Attack of the Spaz

Like any little girl, I dreamed that one day I would become a Princess, marry a Prince, live in a big house and wear magnificent dresses and have perfect hair and make up at all times. Like Jasmine in Aladdin or Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

 

This hasn’t happened, and never will. It’s not because I haven’t actually met royalty, I think that if Prince Harry was to meet me, he would fall in love with me instantly… Naturally..

 

It’s because I suffer from bouts of what I can only describe as Spaz Attacks.

 

 the strand of cerebral palsy isn’t that severe, I am able to limit the amount of comments and stares I get, purely because my condition has only really affected my hands, legs and balance, when sat down, my disability looks mild.

 

Spaz attacks happen to me though.  It’s almost like my Cerebral Palsy lies in wait for making me look like an actual retard that I am.  All the effort I do daily to limit the truth of how bad things are dissolves temporarily.

 

These Spaz Attacks can happen at any time, but usually manifest with crucial social or romantic timing, without warning and there is nothing I can do to stop them.  I am not sophisticated, or charismatic.  I am a Spastic.

 

I will dribble, this is the most embarrassing thing, when I get nervous I get in flappy panic. The more flustered I get the more chance there is of me dribbling on you, this has happened on countless occasion and something, I am confident, that has never happened to Kate Middleton.

 

My brain will blurt out random thoughts so randon infact, that sometimes even make me, the speaker of these thoughts, think ‘she really is special needs’. 

 

Don’t ever take me out for dinner, My crippled hands can’t cope with knifes and forks in public, at home, when no one watches me, fine, perfect. Out in public, forget it. I will need you to cut up my food, and even if I don’t the food will probably end up, down my front or mushed into my trousers, even when I wear a napkin round my neck like a four year old.  It will happen. I can’t help it.

 

I am unable to do buttons and poppers on jackets and don’t even talk to me about gloves, I have the shittest hand eye co ordination in the land, the balance of a drunk and no space awareness what so ever.  Some task take for ever…

 

It’s impossible for me to have a nice photo of me, when somebody says ‘Let’s have a photo’; it strikes the fear of god into my subconscious.  When I saw this episode of Friends I thought it was a dramatized anecdote of my life:

 

 

 

I can feel the Cerebral Palsy creeping over my face like a wave. Making me look Stupid, so even if I do meet Mr Right, there will be no nice photos of me and him in existence.

 

What a catch… Fancy a date?

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