A/N: Please note that this story is a piece of fiction, it does not represent an individual's thoughts or feelings. None of the characters in this story represent real people.

This is all made up, by me, but it does represent a lesson we could all learn a little from...I hope.

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Snow is falling all around me, I'm outside and that's strange. Normally I avoid snowy days, but today I'm loving it. I practically hop down the sidewalk, each step is so light, so happy. When I stop and stare at the tracks I've left behind I smile, pulling my black wool jacket tight around my body for warmth.

There is nobody around me, I'm in the park and nobody can see me. I run and leap into the air, landing in a pile of snow and laughing to myself. I roll around and stand up, taking in huge breaths of cold air. Coffee.

I stick me nose out and sniff, spinning around, searching for the source of the smell. I want coffee so badly, I want to feel the hot liquid in my throat and embrace it. There's a cafe and I run to it, rejoicing in my own speed.

The door swings open for me and I'm enveloped in the warmth of the place, it welcomes me in a way I've never felt welcomed before, there's a girl with black hair behind the counter looking bored. She doesn't see me yet, and I take advantage of the moment, staring at her lightly freckled face. She looks how I imagine coffee feels, warm and smooth.

I step forward and she looks up, there are other people behind the counter now, busily making drinks and plating huge pastries for nobody. She glances in my direction and pauses, the corner of her lips curling up as she brushes the hair from her face.

There's a familiar pounding in my chest, it feels good and frightening at the same time. I take another step forward and there are people having their order taken, another step and I'm standing in a long line of smiling costumers. The smell of brewing coffee fills my nostrils, I'm surrounded by the sounds of people chatting and the whistling of steam powered espresso machines. The woman behind the counter makes eye contact with me and blushes.

My chest puffs out and I smile, eagerly waiting for my turn to order so I can have a chance to speak with her. As the line grows shorter and I draw closer to the coffee scented siren, a feeling of dread begins to swell in my stomach. The woman looks at me again and I recognize her, but not from this setting. Something's not right.

I begin to notice that the angle is wrong, I stare at the people in the cafe and their eyes meet mine. I spin around and the man behind me smiles and nods. I try to smile back, I turn again and bump into another man who just grins in return.

Suddenly people are pressing in from all sides, they all wear the same vacant smiles, emotionless expressions that are impossible to read. They restrict my arms from moving, preventing me from pushing free. I feel pain in my legs and scream to be let go, but nobody listens. They all just smile and look into my eyes.

I become aware of a sound. Beeeep beeeep beeeep. What is that? That drawn out beeping. It sounds familiar; I latch onto it. I tear my focus from the smiling people around me and I only hear the beeping. I know it'll take me away from this place.

With a gasp for breath I wake up. The dream fades as I feel the damp pillow under my face. I still feel constricted, I still can't move. I take in a few small breaths through my pillow and swallow with effort. The last of the smiling faces drift in my vision as I slowly open my eyes.

With a bit of a struggle I turn my head to the side and take in a gulp of fresh air. I slowly let it back out, feeling my lungs resisting. I breathe again, slow and controlled I tell myself, trying to push back the lingering panic of my nightmare.

Beeeep beeeep beeeep. My alarm is still going off and I groan as I glance at the red numbers on my digital clock. It's seven am, exactly twelve minutes before I actually have to wake up. I hate that alarm clock. I never wanted the damn thing anyway.

Beeeep beeeep beeeep. It rings in my head like torture, running down my spine and vibrating through my limbs. I wish it would stop, I wonder where Beverly is. She's late again, she's always late.

I brace myself, tightening the muscles in my arms as I heave my upper body off the bed. Oh shit! I think to myself as I feel a spark in my brain. I fall back to my bed as the electricity flows through my limbs.

I wish I could have slept another twelve minutes.

Beeeep beeeep beeeep.

God damn it where is Beverly? I think to myself, I yell at the alarm to shut up as if it will do anything.

With a sigh I allow myself to lie down for a moment longer, my brain is whirling with the idea of all the things I'll need to do. Wash up, get dressed, get out of bed, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, go to work.

I hate my life.

