To the Person Who Passed Me By,

Most of you don't know me. You don't know that at the age of 3, I was in a terrible accident that resulted in my leg being amputated. You don't know that I have spent a lot of time on crutches but I prefer to use my prosthetic. You don't know that I have always struggled with my self confidence, especially when it comes to my leg. Most importantly, you don't know how to react, and how your reaction affects me. So I want to help you understand a little bit about how your treatment translates to a person who is already vulnerable, in hopes that you can understand the impact little interactions can have on people.

To those of you who stare at my leg, or where my leg would presumably be, I know you do it out of curiosity. You didn't know that there was an amputee on campus or maybe you didn't know that I was an amputee. You are wondering how I ended up an amputee or why I'm not using my leg. You want to know if your eyes are deceiving you or how they deceived you before. You simply don't know and you want to know. I understand that, or at least I try to.

However, when I'm crutching across campus and five people in a row stare at my leg, not even making any attempt to look into my eyes or say anything, it's hard not to feel like my amputation is one of my defining characteristics. At times it feels as if it doesn't matter what my personality is like, because at the end of the day I'm disabled and, as such, the rest of my life is tainted.

To those on the flip side who avoid looking in my direction completely, you're efforts are more obvious than you likely think. You realize the massive faux pas that you would be committing if you stared and as such you try your hardest to avoid looking at my leg. You already know that you don't trust yourself not to look at my lack of a limb. Instead you decide your safest bet would be to pretend that you don't even see me. This way you don't have to struggle to figure out how best to control yourself or interact with me. Yet your lack of recognition makes people in my situation feel like we are of lesser status. It feels like our existence embarrasses you, and which in turn is embarrassing. It's hard not to apologize to you for taking up space and confusing you. Often it makes us feel isolated and alone.

To those of you who stare in pity, I understand you are trying to translate that you feel bad for the situation I am in. You don't feel up to actually expressing your feelings, so you just look at me and hope that I understand that you feel bad I'm having this experience. However, when that look reaches me, it seems to be saying, "I'm sorry that you ended up this way, but I'm glad that I'm not in the same boat." I know this is not at all what you intend with your passing glance. In these moments it can be hard to discern your sorrow for my current situation from your pity for something my whole life revolves around. We all wish I wasn't going through this hardship, but your stare does not lessen my pains. It just allows you to feel like you understand me, and though you may to some degree understand some of what's going on in my life, you will never fully understand my mental and physical anguish.

To those who know me well enough that you feel comfortable asking "Where's your leg?" try to understand that I'm tired of that question. When you ask me this question, you are trying to sympathize with me, and you are trying to see what's going on in my life. If that's the case, ask me "How's my leg?" because when you ask where, it feels like my lack of a leg changes how you feel and view me, like my disability is a priority to you and not my well-being. You're asking because it's a strange sight to see me in this way. Please understand that I don't like that you have to see me in this seemingly weaker state. By bringing up this topic you fill me with dread at having to explain my struggles yet again.

Try to understand I'm proud to be an amputee. Having lived with no leg for such a long period of time, my life and personality has been shaped and impacted by my amputation. If given the opportunity I wouldn't want to have my leg back, because these trials and tribulations have pushed me to be more positive and strong. It is because I have built up this persona of strength and confidence, that I hate to be put into a position of weakness and inability. Unfortunately, this weakness is exactly what comes across when I am left without my prosthetic leg, and what inspired me to write this.

Now that I've confused basically everyone who has interacted with me this past week, let me try to make sense of how best to interact with an amputee, or anyone who is different, or even struggling. When you walk by and don't know what to say, just give us a genuine smile, greet us with a nice hello. In a way it may seem like you are ignoring the fact that I'm an amputee (something I just said you shouldn't do), but really by smiling, you are saying that you are aware of the circumstances but you are choosing to look at me as a person and offer your friendly support and kindness. If you want to say something when you walk by, try the following: "How are you?" or "Man, this weather!"

You needn't ignore what you're seeing, and you can of course inquire as to how I'm simply feeling. Just remember to ask about me, the person, not the leg. Its the same idea as if you see someone with a cold. They look ill so you ask how they're feeling; I'm crutching so you ask me how its going: "How are your arms? They must be building quite the muscle!" A few phrases you might try if you are daring include: "Rough time?" "Be careful where you swing those things!" and basically any leg joke (though they can be funny, remember unless it is really original, I have probably already heard it).

However you choose to react, remember that we are people, too. We are going through a mental and physical struggle, and we appreciate support. We won't ask for it and we won't tell you how we really feel. Try to think about your actions and how they can be understood and misunderstood. Remember, we are all human and we are all the same. I, an amputee, put my pants on the same way you do. I just don't get as much use of the bottom half as you.