It's another Saturday afternoon. xKara123 accompanies me through the breeze from my window, while my laptop warms my thighs. The calm abruptly ended when the notification came up... it was her... she was typing. I clenched my Pepsi and gazed at the monitor as it burnt my weak eyes with passion. The typing ends, "Hey."
Is this a joke!?! There's only one "y"!?! Does she feel the need to treat me as any normal person!?! I've accompanied her for 3 hours on Facebook, yet she just replies with a "hey"! I threw my laptop in frustration, but before doing so, I simply replied, "I have a disorder." I wasn't lying when I said it either, I really do.
I was born with a disorder. It seems like a weird disease, but it's a rare one, and rarities are always shunned by society; like how I was, I'm a rarity. I'm unable to tell the race or ethnicity of someone, it's always been a problem for me. One time, when I was at a party; I couldn't tell what race a certain girl was, and once I had asked, she walked away. It's a big issue and society just doesn't understand me, when that girl walked away, I had even told her that I had a disorder yet she kept walking.
I'm unemployed, uneducated, and without friends. All I do is stay at home, I couldn't imagine what would happen if I went back out there again. I've heard, that during the Salem Witch Trials, witches were burnt for being "different." Some guy on reddit even once said that witches had the power to bring you back to life; how is that a bad thing? Society will always find ways to shun, or even kill off different people. People don't even get me, my parents would always tell me that my disorder doesn't exist, but I wouldn't have any of it; in fact, I'm proud to be different.
The phone rings, it's mom. I sigh of disappointment, wish it were xKar123 telling me she's sorry. "Hey mom, what'd you need?" "Hi there sweety! Mommy misses you, how'r you holding up?" I couldn't take the embarrassment, for all we know, the neighbors could probably be listening on us. "Please mom, don't call me sweety, and yeah, I'm great, I think i'm starting to accept my disorder for what it is." Mom let out a sigh, I had to think quick by impressing her or else she won't pay my rent this month. "I've even found a good friend! His name's ehrr, Tom!" "Oh really?" My mom didn't seem like she'd fall for it, then again, I think I've used the "Tom" excuse before. "Look Micheal," my mother started to sound like she's getting right to the point, "I'm going to pick you up, there's someone I've wanted you to see."
The next day, Mother picks me up. We approach a small clinic, It was the one I used to visit as a kid. Oh great, they're going to talk about my condition again, why can't they accept I have a higher IQ than them and that I could understand what they're trying to do? "Hey Micheal! Long time no see?" "Morning Dr. Froman" I said in a depressing manner. We sit down, and unsurprisingly, discuss my condition.
Mother begins her introduction, "Micheal, as you know, Dr. Froman is a psychologist, and he wants to talk to you about your... disorder." Oh great, a psychologist, don't they deal with psychos? "I've read a report on you Micheal, and I'm here to help with your unemployment and lack of higher education." At this point I'm confused, "Wait.. what does this have to do with my disorder"? "Unfortunately for you Micheal, everything, you see.... the disorder you keep describing to your employers and classmates... it's not real." My mind is churned, what does he mean it's not real? Was I being lied to my entire life? "That's not true! Then how do you explain why people don't like me, or want to give me a job!?!" I scream at him, I couldn't take the disrespect he was giving me.
"Micheal... I don't know how to tell you this, but your only disorder is that you're colorblind to the point where you can only tell the colors red and green." My life just fell right before me, everything that I thought I was fell into the pit of lies, and I could see myself at the bottom of it. "You've been using the fact that you're colorblind, and making up a disease to deal with your social ineptness. I've spoken to one of your counselors in high school, she told me that whenever something you didn't like happened to you, you would always blame it on this disorder that doesn't exist. I'm sorry." The doctor looks at me with pity and relief, I let that sink into me at that moment. My parents had always told me that my "disorder" wasn't real, and all I did was try to make myself out to be special.
Just like in the movies, when a victims life flashes before his eyes, so did mine. I was a victim who only has himself to blame. I died on that chair as I was listening to the doctor; who's ramblings became incoherent as I became reborn.