Movies about the quintessential teenage experience (whatever that is) tend to represent a common theme about people with disabilities: they\’re stuck in the nerd crowd, the slow crowd, the crowd that gets made fun of. If a teenager has a device that is used to improve his or her -anything- and to bring that quality closer to 100% operational, that device is singled out and made fun of.
It\’s not just in the movies, either. I first experienced it when I was ten, when I had to get glasses. My mom picked me up in the middle of the school day to take me to get them. The school receptionist dialed into our class\’ loudspeaker that my mom was there to take me to get my glasses. I stood up to go, and a boy that I was friends with — and had a crush on for years — turned to me and said, \”Nice knowing you while you were cool.\” Yes, he really said that, and it stung, obviously. So even though I desperately needed to wear glasses, I wore them in my pocket except when I needed to see the chalkboard. I preferred to be legally blind and unable to see people\’s faces than to be \”uncool\” or made fun of. (It goes without saying that I had severe self-esteem issues.)
Eighteen years later my glasses are now contacts, but I\’ve got a shitload of other devices:
+ A mouth guard for bruxism and jaw clenching, which I\’m supposed to wear all the time but I don\’t because it makes it hard for people to understand what I\’m saying. It also makes me drool.
+ A knee brace, which I\’m supposed to wear all the time to prevent my knee from dislocating; I only wear it when I\’m doing something very physical like bartending, but considering I\’ve dislocated my knee while browsing in a bookstore, that\’s not really helping.
+ A cane, when I need it (which is more than I use it).
+ A coccyx cushion to sit on, which I\’m supposed to carry around with me to anyplace I might sit down; I usually forget to bring it with me out of my car and have sometimes left it behind at bars and restaurants. The cushion is big, funny looking, and not the least bit discreet.
+ As of today, I have a new addition to my device arsenal — a lumbar support brace, which I\’m supposed to wear all the time except when in water or asleep. It\’s uncomfortable and not the least bit attractive looking. I\’d rather wear a real corset.
+ Add to all these devices a little purse or bag in which to carry the topical and oral pain and other medications that I often need while I\’m out and about.
I look like the personification of a short bus.
I can only shit with laxatives, which means I\’m only shitting about twice a month. I\’ve got a high fiber diet going, but it\’s not making the bowels work — it\’s only making me gain weight. My cystic acne flowered into five enormous red ones this month, including one on my chin that was so big it caused my lower lip to swell up inside my mouth. I\’m so frustrated with how I look that I shaved my head again, to try and get myself \”clear\” of the feelings stuck inside me. It only helped a little.
My self-esteem is about \’round my ankles these past two weeks, which is fitting, actually, because I\’m going to go see Liz Phair perform Exile In Guyville tonight. I listened to that record non-stop when I was in middle school. Middle school was the last time I felt this awkward and ugly.
