Twice Again

I'm Not That Different

Why don't they just leave me at home?

Right, in case something happens and I die. Or something.

It really sucks sometimes, being out in public.

I should be used to it by now, but it's the people. The people who stare, who joke, who tease.

I'm not that different.

It's not even like it's the children who are the issue. They're still learning.

It's you. The adult. The parents. The teenagers who live only by feeding off of other people's struggles. By laughing and teasing and gossip.

Everyone else is eating. Having a good time.

The food honestly looks and smells pretty nice.

I wish I could join.

But here I am, with my feeding tube. Goop entering my body.

Are they confused about why I'm not eating?

Do they think I'm too stupid to know how to eat?

Why are they staring at me?

I don't want to be at this dinner party either.

Maybe I'm just a party pooper.

Everyone wants to let go of their worries. Drink the night away. Dance. Talk. Share.

Escape from reality.

I'm not that different.

But here I am, a stark reminder of what could happen to anyone.

A horrid discovery. The scroll of truth.

They think I'm a burden.

Eyes piercing my head and my heart and my everything. I can't turn around but I know they are staring.

I know I'm different. I know I'm in a wheelchair.

I know I can't do the same things as you.

I know you think I'm a waste of space and time. Of potential.

I'm not that different.

With so many people staring, making me feel bad. With so many people thinking such strange thoughts about me.

Internally answering questions that they are too afraid to ask. Twisting and melting and straining the truth to their own ideals.

I've also come to think that I am a waste of time. Of space. Of potential.

Is this what you'd hoped your stares would convey?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm at a restaurant. Again?

Wait, it's a wedding. Why am I at a wedding?

My family doesn't usually go to weddings. I'm too weird for that.

I attract too much attention.

I close my eyes, sighing in defeat.

It hurts, knowing that there are lasers pointed at you. The stares, the whispers.

I'm just ruining their time.

But wait, nobody is paying any attention to me.

I'm sitting at a table with my family.

I'm eating normally!

Nobody thinks I'm weird!

No stares, no whispers, no questions.

I can be myself.

I smile. I lift my hand to wave to my sister across the table, as if to say, "look at me!"

Wait, it didn't work. Try again.

I lift my hand to wave...

No, again.

I lift my hand...

No. My dream is ending.

People are beginning to stare at me again.

Back into a reality where I can't wave, I can't eat, I can't sit at the table with everybody else.

Back into a reality where really, all I am, is a waste.