It doesn’t take long to figure out that I’m messed up. Most people realize that on sight. It’s almost like everyone’s playing a game of Where’s Waldo, looking out for strange people, and they find me. They stare for a while, or try not to, then move on and turn the page. I’m a walking, talking book of Where’s Sophie. If that version made it to shelves, though, it probably wouldn’t sell very well. It’s much easier to pick a girl with a mutilated face out of a crowd than a man in stripes and glasses, and what kind of challenge is that for readers?
When I say things like that, my therapist says I’m internalizing my depression. That being a burn survivor isn’t something I should joke about. My terrible excuse for humor is a great form of self-expression,
When I say things like that, my therapist says I’m internalizing my depression. That being a burn survivor isn’t something I should joke about. My terrible excuse for humor is a great form of self-expression,