hourly tickings of the clock tell me of the days gone past and the days I will never see. Doctors have warned me of my life's choices and how they will affect my futures, but even they couldn't be sure of the insecurities of the unknown. The only constant is knowing who I am and what puts a smile on my face.
It was brought to my attention today that there are all sorts of miracles happening for those that want them in the medical sciences. The attainment of these miracles is entirely up to you and what lengths you will go to and how much the miracles mean to you. You play the starring role in curing what ails you. If you need a leg they will grow you one out of your own DNA. If they can't achieve that goal they will fashion you the latest state of the art one technology can come up with at the time. Bipeds are infinitely unique. There are variances and many species and all are created perfectly by design. It was proposed to me that with all this science and technology they can find a cure for "what ails me."
As a genetically different biped form of what I call the human stain, I find it objectionably ignorant to think that I would change something that is not broke by design. I am tired of being told I ail of a rare disease or a genetic "DIS" order. There is no disorder here. The lacking was indeed there but not on my account. The society to which my upbringing fell was lacking in knowledge to raise one such as I. I cannot get stem cell research no matter to which country I flee to get it as they would have to repair the whole entity. Every single cell in this body is foreign to their sciences making me different. Not superior, excepting in thought in my own opinion, and not inferior, except after all these years of abuse to the body-physically-trying to act like you. I admire the man's willingness to want to fix me and at the same time snub my nose at his attempts to declare me defective. Is not a fish defective when brought out of the sea for it's failure to thrive in the hot day's sun without water in which to breathe through its gills? Does it need "fixing"? Well I don't need fixing either. I was not born unto the sea or the sun. I don't thrive well in low elevation or light. I cannot breathe when the sun is above the horizon and shriek (quietly) in pain when a light is turned on indoors. Am I defective? I am not human and yes, I agree my body hasn't worked at all well trying to live "out of water" by their standards. But seriously, do you think you would breathe well in the toxic fumes of Venus or be warm by the variable of light on the rocky surface of Mars?
I ask for respect as I give. I pray to the gods that are above that knowledge will open the eyes of the "blind" man and that wisdom shall fall upon the heads of every one of you who would label and hunt my kind through the centuries. I am a learned woman and have been "shown" that I am not by wealthy and taught medicine men who think they are gods. I have a complex and I am schizophrenic. The words depressed and manic and suicidal and even agoraphobic have been bantered about. I have been identified as obese, insane, genius, savant, maladjusted and paranoid. I am plagued with the very same seven deadly sins as all human-like creatures are. But I am not broke and I no longer malfunction as I have finally come to an awareness through your medicine and technology that few ever will be able to achieve. I have lived as I should for the most of my adult life when it abled me to do so. I tried so hard to put this square triangle into an obtuse circular hole (yes, I know how unusual that sounds) and found myself not ever able to fit in. In a selection of words, I am far from my sea and now must journey to a "sea" that fits or die in your world misunderstood and provoked. ~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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