KWhite

*This is My interpretation of a person I once knew. It is fiction, perhaps.
A point that cannot be clarified without stacy's input. Enjoy, and think*

I can speak.
In my mind I can talk about as good as the rest of you. But no one will ever believe it.
I get so damned frustrated with the babytalk, if I could make my hands do as I want them to, I would slap the ones talking so stupid to me!
I am 17 now, and they say I will not see 20. They say it right in front of me, in the most matter of fact way. Then they think my tears and strangled cries are because my wheelchair has become uncomfortable.

Maybe life is just uncomfortable.

I was a "normal" child until I was 3, then a terrible disease took control of my life.
My name is Stacy, and I wish I could tell you that in words.
I guess if you need a picture of me, consider Steven Hawkings. The only difference being he has the ability to make himself understood.
What I would do for that ability.

Oh, This sounds like the people that take care of me are cruel. I do not think so. My mom could not deal with it anymore and gave me to the state, herself to alcohol. These people take good care of me, I even think, no, I am certain they love me in their own way.

But they still tend to treat me like a piece of wood. I mean can you blame them, I even tend to think of myself like that.
I think it is the babytalk that angers me most.
Do you have even the slightest image in your mind of what I go through?
I am fed through plastic tubes. That is necessary and there is no way around it, I can deal with that.
I barely manage to clap my hands together, and when I do it is a big thing. Do I have to tell you how much I want to scream at eloquence lost.
No not lost, no one believes I have it.
I sit locked in my mind for years on end, thoughts tumbling into my ego and finding no way out.

It is is so bad, it would do no good to go crazy. There is no way to communicate that to others. So what would be the point?
This is...life.

This is life?

Like I said, I am 17 and would have been a pretty girl I think. Sometimes I see my face in a mirror and I wonder. But that is a dream so far beyond reality that I would waste little time on it, except dreams are all I have.
Well that and the television.
I mean , come on, where did you think I learned the language.
I spoke like most three year olds before this damned disease struck. the words became more and more, I just can..make..no..USE..of..THEM:
The woman she holds me when I try to scream, and I cry in the broken sons that are almost the only way I have of communicationg. I do not want to do this anymore. God please let me do this no longer.

I am done crying for a while now. Thanks for your patience.

Sorry, that happens, my legs hurt, I hope she comes to move me soon.
Can you imagine how embarrassing it is for a young girl to have her diaper changed.
Sure, She does it in another room, but I could die everytime it happens and NO ONE sees my embarrassment . It is not only in Space that no one can hear you scream.

There is a guy and his wife. They are often here, friends of my family. They watch my eyes. He plays soft guitar music for me, and smiles. she ALWAYS talks to me as though I am an adult. It is not much, but when it is all you have. Funny though, little kids will come and talk to me, I think soemtimes, if I THINK at them really really hard. They can hear me!!

For him and the music, for her and the human dignity she lends me. for the little kids that accept me.

For them I can manage a grin and a small clap of my hands.
They are all to often not there however.

I guess I trouble people. A lot of folks do not see me, I mean, one look at the drool running down my face and they turn away quickly. I wish to hell I could turn away. The shame is stupid, I and they all know I cannot help it.

But I AM a 17 year old girl you know.
I saw a television program on Mr. Hawkings, that guy is lucky. He can talk.
It sounded funny and was slow, but he had the chance to tell someone, anyone......

What ideas are locked in his head, the worlds and universes that each mind generates new.

I mean, take my perspective. For Me solitary confinement would be a step up. I could at least scream.
I do not know how this will end. It is beyond me, that it will end is my sole comfort now.
I only know my name is Stacy.
And I wish you could get to know me.
Live your life.

Stacy.

**P.S. This did not come out at all as I wanted it to. It just seemed to come out. I can thinnk of little that would be more soul killing than this little girls reality. Wherever you are stacy.
Much luck**
Kelly