I brace myself before pushing with my arms again, lifting my upper body in an effort to flip onto my back. I take heavy breaths as the alarm continues to echo in my ears. I lift my head as best as I can and glance at the clock again.

Five minutes after seven. I've been listening to that damn thing for five minutes, it's driving me crazy.

"Shut up!" I call out again, the force of the words tearing at my throat. I cough and sputter, struggling for breath.

There's a rhythmic knock on my bedroom door and it's almost more annoying than the alarm, but I thank god it's finally come.

"Unnhh." I grunt at the door and it cracks open.

"What's that? I couldn't quite make out what you were saying." Beverly's sweet voice fills the room and I roll my eyes.

I swallow hard and focus on my throat and tongue, sculpting the words carefully as I tell her to come in.

"That's better isn't it?" Beverly says with a big smile as she comes into the room, she's a large woman who always wears light weight, pastel coloured fabrics. Her curled hair is cut short, framing a pudgy but friendly face, "And how are we this morning, hmm?" She says as she moves to turn off the alarm. Thank god, sweet relief!

"Good," I grunt.

"I'm sorry?" Beverly turns toward me, cupping a hand around her ear.

"Good!" I yell more clearly and she smiles.

"You know there's no need for yelling, especially not so early in the morning!" She pats my head and I roll my eyes. "Now, what will we wear today, hmm?" She pulls open my closet and presents the hanging clothes like Vana White unveiling a new puzzle.

"I don't care." I mumble, not looking at the clothes. I gasp as the electricity returns and she's at my side in a flash.

"It's okay, don't worry." She says as she grabs my hand, I try to grab back but my fingers are almost useless.

After a second of us sitting silently together she grins at me and I roll my eyes. "I hate my body." It takes me a long time to say the words, every ounce of my concentration is dedicated to forcing my mouth to cooperate.

"Oh nonsense!" Beverly waves off the comment with a goofy grin. She moves back to the closet and selects a pair of jeans and a pair of cargo pants. She holds them in the air and waits patiently for me to choose.

"It doesn't matter…"

"Excuse me?" She says in a sing-song way.

"I said it doesn't mat-mat-"

"Matter?" She finishes for me and I glare at her. I hate when people finish my sentences. "Well, we'll go with the jeans? You always look nice in a pair of jeans." She smiles and puts the jeans aside. "Now for a shirt, do you want red or green?"

I remain silent, staring at her. She stares back and refuses to make a move until I've made a decision. "Red, I guess."

"Oh, don't choose red. I hate the way red looks on you, we'll wear the green one today." She smiles and I sigh. "There's that defeatist attitude again! You know we've talked about this."

"Beverly, I'm twenty three. Don't talk to me like --"

"Well if you don't want to be spoken to like a child, stop acting like one. Come here now." She grabs a damp facecloth she'd brought in with her and lifts my right arm, wiping down my arm pit.

With a gasp of air I declare "That's cold!" She just giggles and I refuse to help as she cleans the other arm pit. Blushing, I look away as she journeys south with the frigid cloth, simmering in my own shame as she cleans me. For years my mother did this, now I have to rely on begrudging strangers who do it for the money.

Beverly is more thorough than most, which is a mixed blessing.

Soon I'm cleaned and dressed, though not without struggle. It's impossible for my arms to move in ways that allow me to put a shirt on, Beverly has to weave my limbs into my clothing for me before she brings my wheel chair into the room.

Oh god, I hate this. With one hand on my chest and one on my back, Beverly guides me to my chair. Beside my bed there's a bar drilled into the wall -- I grab hold of it, supporting my weight with all of my strength as I manoeuvre myself into the chair. I adjust my position, stand up and try again. I'm about to spend all day sitting in this thing, I need to be comfortable.

Beverly sighs and I know she's frustrated. I don't care, I take my time and she helps me to the bathroom. She helps me with everything and she's always smiling. That helps me feel a little more comfortable with her, even though we've just met not too long ago.

Before I can eat my breakfast I have to take several kinds of medication. Eight pills in total. It's quite the feat for my esophagus, which can normally only manage cold liquids and finely processed foods.

