Author: Mia Bradić, III. gimnazija, Split
I have quadriplegia. To normal people it means that I am paralyzed. I can’t move anything below my neck. I had a brain injury two years ago and I barely survived. Doctors say I should be happy because the fact that I am even alive is a miracle. A miracle! I used to have life. I used to have friends. I used to mean something to someone. Now I am all alone; it’s just me and the white hospital wall that I spend all my days staring at. I do not blame them. It is not comfortable to be with someone who can’t talk to you. I should be able to talk, but I don’t. I want to, but it is like the words don’t want to come out of my mouth. Instead, they get stuck somewhere in my throat until they fade away.
I am an aerialist, or, should I say, I was an aerialist. All my dreams came true when I got a job at a circus. It wasn’t very famous, but it was the best place in the world and I was the happiest creature alive. Circus was my dream since I was ten, and all I ever wanted was to dance on silks, just like those beautiful ladies I had once seen on television. I finished circus academy even though my parents were against it. I can’t say that my life was perfect, but it was my life and circus was my identity. I guess sun can’t shine all the time, because here I am, in the hospital, an aerial dancer who can’t dance, a fighter with no desire to fight, a living creature with no life purpose. One Tuesday, while I was performing, the construction that held silks fell apart because it was badly attached, which resulted in me falling on the cement with my head first. The reason it sounds very awful is because it was. The only thing I remember is helplessly falling towards the ground. After the fall I had an eighteen-hour surgery that I managed to survive, and I woke up in a hospital bed with the ability to do nothing.
I had a lot of time to think, mostly because it was the only thing I could do. The most painful thing was the fact that I had no identity. I didn’t know who I was anymore. My whole life revolved around circus and now it was over. I couldn’t dance on silks anymore. I had to find myself again, but I had no energy to do it. I gave my best, but I just couldn’t like the things that I don’t like, I couldn’t be quiet, I couldn’t spend every moment watching hospital television, I couldn’t be still. Today, while I was staring at the white wall, a silly thought came to me. A silly thought that changed everything. I decided to try one more time. I don’t have to change myself. I don’t have to adjust to this new, broken life. I just need to try. To talk. To move. To smile.
I still wasn’t an aerialist, but I was a fighter again. I fought every day. It was so painful and horrible that, sometimes, I just wanted to give up. It was huge mental fight. I was pushed by the idea that one day I could dance on silks again, feel the beauty and warmness of lights twinkling in my direction, the beat of music going through my brain and moving my body. I believed that one day I will hear the audience clapping for me. Every day I was staring at the white wall, but my eyes were no longer filled with emptiness. It was like the wall was my biggest rival yet. I was dedicated to beat it and leave the hospital, so I could live again.
After a while it started paying off. It’s been five years since my accident. I can now talk and move my hands a little. Doctors thought that recovery was impossible, but I proved them wrong. I don’t live in hospital anymore. I don’t spend my days staring at the white wall, but that wall is still in my head. Every time I want to give up that wall shows up somewhere in the corner of my mind, to remind me that I am ready to beat my obstacles. I am far away from being where I want to be, but I know who I am, and who I am meant to be.
