The Inside of a Perspex Cube

I've been arguing with myself over whether or not to write this piece for several days now, partly because I don't want to come off as whiny or self-involved and partly because it's going to deal with one of the most intimate parts of my life. I'm going to tell you what the real difficulty is about living with a disability.

At the outset, I want to be clear that although other disabled people may hold a similar view to mine on this subject, I do not claim to represent the entire social group. We are individuals who live in varying circumstances, after all.

For many people who've never had direct contact with someone in a wheelchair (even today, that's more common than you might think) the most apparent and horrifying aspect of life in a wheelchair is simply that, the inability to walk. While I have often wished that flights of stairs didn't present the obstacle that they do, that's not really a major issue in terms of my psychological well-being. Even needing help to get dressed or access toilets has little impact on my day-to-day existence. These are physical realities I've dealt with since childhood, to which I ascribe no lasting sadness.

The thing that isn't so easy to live with is of a more intangible nature and therefore, is harder to define. From the time I started to become consciously aware of my place in the world, which was around my early teens, I've had a vague sense that I didn't quite fit in. I'm not talking about being an outsider in the usual sense - it's common knowledge among friends and family that I don't particularly care about mainstream sport and that I love comic books and other fictional fare - no, this feeling of abnormality exists at a more basic level.

You see, what my life lacks is the very thing most people my age take for granted and I've finally realised that it is the relative ease of social interaction. The average 25-year-old thinks nothing of going to a bar with friends after work or taking a roadtrip on two days' notice. However, because my life necessarily involves reliance on others, such simple spontaneity is pretty much impossible. Doing things or going places of any substantial distance requires planning, because the fact is that I'll never have the freedom to be completely alone and self-determinate. This bitter truth often leads to a profound sense of isolation, as though I can observe the world and the opportunities it presents, but never quite achieve full participation.

I wish I could conclude with some sort of bright-eyed and upbeat resolution to this philosophical quagmire, but I'm honestly still trying to find one. If at some point the search is successful, I shall proclaim it to the sound of glorious trumpets,