After having my wheelchair break down and facing being unaccepted in my daily life, I try to explain what I am thinking and how I am feeling. Nobody can ever tell me how I feel or what I think is wrong.
I am at the end of my rope when it comes to frustration. My wheelchair has officially died, and I have no choice but to remain in bed until bureaucrats in Washington realize they have forced an active, productive member of the American society into bed indefinitely.
