Dear O.I.,

We have known each other my whole life and you never cease to rip me a new one, humble me, motivate and inspire me, teach me, and chuck curve balls at me to no end. I'm not writing this letter to tell you that I am thankful for the fragility you have bestowed upon my perspective (because how many times have we already heard that?), and nor am I writing this letter to express how irritated I am with you for side-lining me in so many of life's events (don't worry, I'm over it...almost). This letter is being written because I want to make sure you and all of your malfunctioning little collagen protein pals know how I feel and what I think of you. And to be honest I don't always know myself, so I hope you're ready for some confusion.

First let's go back to when I was around four and attending my first birthday party ever. The fact that my parents had let me go, despite your overbearing presence in my life at the time, was huge. It was at a Chuck 'E' Cheese arcade center - complete with a ball pit, ticket redeemable prizes, and dancing life-sized characters on stage. I don’t remember the order of events but somehow I found myself sinking into the maw of plastic primary colored balls. I enjoyed swimming my way around the piles of plastic balls, I smiled my tooth-less smile at other kids I found along the way, and wanted to see how deep inside I could go.  Needless to say that was a terrible decision and you had to prove it to me by smacking down my little four year old self with an epic smack down, one that was hard enough for my femur to be snapped in half. I don't remember if some other kid was involved or if it was my own excited idiocy that caused this break, but I am still a bit annoyed at how swiftly you squelched my childish joy. And that was the first time I realized how quickly Big Mysterious You, could really show Little Caught-Off-Guard Me.

“Oh crap where did we park the car? Does anyone remember which row and lot it was? What letter was it?” My family had just spent the entire day at Disney World and after all the stomach lurching, high flying, and twirling rides we were exhausted. We stumbled around the parking lot, trying to guess which quadrant of the town-sized parking lot we had left the rental car.
“You guys we obviously parked in the handicap section, let’s go ask where that is.” Everyone looked at me like I had uttered the most brilliant idea since sliced bread. Not long after we found the right section and only had to look for the wallet sized snap shot of me on the handicap placard that hung in the window shield. That’s only a simple example of how you have allowed me to help my family. There have been other ways too, like the time my entire family was able to live in one of the best suburbs of Massachusetts in Section 8 housing because our family has a disabled family member. I spent Kindergarten thru eighth grade in that idyllic city; essentially I grew up knowing that I would always have a purpose. Then, when we moved out of that suburb our family moved into an even better suburb. We moved into a house that was completely fitted to my needs; sure some of my friends in high school may have had their own bathrooms, but did they have their very own driveway? What about their own door to enter and exit from? 

But O.I., those are all materialistic things. I grew up incredibly confused about our relationship. Did all the hundreds of fractures or hours of crying my parents spent equal a house? Top-notch public school education? A safe environment for my brothers to be raised in? A dependable parking spot? The liberty to cut lines at amusement parks? I still don’t know the answer to those questions, and sometimes I think it doesn’t matter if I ever figure it out because we all turned out fine.

When I’m waiting for my orthopedic doctor to examine another one of your “pranks” I want to give you an earful. Usually I am too exhausted and preoccupied to really let you have it so I guess now is my chance. Seriously: What Is Your Problem? Sure maybe I shouldn’t have been dipping up and down on the see-saw, or maybe I shouldn’t have been playing four-square with a basketball, and I probably shouldn’t have been racing in my power wheelchair down the icy hill. But what about the time I was just reaching for my walker, the time I was getting out of the shower, or the time I was just sitting there and the bike fell on me? Were those things my fault? Should I not have been doing that? What were you trying to tell me? The sharp burning sensation of your scoff and laughter at me is less than appreciated. In fact, whenever I feel your chuckles I want to choke it, stuff it with my fist, cram a bunch of wet socks into your mouth and end you. How dare you, and who ever gave you the right to interrupt my life like that?
So, whenever I am lying on the metal table and waiting for the x-ray technician to idiotically ask if I can turn over on my side after breaking my femur, I am glaring at him but really I should be strangling you. THAT guy is only doing his job, but YOU – you are the cause of all of it to begin with. And I despise you for all the misplaced anger, hatred, and guilt that you have allowed me to foolishly dump onto innocent bystanders. 

For someone who, by your own existence, requires living a cautious and careful life – you certainly don’t have any restraints when it comes to pointing a finger and playing the blame game. You have let me wildly release my spite and irritation, or more often than not – because I usually try to be the greater person and the sensible adult, you have sat there smirking and twiddling your thumbs as I blame myself.

Now that I’m an adult I have begun to see your wily and twisted ways. There is no doubt that it will take me quite sometime to manage the mind games that you play, but I am getting better at them. Everyday I am learning how to deal with you. So go ahead, keep throwing those 900mile an hour curveballs and laugh all you want as they slam into me, keep trying to get the upper hand, throw me your best for all I care - but at the end of the day the joke is on you because ultimately it’s my life and it won’t ever be yours.

Bring it with all your best,

Posted in , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. RSS feed for this post.

Leave a Reply

Copyright © 2011 Perfectly Imperfecta. Powered by Blogger.