bite me, dad!

to a certain extent, the fate of people with disabilities is to bottle things up: to keep quiet about frustrations, to relax because you know that some people somewhere have things much worse. I can do this usually: the indignity of being fed, getting messy, being spoken down to. But tonight dad was bemoaning how i have it easy; how he suffered most after my birth; how cp ruined his life. well poor you, dad, sitting there with your steaming tea and fluid arms, heranging mum for not having dinner cooked after she’d done a days work; taking the piss out of my speach when you just cant be arsed to listen.

well, bite me! in this malfunctioning body a bad decision gave mme, I put up with about ten times the stresses you do. and at school i saw people with problems ten times greater than mine.

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