Sunday

I have survived another week in the trenches of college.

I always feel out of place here, being the poor kid playing in the middle-class playground. I'm here by the grace of Uncle Sam alone, otherwise I would be out in the working world, trying to make it.

I am always reminded of that fact on days like today, when I sit with the other college kids in church, and realize to myself that I have almost nothing in common with these people. I don't drive a car (not instinctively knowing left from right is a problem when driving, something I have yet to overcome entirely), I can't live off-campus (it's more expensive for me to go off-campus; here on campus everything is covered for me) and while they all wear fashionable clothes and go partying once in a while, I can't do either. I have no money for fun and frivolity, and I don't have Mom and Dad paying for anything.

That said, none of them are facing being sick for potentially the rest of their lives, either.

My roommate and I actually got into a discussion about it last night, I think, over what possible good this little disease could do me, to try and justify why God would pull such a stunt.

She couldn't give me a good answer, and I know why: There isn't one. What possible reason could there be for this to happen to me? The one thing I said I would be freaked if I lost, and whoop! it's taken away from me faster than lightning. Sounds like a vengeful, angry being to me.

I once said that I would rather be in a wheelchair than lose the use of my arms. It's still true. If I don't write something, anything once a day, I get all of my emotions banked up and they tend to come out of me in ways that aren't healthy. Writing is my outlet, my release valve since I was 14 and angry at the world.

But what, pray tell, can I do when the release valve gets stuck?

I have spent most of my 21 years being pushed around, left out, left behind, being forgotten. Now there's this. Somebody up there remembered me, and decided it would be fun to watch me struggle to function emotionally and physically without the use of my hands. Thanks for remembering me, God.

I have tried not to get bitter. I have tried not to be furious with the supposedly almighty being who resides somewhere up there. But you tell me: what would you do if the one thing that made you happy and balanced was ripped away from you, and it was unlikely you would ever get it back?