Bathroom Monolgue: Cost of Normal

It means getting up early, but he'll soak in Epsom salts for half an hour before anything else. When he lies in the tub he'll take the first cocktail of pills, letting them digest on an empty stomach long before breakfast. He'll eat breakfast lying down because sitting up is so taxing, and he has so much sitting ahead of him. So much sitting, so much standing, so much carrying that no one else seems to think about. He'll think about it as he swallows the second cocktail and fastens on his back brace over his bare skin. The back brace is always under a t-shirt, which is always under a jacket, even in Spring, so that no one will see it. They will see him stagger, and some will catch him wheezing. They will mock him as a smoker, or a feeb, or a freak, meaning none of it, none of them caring about the truth. The utter ambivalence of his fellow children allow him to fit in, pretending to be normal. He will keep doing this every morning. It's only two more years to graduation.