Were you trying to walk or something?

Umm no, buddy.  Please don’t ask me that.  Anyone.  Okay?

An acquaintance asked me that in reference to how I broke my ankle.  In public.  Someone who sees me weekly -in a wheelchair.

How did I fall?  Well let’s just say it is the first and last time I did or did not do something in a moving vehicle.  Always wear your seatbelts kids.

To say I was urked by this remark is putting it in light terms.  I think this individual meant no foul play, but ouch.  I have fallen in my permawheels state of living numerous times.  Off the toilet.  Out of bed.  Trying to get off the couch…

Even worse, at a younger  more heartbroken and desperate  age I had tried walking.  In vain.  After my disease progressed and I knew I was losing this wonderful thing ability.

I remember once at age eleven…the start of junior high…walking/lopsidedly-running with no balance.  In my room.  In “secret.”  My mom saw me and knew I was upset.  I lied and told her it was because I wanted makeup.

That weekend I bought my first items of make up.  Artmatic.  Two lip sticks and one blush compact with two shades of pink blush.  Those gold letters will always have this association for me. 

A year later, I tried standing barefoot against my bed.  One of my aunts always told me to just *try.*  I fell, tore my nail, and had to have it removed in the emergency room.

These memories are so fresh and are flooding my mind.  Because of one innocent, albeit rude, question.

Call it PTSD.