The Box

My being lives in a box. It is the size of a box of matches. It is really small because I was meant to be small no matter how big the human body becomes. It is hard to breathe and move and be human in this box.

People sometimes want me to come out of this box. They don’t understand how hard or impossible that is for me. They want me to be bigger. To live bigger. Or something like that. They don’t understand the box is all I know. It is all I am allowed to know.

I am safer in the box no matter how uncomfortable it seems to other people. It is what I know. It is what I am allowed to keep me from getting killed.

The box doesn’t allow self-expression. That is very wrong when you live in the box. When you live in a box you are expected to be invisible, with as little life force coming from you as possible. Breathe small. Speak small. Move nothing.

When your mind lives in this tiny box, there is no room for joy, play, happiness, or even sadness. There is just self-acceptance that you belong in the box, and are to take up no more room on planet earth.

It doesn’t matter that I did not choose the box. It is my life. God’s plan. It is my coffin for while I am still alive on earth. I guess there is solace in knowing I have a place to lay down in the box, no matter how cramped it is.

I hate that people try to get me out of the box with forced behaviors. They don’t realize how painful it is for my little being to expand against nature. My brain breaks down like an old car when this is forced upon me. They think they know better than me. But, I have lived my life, and I know how to survive it.

Though it is always questionable why I continue to survive this life.

I can’t expect anyone else to understand. They do not live in the box. It is only my purgatory. Not to be shared. Not to be fixed. It just is.

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