By Milla Miller
I am a member of the freshman class at Nathan Hale High School. I am 5’3’’ with brown hair and green eyes. And I am a proud survivor of a terrible chronic disease called glasses.
No worries. My illness proves to be neither fatal nor contagious, but it gives me large amounts of trouble and it doesn’t seem to be improving.
I lived over a decade without these horrid plastic wires that now sit upon my face. I could see just fine until my life was cursed in 8th grade.
The symptoms began to appear first in science, then language arts and math. I couldn’t see across the room. I had to read off poor Sophia’s notes. Then one day I couldn’t read the clock and I knew. It was time. This wretched disease had truly come upon me.
Now– since last May– I go through my every minute, hour and second with windows over my eyes. They present a label, a name, and a constant worry that they might be broken. Though their prescription is low and their rounded bluish-green frames are said to be quite appealing, they still scream nerd! and geek! to all those who pass by. But why shouldn’t they? I do have glasses don’t I?
They’re dirty. They need to be cleaned each morning so the grime they collect doesn’t leave my vision even worse. Each time friends, new and old, ask to try them on they’ll wear them upside down and over their head. The oil from their hands, their hair and their faces leave behind greasy smudges that fog them up around the edges, leaving only a tunnel of clean for me to see through.
They aren’t comfortable either.
Getting tired in the middle of math class? Resting this head on the table is not an option, lest I want to set them down on the table and risk them being knocked off. Like to mess around with your siblings? No can do. Any second an elbow could go flying and this fragile nuisance could go crashing to the ground, shattering its glass along with my parents bank.
I hate having to depend on them. I’m an artist. I like watching the world and its people but I also I like to see. Going for a run around the park to the flaming colors of autumn or the sweetness of the rain on the grass is out of the question. Going for a run means no glasses; no glasses means no sight; no sight means I can’t see.
I’m a soccer player too. Me being a stubborn child, I refuse to wear those bulky sports goggles. Hence, since last year, seeing the ball all the way across the field has been quite a difficult problem that I just can’t seem to figure out.
Still, I live. Through these hardships and calamities I have survived. Every morning I stick this cage over my face, fitting its bars over my nose and lock myself in as I tuck the arm behind my ear.
My name is Milla Miller and I am a proud survivor of glasses.