Dear Diary,
Today we got back our pictures from Picture Day. I heard everyone talking about how ugly they looked, while others comforted them saying they looked great. The footsteps of Ms. Gerard grew louder as she neared towards my desk to hand me my pictures. I got a hold of them and that was it. I did not know what to say. Did I look great or ugly? Was my hair combed nicely? Heck, what the hell did I even look like?
When my mom picked me up, she was so excited to hear that they gave the pictures out. She said, “O Honey, you look so beautiful.” I felt that I was supposed to feel warm inside, but my heart was cold. The word “beautiful” was void to me all my life. I heard so many times how “beautiful” the sunset was or how “beautiful” the stars twinkling at night were. What the hell is “beautiful”? This essence of “beauty” will never be a part of my life, rather, my sight.
I hate being blind, Diary. It stinks. Everyone has more opportunities than me. I can’t go play ball after school; I can’t go to the movies; I can’t see. In school, I hate all the questions, “what’s it like?” or “why does your paper have all those bumps?” And what gets me the most is when they don’t treat me like a normal person and try so hard to fit “my needs”. “Hey, I got that,” or “Let me explain to you.” I know they have good intentions, but it just becomes annoying every single time. Each time is a reminder of my abnormality. I’m not normal.
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