The stare
Ever since I was a young girl I perceived I was different than everyone else around me.. People would give me quirky stares, and although they tried to hide it, I hear them murmur about me. It used to pain me that people would gossip, often my mother would speak out for me , or stand in front of me. In a way I felt safe behind her, as if no harm could come my way. It became an indicator that my mother was my protector.
Throughout the years I acknowledged that my physical appearance was dissimilar to others. . I accepted being different from everyone else. People continued to stare, and they continued to whisper. However, I did not continue to care. . Constantly I felt others deliver me a look of pity. It did not come off as a shameful look but a sympathetic one.
Last week on saturday I went to the laundromat with my mom. My responsibility was to watch my little sister. We decided to sit at a tiny little picnic table by the front entrance. Later throughout the day this little walked in with his dad. When I looked up from my phone he was staring at me hard. At first I just brushed it off and didn't care. After 5 minutes I looked back up and he was doing the same thing.
Next, the same situation happened in July. To celebrate my little sister's birthday my family went to chuck e. Cheese. I was minding my own business and playing flappy bird. A younger boy walked up to me and asked a very rude question. The question was “ Do you have a disease?. I was livid when he asked me this. My reaction was to just walk away. Throughout my entire life nobody has ever asked me this. Deep inside I was hurt but I did not show my pain. Honestly, there are certain ways to ask questions if a person is curious about something.
As a baby I was diagnosed with congenital microgastria. Doctors also told my mother that I have scoliosis. Due to my condition of scoliosis it caused me to have shorter different arms than everyone else around me. However, a therapist would come and help me maneuver my arms and learn to walk. These two conditions are the reason my arms look the way they do.
Furthermore, there have been times when people admired how I look. For instance a grown man apprised me that I was a inspiration. My response to him was “ Thank you”. People are often surprised that I do the daily things in life like: go to school, ride the bus, play games, and etc. If nothing else I am not ashamed of how my arms look. Often times I hear people murmur ‘’ she’s handicapped or disabled.
Honestly, I am astonished that people can stare or gossip about you and not care. When I am home alone, I think about what people say about me and how affects me. It is sad to say but even my mom underestimates me from time to time. Everyday I perceive like I am fighting to fit in with everyone else. Worrying about what someone murmurs about me
has become emotionally tiring. Time and time again I have to figure out why people feel the need to talk about me. To me personally I feel like I belong in the world.
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