After Beverly brushes my teeth, I'm off to work. Or at least they call it work, I spend my time doing small crafts and putting together puzzles. Don't get me wrong, it's challenging -- physically -- but I just crave more intellectual stimulation.

For some reason, most people I meet can't separate my physical disability from a developmental one. My body is restricted and spends most of its time fighting against me, but I have the regular mind of a twenty three year old.

"Well hello there stranger!" The woman who runs my day program smiles at me as I enter the room. I hate that childish tone, but I accept it because she always moves in for a hug. Such a soft, warm hug. She has to hunch over to wrap her arms around me, which always results in my face being buried by her chest.

I put together a brightly coloured mosaic of plastic blocks, everyone is excited about my coordination, the strength in my wrists. It makes me feel good; these people appreciate the day-to-day challenges I'm faced with.

We eat lunch and I take more medication. While I'm sitting at the table a man named Emery helps me eat -- he slowly feeds me small spoonfuls of food that has previously been blended together for me, making it less difficult to swallow but not easy at all. Every mouthful is a struggle.

Suddenly, the cook comes from the kitchen to join us. That's her; the sprinkling of freckles, the jet black hair, the warm coffee grin. She see's me looking, I wave (more of a sporadic jerking of my arm) and she comes closer.

"Hi there!" She says in a loud and slow voice, patting my head. I have to crane my neck to look at her face. "How are ya big guy? Did you have a good weekend?"

I crave more from her, I want her to speak to me like I'm an adult, I want her to hug me. Rather than saying anything, I open my arms and I see the hesitation in her face. As quickly as possible she resets her features and I can't tell what she's feeling as she bends over to hug me. I feel her body press against mine and I breathe in the smell of her hair.

"Okay sweetie, that's enough now." She stands back up and I still can't read her face. "I have to go over to my table to eat okay? You stay here and we'll see each other tomorrow." Her smile grows wider, she pats my head again and I can feel the muscles in my neck burning from looking up at her.

"Okay, it was nice seeing you." I smile back, but have trouble hiding the pain when her eyes grow vacant and dull and her smile looses a bit of its definition. People think I don't get it when they don't understand what I'm saying but they all get the same look.

"That meant it was nice seeing you." Emery repeats my words for me so she can understand.

"Right, nice, see ya bud." She nods with empty eyes that light up as she looks at Emery, when she speaks to him her voice is lower and faster. "I'll see you later?" Her head tilts in a way that suggests there's something more to that comment. Emery smiles back and I feel a pain in my gut before she bounces off to a table of kitchen staff.

Later I go home, we eat supper and there are more pills. I sit on my computer, emailing friends who live far away. Friends who have never met me but know the real me, the me inside my head that my body refuses to let out. It takes a long time to write an email, each hand is restricted to pressing one key at a time, and not easily. At nine pm Beverly comes to put me to bed.

I hate that I'm forced to bed so early in the evening. I hate that I have no say in the matter. Beverly helps me onto the toilet, then into the shower. She washes every inch of my body as I look away, not saying anything. She touches me and I close my eyes.

She laughs and jokes in her casual way and I give her a chuckle or two back but otherwise remain silent, willing myself to make it through.

She brushes my teeth and helps me climb into bed, she's always smiling although it takes a long time. She jokes about how tall I am and I feel like someone's younger family member. I laugh half heartedly and it makes me cough and heave. I throw up (a common occurrence after a fit like that) on my bed and am forced back into my chair while Beverly has to change my sheets.

Finally I'm back in bed, more meds and I rest my head on my pillow. Beverly adjusts my body for me as I tell her how to make me comfortable -- mostly with a series of one syllable words and grunts as my face is buried in my pillow.

She turns off the light, promising to see me tomorrow and I instantly start dreading the next day. So many things to do, so much effort to do them. I allow myself to cry a little, letting my challenges embrace me. I ponder my sad lot in life and as time passes I slip up out of my body, grinning down at myself sleeping peacefully in my bed.

I pass through the ceiling and out into the world, allowing my freedom to wash over me, opening my arms to it and soaring.