Fuck Love

Fuck every Disney Princess who got a Prince.
Fuck every story where the Prince gets a Princess.
Fuck every last protagonist who is forced to have yet another goddamn romantic subplot.
Fuck every person who preaches that partners are the keys to happiness.
Fuck every engagement ring advertisement.
Fuck jigsaw puzzles.
Fuck every "other half" you think you have.
Fuck the Romanticism of romance.
We no longer love people. We are simply obsessed with the idea of love.

Fuck everyone who's ever asked their partner to change.
There are 7.5 Billion people. Don't compromise just get a fucking new one.

Fuck idealistic thought.
Fuck the "perfect person".
When you find someone you love every last bit of them that you can.
The gold and the shit. If you don't love the shit then you might as well not claim love them at all because you don't.
And if you can't find any flaws then wake up because you love an image of them that you created in your head.

Be selfish for awhile.
When you only love yourself 20%, and someone else loves you 30% it seems like perfection meanwhile that's not even half.

Fuck every last person who says that love is the answer.

I've been trained to believe that happiness is love and vice versa.

The people that make me happiest are not partners. They are not lovers. They aren't even family.

What the fuck am I supposed to do when I feel my happiest around them and am now forced to feel as though it's love simply due to association?
It's the worst fucking part of my life.

Fuck every last drop of hope that led me to confuse happiness with love. They are not the same thing. if

Muscle Memory

    I absolutely adore the idea of being solely unique. I really try not to talk about the differences I have that I can't change. I hate the idea of having a "crutch" whenever I can't manage to do something. I've been forced to use them enough times. On occasion, I refresh myself on what each diagnosis really means for me just to understand myself better if I feel too alienated. I never wanna be someone's inspiration. My natural lack of ability should not be the excuse a normal person uses for self improvement. It's fucking insulting. I'm not special. I'm damaged. I even refer to both of them as 'Super Powers' as a way to not get depressed when I decide to tell people about them. I really just reserve that kind of talk for college essays and forced speeches. The masses love that shit more than Amy Winehouse loved alcohol.
       On a day to day basis I don't really think about it. I've had these conditions since birth. This is my normality. No one can tell unless they've been trained to know the real signs. To most people, I'm just Awkward, Blunt, and Unathletic. To myself, I know that I'm just an autistic kid with Cerebral Palsy.
       On the rare occasion I get belittled for something, it's at least satisfying to watch the guilt fall over their faces as I explain my ailments to those who ridiculed me. It truly was rare though. I had no idea what it was like to walk normally until I was 9. I remember only being able to walk on my tiptoes. My legs were so hypertonic that the stretching of my Achilles tendon in order to put my heel to the ground was torture. Funny enough, no one ever noticed except for my father. On the rare occasion he remembered me, it was only to scold me for walking like "a ballerina". "Stop it. Put your foot down like a normal boy. Want me to buy you a tutu and ballerina slippers? No? Then fucking walk normally." I remember that day so well. We were in line for a new amusement park ride. I love rollercoasters to death. But I was so unhappy I made him take me back home. To my mom. I was 7 years old. Looking back, it definitely showed signs of homophobia. Good thing I keep the 4 guys that I've kissed to myself- oops.
Anyways, when I was 9 years old I got my official diagnosis with spastic displegia. A mild form of CP. It mainly affects the legs hence the lack of a T-Rex arm like most people with CP get. Later that year they cut both my legs open and replaced my Achilles tendons with some sort of artificial tissue so that it was longer and my legs wouldn't tighten as much as I walk. I missed half of fourth grade from that surgery so I can't tell you much about geography. I had knee-high casts, I was in a wheelchair throughout the entire recovery process. I remember getting my casts off and the sound as my grayish, unwashed, bare foot struck the ground with the might of Ares. It was so loud. I was slapping the ground with my feet as I took every step uncontrollably. I still take loud steps to this day. Then came 6 months of physical therapy. It was really meant to be a lifetime of physical therapy but I was kid so the habit died.
      To this day, the physical pain of having my tendons cut is the greatest amount of physiological suffering I have experienced. After I recovered I no longer cried when I got hurt. I just began to stare as a wound would bleed and I understood that pain was just a feeling I could control my reaction to. Before then I was deathly afraid of experiencing any form of pain. Being so young, I learned a lot about perception and human experience of existence but I was still not mature enough to fully grasp the extent of such knowledge.
Why did I tell you all of this? Because for the last decade, the physician's words have been in the back of my mind on repeat but I just ignored it. He said that "it's a possibility" I would need another surgery when I got older. I believed in myself enough that I thought it wouldn't be likely. But he didn't say possibly. He said "probably".
    For the last 6 months, when I stand up there's sometimes an unusual feeling in the back of my calves. As I stretch my leg forward for a step I can feel the tendon pull like it used to for a bit. Maybe even the whole morning until I get used to it and forget. But it doesn't happen every day. The other day, it was pouring rain and my friend and I are on our way to get lunch. Neither of us had umbrellas. He ran most of the way there. Constantly looking back at me, egging me on to hurry up. I attempted to run but could only hold a soft strut. My legs could not run. Even though they had to. I could light jog maybe for 10 feet but I had to just walk. I had no control. Getting more and more soaked. My legs were too tense. In order to run there must be full contraction in both directions. But I forced myself to run just a little bit to catch up and it burned like hell, it was hell realizing that my legs are degenerating. All that surgery did was make me walk flat footed. Heel to toe. That's it. The rest of my leg was still constantly tense and toned. Sure, I could max out the leg press at my highschool. But only because my calves constantly flexed without my permission. Sometimes I can tap my foot Really fast out of anxiety. And there are times where I can't stop once I start.
       I'm faced with the realization that I have no super powers. I'm reminded again of this broken feeling. Drowning in the rain, the ballerina can't run anymore. Maybe it was just that that day was worse than usual. Maybe that's just wishful thinking. I have to prepare myself to go under the knife again but now that I'm wiser and more damaged than my innocent 9 year old self, how will I react this time? What would I possibly do Imobilized once again but now on a college campus? I honestly don't know. And I'd prefer to never find out.
With or without surgery, I'm faced with the fact that I'll have arthritis by 25. My legs will never calm down and so I will only degrade in ability from here on out.
I just hope it doesn't rain again soon. I'm not ready to feel embarrassed again.