I don't know what to say to you, so forgive me if I give offense.

I understand why you wanted me to read this.

The priest was only trying to offer what comfort he could. For many people, not just Catholics, a life of disability means a life of suffering, intolerable suffering. This isn't always the case. I'm sure your daughter was a happy person and that she was your pride and joy.

I can say this with assurance because I remember the times in my life when I was happy. They were few, you had to look for them, but they were there and the joy seemed to be more powerful and more plentiful than the darkness.

If I died, I would want to know people who I truly am in the eyes of God. Well, who am I? A list of medical conditions and psychiatric diagnoses? A plaything for the doctors? To many people, this is all I am, all I ever will be.

You're right. Disability marganalizes us and makes us invisible. You have every right to be angry. I know how you feel, because since my pain hit, it's like I've died. I've become a leper of lepers, even more invisible, even more lonely. Friends have become silent. Strangers don't know I exist and my family...well, the less said about that, the better. And I want a place in history.

People look at me and they see one who knows no fear. They see a soldier, they see a machine. Well, this soldier fights, this soldier screams, this soldier bleeds.

This soldier can die.

I was drafted into a terrible war on the day I was born. It's called "Life". I and my family have made great sacrifices so I may serve in that battle, and what thanks do we receive?

We get spit on or ignored. I am in battle now. I am in terrible pain just to write this. I have cried. I am crying, though people cannot see the tears. I need to be held and cuddled like anyone else and people walk away. I need to be held more I think, than the average person, because of the terrors I go through.

Don't let my face or voice fool you. I am human. I am scared by this. I need a hug and I don't dare ask. I have to be brave for the people around me, because society demands it of me, even if they pay me a pittance to survive and spit in my eye.

There will be no homecoming for me or your daughter. No bands. No medals on our chests for what we tried to achieve in life. If I died tomorrow, I would want people to know that I fought hard, died well and took ten of the enemy with me.

That is how I would want to be remembered. And I've done a lousy job of it. Fighting is all I know how to do anyway.

There is a thing more crippling than cerebral palsy: the prison of your own mind.