What being a disabled millennial like

I guess it’s been exactly a year since I started blogging. I started writing with the intention of gaining some perspective in my life and it totally worked. I’m right and everyone is terrible.

At the start of the year I had my trusty neuromuscular disease which makes it impossible for me to physically care for myself, my mother’s Alzheimer’s had gotten to the point where she could no longer physically or mentally care for herself, auntie had been in my life for a few years helping me try to get her medical help and deal with the endless paperwork x2 that comes with disability. She was the only family member that even pretended to make an effort in my life, but the stress of it was obviously getting to her.

And I was losing my god damn mind so I started this blog.

The major thing I realized is something I already thought I knew; being disabled is like being in a completely different reality that normal people only have some vague sense of, like gravity but really can’t comprehend. What I specifically learned throughout this year, though, is that they willfully remain ignorant because of their narcissism.

That sounds incredibly rude but in some cases I mean it in the nicest way. Some able-bodied people simply never learned that TV isn’t real. When they hear anything about the reality of living a disabled life and how it has nothing to do with your health but everything to do with violent bigotry they try to convince you that any bad situation is an outlier. ABs refuse to acknowledge disability to avoid feeling guilty; those people legitimately don’t know how common and easy it is to step over a dying body while complaining about the smell.

There are some people who genuinely don’t know better and so they are eager to help, impatient for the praise. It’ll get them praise, but they can’t handle it for long.
For my Mormon uncle it was the very minute that I called him to let him know that his sister was sick that he became overwhelmed and he insisted we both be sent to homes. He had no idea why I was so opposed to the suggestion because it wasn’t as if anyone would want to rape me or anything.

I know I heard that clearly because he was screaming it through the telephone.

Auntie pressured me into putting mom into a home and then to make sure I can make no decisions she told them I was mentally ill and all around general liar so I wasn’t allowed to have contact with my mother. After mom got kicked out after week for unruly behavior I found out from the carefully worded discharge papers that she had been raped in the shower. Whether Auntie knew that are not I don’t know but it was the last time I ever saw her.

Up until then, though, Auntie worked incredibly hard to help us but the weight of sainthood became too much. There were multiple times where she would throw my medical cards at me from the end of my bed while yelling at me for not knowing how to love correctly. To her credit, she wasn’t completely wrong.

She said I was being condescending when I constantly apologized for being a burden and then I halted every conversation with the incessant need to thank everyone for just being there. True. It took me being forced into a role-play game before I really understood that.

I like helping people out. I like seeing people relieved and happy when I can unexpectedly provide a solution. I like feeling that I can have at least a slight impact on other people that isn’t horrible.

What I don’t like is people making it weird by being awkward, thanking and apologizing to me every few seconds. When they insist on thanking me it hurts my feelings because it seems like they’re surprised I would do something nice. When people won’t stop thanking me it’s alienating. When someone puts you on a pedestal is not only objectifying but lonely because you’re no longer equal.

What I still don’t understand is what the hell I’m supposed to do.

When I go somewhere I have to get their permission to go. When I do something I have to get their permission to do it. When I eat I have to have proven that I’m worth the waste and produce.

How can I not thank them?

How can I take the risk of not thanking them?

It used to infuriate me and people told me I had no idea what the “real world” was like when the only world they know is Pollyanna’s but now I can’t help but agree. In the real world you don’t have to pretend not to know your friends in public.  In the real world you go to the police for help instead of avoiding them. In the real world you don’t apologize to other people when they hit you. In the real world strangers don’t tell you that your God’s punishment on humanity. In the real world you check the mailbox for bills, paperwork to fill out for permission to live for another month.

In the real world a real person wouldn’t have their healthcare taken away for having an extra $100 in the bank, a real person would be allowed to have more than $2,000. Especially if everything was as expensive in the real world as it is here.

Even after a year finally coming to terms with never getting the promotion to human I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

Although I have to fight for it every day I’m still living in my home, unlike my ancestors. Even if I’m not allowed to own it.

Also unlike my ancestors I’m trapped inside my bedroom but I have the technology to talk to people all over the world. Not people from the real world but people like myself who are going through the same things that I am. I never know how long I have them but thanks to the sheer number of us I’m never alone. More and more of them grow exhausted and are forced to commit suicide but it’s a less lonely than it would’ve been even just over a decade ago.

We have the ability to communicate and create things as long as it’s not in exchange for currency and because of that and realizing that there are people in the real world who do care about what’s going on in the outskirts of The Real World™; AB and NT people my age, millennial’s who have helped me survive with much more dignity than any other American generation has before them.

I’ve proofread homework in exchange for dinner. I’ve written essays on Deadpool in exchange for toilet paper. I’ve reviewed movies for hair dye.

