capacity was still what it had been before the accident. This only made things worse. "I heard she's crazy," the popular girls would whisper. "I heard that she did that to herself, that it was purposeful." I was completely aware of when people glanced at me, when suddenly people started whispering around me, the rumours and gossip, and the people who mourned my sister. I was jealous of her, for the reason only that she had gone the easy way out. She had died and I had not. She had taken the easy route, leaving me behind to deal with the abuse. Sometimes, I actually wished the accident that had paralyzed my legs had taken some of my mental capacity and consciousness with it. At least I wouldn't have to suffer.

Perhaps the only thing that kept me alive, the ray of sunshine in a dark, bleak, world, was the kind caretaker my insurance company hired to take care of me. My parents always made sure that they were nice in front of her, that they appeared to be the perfect parents. She made sure I was well fed, and kept me alive. She sneaked me little bits of candy, and cared for me. Her kindness was something I needed and craved in my world. That little bit of genuine love was what nourished me, what I thrived on. One day, she came to give me my daily injections, she was appalled to find me locked in my punishment closet. Shaking her head and murmuring, she gave me my injections and left. I thought that she had been scared away, that the only bit of kindness in my life had been whisked away.

The next day, I was surprised to find investigators coming to my house. While I was asleep and completely unaware, my parents had been arrested and I had been transferred to a hospital. Doctors studied my paralyzed legs, not knowing what to say. They called my abuse, "the worst they had ever seen." I was sent to a medical facility, wondering if this was a dream. I stayed there, the Blackthorne Institution for the Disabled for three months. Three long, lonely months. Then, a saint from heaven helped me. My kind caretaker. She legally adopted me, led me through my fears, and kept me alive. To her I owe my life. I was one of the lucky ones. I was rescued. I have no regrets. In ways, I have lived a full life. Peacefully, I watched as I was slid into the bed from which I would not wake.