Crossing The Border
There sure seems to be a border between me and most other people and it is my
wheelchair. Just like a double yellow line across the asphalt of a county road, the wheelchair seems to affect all aspects of social interaction for me.
I am young, intelligent pretty, and busty. I am completely rehabilitated after becoming a paraplegic about a year ago. I go to the same places, do the same things, work in the same place, wear the same clothes and even the same shoes-- Everyone seems much more friendly and empathetic than before I was hurt. But am not being asked out anymore. Friends yes; but male companionship has become a faint recollection.
Yet nothing about me has changed about me except the wheelchair. I look exactly as I did before I was hurt.
This weekend I crossed the border for the first time since I was hurt. Instead of staying in my wheelchair I transferred out at every opportunity and I was amazed at the difference in how people replaced to me--guys and girls. It is almost unbelievable the difference it makes if people don’t realize I am handicapped.
Sitting on a couch at a large party, the wheelchair folded and put away behind me, looking like a normal girl, guys approached me for the first time since I have been disabled and treated me like a normal girl. It was terrific.
Is this just how it is now? Will the wheelchair always constitute an unbreakable psychological bar for guys no matter how pretty I look? Is there any way to get people to realize that I am fully alive and just as sensual, even if my pelvis and legs are dead?