I have felt that way all of my life.
I was born with Polio. I am not the only one, but to me it was like I was the only person on this planet that had ever had polio. Fortunately, it only affected my left leg and foot, physically. Mentally, it affected my entire self.
It does not matter what you are going through, to you, it is a major thing. I could not run like the other kids. No one ever understood the frustration that I felt. My parents took us to the beach one week in the summer, but they had no idea how much I wanted to run barefoot on that sun drenched sand.
I never said anything. I sat on the sand and watched other boys run into the surf, yelling and slinging their arms around and laughing. I wanted to do that. I wanted to fit in with the other guys.
My left leg and foot was paralized basically from the knee down. When I walked, I pretty much dragged my foot along. So, running gracefully across the sand and diving into the surf was way out of the question.
I went to the beach, but I hated...I mean purely hated being in shorts or anything that showed my legs. When a person has polio it affects the muscles. As a result, the muscles in my left leg did not develop like my right leg. My left leg is scrawney and my right leg is the correct size. I felt like everyone noticed and stared.
You would probably wonder and it is true, like I needed something to draw attention to me, I walked with a limp. It got worse, when I was tired. I was fresh in the morning and tired in the evening. It is still true today.
I guess this is also part of the reason that I have been so driven in certain areas of my life. I had to try and make up for the areas of my life that hurt. I had to do something for me.
Writing has always been a part of my dream. I wanted to write something great that moved people to tears. I have always wanted to write something that made people say, "Have you read that book?" I always dreamed of having a book become a movie. I think that most authors dream of the same thing?
I have always wondered if I should write a book about growing up with Polio. Would anyone want to read it? Would it make a difference, or am I dreaming?
I think that most authors struggle with the same questions. We want to know that what we write has worth. That is a dream. It is our dream. So...What will I do? I have no choice, but to Dream On! I would not be happy any other way.