It’s odd, really.
Writing all this out has given me a better perspective of myself.
I got an email from one of my friends the other day after he read a couple posts from this blog; he said that he would never be able to put himself out into the world like I do.
That thought has stayed with me for a few days now.
I pictured myself from years gone by; a shy, quiet boy (believe me, it’s true), afraid of himself and everything around him. Especially what was inside him. I remember hiding it like a filthy secret, dirty laundry to be eaten or hidden at the bottom of a dark closet.
And I think of myself now, of how much I’ve grown. I wonder, as I have before, what my life would have been like if I hadn’t been born with a disability. If Cybill Palusen was not my constant companion.
I know that I am typing these words, these thirsty thoughts that drink from my blood, mostly for myself but also for others out there who live like I do with a disability.
Every post here is painful for me, but it is also a release.
By telling others, by writing down my thoughts, another small part of me is set free.