My Name is John Merrick

    Doctor Treves took me to a Doctor convention today. They stared at me the same as everyone else has. All my life I have been on display and it seems that even when they are studying me- they say it is to help me, but is it really?- it is the same. Turn around, turn around, stand up, turn around, that seems to be the only thing that they can tell me.

    They look at my body, at my face, and because I'm already so ruined there who is to say that my brain isn't as well? They don't bother to see if I understand, they have made up there minds already and to them I'm completely destroyed in body and mind, I'm nothing but a shell of a man who was unfortunate enough to be born this way. That, of course, does not stop them from staring at me like a freak. Even when they try not to they still stare. 

    Is it so hard to believe that I am a man? I'm human, human, just like the rest of them. I'm not an animal, I never asked to be an animal, but it seems that they all like to think that I decided my fate. They stare, and they sneer, and they scream, and they mock, and they like to have themselves believe that I don't understand. But I do understand, and I see, and I feel, and I wish day and night that there was a cure to be just like a normal person. 

   Doctor Treves is trying to understand what is wrong with me- for my benefit?- but as all the other doctors stare at me with disgust and curiosity I know that even if they are doing this to try to help I'm once again put on display for another's benefit. Turn around, turn around, stand up, turn around, that seems to be my life.