I am a retarded child. Not because I have autism, which I’d like to point out in a very bitter manner does not make one slow in the least bit, not for the fact that I have Attention Deficit Disorder where things bounce around on a fast paced highway staged brainwave, and not because I am a poster child for down syndrome. Having none of these ailments recently listed above, I seem to be retarded in some fashion.

My family isn’t perfect. In fact, they may be the most violent people you could ever meet at times, but I’ve never been injured in a way to induce a relaxed pattern of thinking.

I am constantly enclosed in a box of nicotine, not my lame-frontal-lobed decision, but one of the choices my caretakers feel isn’t much of a concern for me. The cigarettes don’t make me ’special’.

I attend school and get decent grades, the ones colleges would accept, and parents like to brag about, yet I’m still retarded.

The explanation for this diagnosis is one with no research or background history. It’s based off of the fact that I am slightly estranged. Someone who perceives the world at a 46 degree angle, while the rest of the world remains fixed on being perfectly straight. If I’m retarded, as they suggest, I’m in good company.