I don't like to start out anything I write with statements like, "You can't possibly understand," but you can't possibly understand. I'm a normal guy; I like stereotypical guy things. I think Tom Brady is awesome. I love his hair. I hope he never retires. I will watch any sport. I like meat; I have to make myself eat a vegetable.
Then again, I'm a cripple.
The thing you'll never understand is that it's really hard to believe your body has a goodness when no one except your helpers and your mom touches it, at least for long stretches of time. Sure, it's gotten better. But I got asked by a buddy in college what scared me the most about the women I knew in college. I didn't even hesitate: I don't like it when they touch me. I don't understand it.
Dating, romance, and sex are hard enough when you're young and scared. Let's add being different to the equation. I felt like an alien from another planet.
As much as I was anxious about physical touch, I wanted it. It's a human thing. Friendship, business, family, it's all there. Most people have a ton of it, even weirdos who say, "I'm not a hugger." Like what planet are those people from? Anyway, most people get more than they want, like the Israelites and the quail, after they got sick of manna in the desert.
Not me. Not us.
My first romantic encounter almost had to be a woman with a disability. Even if I never wanted to limit myself. Most of us don't, by the way. I couldn't and wouldn't call it a relationship, because it wasn't moving toward anything permanent. Everyone is messed up, but people with disabilities are more messed up than the rest of you. Emotionally, I mean. This is an able-bodied world; every "normal" thing people do is some part fresh and exciting, and utterly terrifying.
I can't even worry emotionally about discrimination, because if I did, I'd have gone insane at least 15 years ago. It happens, it probably explains why I don't have a wife and 6 kids, but I can't think about it. I have to live.
Oh, yeah, chastity. I'm a Christian. That happened, and continues. Fornication is a sin, along with most of the other things people think are normal to do. I firmly believe the Catholic Church is right about all of this. I firmly believe that God prohibits things that harm us because He loves us. I firmly believe all of it even when I fail. In fact, I believe even more firmly, in the times of failure, because they show me I am utterly nothing in my own strength.
Yeah, I don't know what I'm doing. You're probably gonna hold on a little tight, when some woman comes around. She's gotta be crazy. She can't possibly... Does she even...? What is this? All people--all men--think like this. Multiply it a thousand times, and you get an idea of my thought process. Does it even terminate in actual thoughts? I can't answer that.
And if there's trauma added to all this? Man alive! If I didn't believe in grace, I'd invent it, because I got here somehow.
I'll go on living with good hope, despite everything. Jesus isn't, and won't be afraid to touch me. He's not afraid of me. Jesus, the Incarnate Word, left the wounds of His suffering in his glorified body. He left them for me to see, to hide in. For what reason, what glory, have you left me this broken body, O Lord?
Then again, I'm a cripple.
The thing you'll never understand is that it's really hard to believe your body has a goodness when no one except your helpers and your mom touches it, at least for long stretches of time. Sure, it's gotten better. But I got asked by a buddy in college what scared me the most about the women I knew in college. I didn't even hesitate: I don't like it when they touch me. I don't understand it.
Dating, romance, and sex are hard enough when you're young and scared. Let's add being different to the equation. I felt like an alien from another planet.
As much as I was anxious about physical touch, I wanted it. It's a human thing. Friendship, business, family, it's all there. Most people have a ton of it, even weirdos who say, "I'm not a hugger." Like what planet are those people from? Anyway, most people get more than they want, like the Israelites and the quail, after they got sick of manna in the desert.
Not me. Not us.
My first romantic encounter almost had to be a woman with a disability. Even if I never wanted to limit myself. Most of us don't, by the way. I couldn't and wouldn't call it a relationship, because it wasn't moving toward anything permanent. Everyone is messed up, but people with disabilities are more messed up than the rest of you. Emotionally, I mean. This is an able-bodied world; every "normal" thing people do is some part fresh and exciting, and utterly terrifying.
I can't even worry emotionally about discrimination, because if I did, I'd have gone insane at least 15 years ago. It happens, it probably explains why I don't have a wife and 6 kids, but I can't think about it. I have to live.
Oh, yeah, chastity. I'm a Christian. That happened, and continues. Fornication is a sin, along with most of the other things people think are normal to do. I firmly believe the Catholic Church is right about all of this. I firmly believe that God prohibits things that harm us because He loves us. I firmly believe all of it even when I fail. In fact, I believe even more firmly, in the times of failure, because they show me I am utterly nothing in my own strength.
Yeah, I don't know what I'm doing. You're probably gonna hold on a little tight, when some woman comes around. She's gotta be crazy. She can't possibly... Does she even...? What is this? All people--all men--think like this. Multiply it a thousand times, and you get an idea of my thought process. Does it even terminate in actual thoughts? I can't answer that.
And if there's trauma added to all this? Man alive! If I didn't believe in grace, I'd invent it, because I got here somehow.
I'll go on living with good hope, despite everything. Jesus isn't, and won't be afraid to touch me. He's not afraid of me. Jesus, the Incarnate Word, left the wounds of His suffering in his glorified body. He left them for me to see, to hide in. For what reason, what glory, have you left me this broken body, O Lord?
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