TDV 41: Symptoms Of The AstralApril 22nd, 2009 by Sharkchild
Just get inside!” my mom yelled.
“But please, let me—” I tried to explain.
“No! I don’t want to hear about it. Just go to your room. I’ll let you know when you can come out.”
I climbed out of the minivan and went into the house. My body trembled with a mixture of rage and adrenaline. I went to my room and closed the door.
It had been another day at school gone irrevocably bad.
I was sick, but that did not stop me from getting into trouble. Having sickle cell disease actually made things worse. As if a magnet, I attracted the most fiendish people—the bullies, the cheaters, the socially elite. My sickness was a beacon to the devoid of morals, and I did not like to concede to their ploys. It was that trait that proliferated my folly. Being weak and different in appearance was one thing, but the impulse for people to use me was more twisted than the disease itself. I had resolved to never give in without at least a half-hearted fight with my feeble arms. It was those same, very feeble arms that put me on the school’s list of irredeemable troublemakers.
I sat at my bedroom desk with my face between my hands, staring coldly into the tattered wood. When the sun set, I did not even turn on the lights. I stayed in the darkness, festering in thoughts of hatred and disgust.
What was wrong with me? I thought. I was imperfect physically, but I did not understand how that encouraged, or predestined, my daily demise. There was no justice; there was never a verdict to explain how I was so punishable. My wayward health was the splinter of my life, but it was not the source of the pain; the source of the pain was the unending rejection.
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