A lost teddy bear forgotten behind the lounge, surrounded by the colourful liveliness of the family around them, yet the darkness of loneliness still pangs within their stuffed toy heart, slowly embracing the solitude of the cobwebbed underside of the couch.
The political limelight that shone proudly upon my family always shoved me into the forgotten side cast. I was the child that was never on par with my siblings, left behind in the race of who could be worthy of Father's attention and praise. I only ever wanted to make him proud of me, to have the same love and recognition that was given to everyone else, but the lack of interest I had in issues resonating within the world made my father's insecurities worsen. I was the burden he wanted gone, away from his sight, just like the leftover burnt cigar that crumbled in his ashtray.
I was the dust swept under the rug. I only ever wanted the bare minimum, but the only attentiveness I got was getting dragged into a metallic green car and driven to a new facility or school so I could be 'fixed', but it only made me worse. I would violently lash out at doctors that would examine my abilities by forcing strange fluids into me, to read certain texts or force me to perform difficult chores. I was told result after result I was inadequate to return home, inadequate to perform at the same level as my siblings, inadequate to read or write, inadequate to carry out simple tasks, and inadequate to simply make my parents proud.
The only place I could escape from the humiliation of my mental incapabilities was this one institution, that gave me value, that never mocked or compared me. I was given simple tasks, to clean glasses or take care of the children. I felt the darkness of alienation float off of my shoulders, but just like icarus, it flew too close to the sun and fell right back when I was forced to return home.
The darkness of isolation that resonated within me everytime I returned home was the only thing that gave me the attention and love I needed, the loving soft hands that I thought held me when I was alone, or the light that shone through the dustiness and the plain pale guest bedroom. My family was a world where only money matters, and my identity held no value in their eyes.
Once again in the backseat of our family's limousine, we drove towards a hospital to receive treatment. I was always unaware of what they would do, but my father sure did, telling me with gentle words that it will fix me, with no strange fluids, with no tests to examine my mental capabilities, it will fix me. It would fix the multitude of issues that held me back, allowing me to finally join my siblings and their life, to fix the strained relationship my father had with me, to finally have hope for myself.
I entered the towering building alongside my father, I energetically skipped into a white sterile room with a hospital bed and a leather bench that sat below the window. It felt comforting to know I was in good hands, or I thought I was. I got dressed into a pale blue gown adorning dark blue dots and laid on the bed, slowly I was rolled into a room that was dark, with only two lights above an adjustable chair, I strolled my way over to the chair. The buzzing noise of clippers was prominent and I could feel the brown curled hair float down to the floor, being swept away by medical staff and then I was given a needle. I couldn't feel my face, but I could speak, I could hear the tinks of equipment being picked up, a sharp object was brought close to my eye, and was put in.
I could feel it wiggle around, it hurt, while another object was stabbed through my ear. They told me to count to ten, so i did, more wiggling, say god bless America, i did, even more wiggling, to recite the names of my loved ones, so i did, more wiggling, to move my fingers and toes around, so i did, it wiggled even more, to recite the first sentence of the american national anthem, nothing came out of my mouth, the wiggling stopped, i could feel the atmosphere in the room change. The looks on their faces as they saw my struggle to say something, or move, they removed the objects from me, i looked up, confused, anxious, had it worked? Why couldn't I move or speak? Was I fixed?
I was placed in a wheelchair, my shaved head adorning a stitched scar and an emotionless face, I was trapped inside a body that was rendered useless. My Father would stare at me in shame, with hands in his suit pockets, he strolled out of the facility, to finally forget the burden that was his estranged daughter, Rosemary Kennedy.
