Mirrors and stares

I’ve never been a big fan of mirrors. They have a way of showing me too much reality. I wish they only reflected me from the neck up. But, nope, it’s all there.

The worst is the dreaded after-shower mirror glance. Showers start off nice. They can be relaxing, refreshing, enlivening. They can make me feel young and alive. But stepping out, toweling off, and catching my reflection in the mirror is always jarring and unsettling. In my head I’m a 28 year old dude and that’s it. But not in the mirror. It shows me a twisted, misshapen form. It shows me skin wrapped tight against bone. It shows me scars and weird angles. It shows me an old, crooked man with my head on him.

Every fucking time. I haven’t gotten used to it. I hate the reminder of disability.

Another disability reminder I hate: staring. It’s not the people who stare at me that I hate. See, I get it. I’m a curiosity. Rare, unique, not average. It’s natural to want to stare at unusual things. That doesn’t mean it’s not one of the most fucking annoying things to deal with, though. Again, I just want to be a 28 year old dude. But when Jane Doe and her drooling brat are tracking me with their owl-like saucer eyes, it makes it especially clear to me that once again, I am NOT AVERAGE. I am a curiosity.

Disability reminders…man, just fuck ’em.

One comment

  1. Telly (wife) says:

    Fuck ’em! Who cares what the other bastards think! What matters is that you’ve got your lady that thinks that you’re sexy and hot just the way you are. Those mirrors don’t do shit to make anyone feel at ease!

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