Happily a Burden

I remember that night the cops stopped me in my tracks. I was on some road late at night, having a schizophrenic episode softly in my mind. I was talking in a way that was mean and devilish.

One of the cops knew me and said that "this wasn't me." That I was not acting like myself.

This was the same cop who once told me that I'm at fault for not moving out of my mom's sooner, that it's my responsibility. Seeming to pretend I don't have an extreme disability that employers would mistreat me for. As if I'm not already empty handed.

And all I can think to that now is no. No, he does not know the real me.

He knows the me who is quiet and will not fight for my voice to be heard.

Not the me who is still fighting.

Not the me who would tell all those people who look down upon me for the fact I get disability checks. Who would tell them that I'll happily be a burden for them.

That I'll be happy to prioritize myself and say "fuck you" to this society.