I have no hope for society itself but I have hope for humanity now that I know that there are people unlike my family but things haven’t changed enough for me to even have a conclusion to this post. Still, I have the ability to make this post and as pathetic as it is I’m thankful for that.

Happy 2nd annual Disability March, here is my protest

I haven’t contributed anything to society.

I was born with a neuromuscular disease which makes my muscles and bones weaken until I prematurely die.

I’ve always been a temporary fixture in my family’s lives, a genetic embarrassment, a social burden. A week before I turned 13, my father, a decorated Vietnam vet, was murdered by a drunk driver who only received community service. My mother developed aggressive early onset dementia as I got out of school and now I am her caretaker and sole provider but the only thing I can provide is a cut of $850 I receive each month from disability.

I was put in special ed although I took all the same classes as my nondisabled peers who consistently received things like detention or passed with Ds and Cs on their report cards. I was an honors student K–12 because I had to be; if I didn’t it would be evidence that because I had to sit in a chair with wheels I was underperforming and would be a bad influence on the normal children. I was never at risk for detention not because of my good behavior, but because my consequences were to lose the privilege of a standardized public education. Not complaining was a lot harder than studying because (and in spite of) my being a special ed student required attendance from me in the segregated facility, away from my classes. The short bus dropping me off at school and back at home hours late each day because of understaffing.

As hard as it was, I managed it, but I couldn’t do the same in college and I had to drop out. $850 a month couldn’t cover transportation, food, assistance, etc. even though a scholarship could provide textbooks.

I’ve written my own books; books on science and spirituality as well as an array of fiction. Books that were well received and still sell consistently, but I’ve never received a cent from them and can’t hold my own copyrights. As my health degenerates I am more and more dependent on the healthcare I received through disability so I’ve had to forfeit the rights and earnings of everything I’ve created because as time goes on I can create less and less but if I get taken off of disability I can’t get back on. On paper it looks fraudulent that someone who is supposedly as terminally ill as I am can somehow go off of disability and support myself for a limited amount of time.

I can’t be a true friend, neighbor, or citizen. I can’t leave my house; I can’t afford the bus fare for the handicap bus. I can’t show my face in public; two years ago which bashed out my front teeth but my health care can’t provide treatment. I can’t connect to people; the worse things become in America the more I am blamed for being nothing more than a leech, a useless eater.

I am the problem.

My life is a burden to the entire country.

Unrest, a visual handbook for the loved ones of disabled people

The award-winning documentary Unrest by Jennifer Brea was released on Netflix this week, introducing chronic illness to the larger public. Brea is described as a modern-day Odysseus as the movie documents very real and metaphorical journey to discover who and what she is as a disabled woman in her 20s with an invisible disability.

The condition documented in this movie is known as ED or simply chronic fatigue syndrome. Conveniently, I also have chronic fatigue so I won’t second-guess my own feedback. I was born disabled with a neuromuscular disease but in my early 20s I developed IBS and my chronic fatigue became serious. My neuromuscular disease is a terminal illness and I’ve used a wheelchair my entire life but if I had to choose either my terminal illness or my invisible disabilities I would choose my terminal illness which ABs  (able-bodied people) can’t understand. Living with this can be so horrible that you don’t mind dying in the hardest parts aren’t physical symptoms, it’s the isolation, rejection, and discrimination.

The movie impressed me with not only its accuracy but it’s inclusion of a variety of disabled people telling their own stories for once. That being said, I don’t believe that ABs will understand this movie from an intellectual point of view; at least not until they watch it enough times to put away their emotional point of view. Visually, though, the emotional impact is impossible not to empathize with. I believe that healthy people will see and comprehend how quickly someone with a chronic illness can be sick (have a flareup) one minute but then suddenly suddenly appear normal in the next; I believe they can comprehend that other times you haven’t been normal in a long long time and may well never again.

As simple as this concept sounds it’s one of the biggest and most reoccurring issues in the chronic illness community. Not even doctors get this simple concept.

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“One has to be careful. If you say too little, they can help you. If you say too much they think you’re a mental patient.” – Edgar, Brea’s husband

The movie begins with a routine trip to the ER.

When you go to a hospital you know that no one there will understand what is happening to your body or how you feel. The type of pain that comes with chronic illness, that comes from literal exhaustion from loss of spoons, is not something they’ve ever experienced. Trying to explain it is ironically like that old saying “you can’t teach a fish what it’s like to live on land.” #Mermaidanalogy

This disconnect means that our tests won’t be accurate. 1 on the pain scale of chronic illness is a 10 for ABs. Symptoms you have are often symptoms general medical staff has never heard of in a proper context. You have to be careful about everything you say and do, constantly assessing every pro and con. If you can’t bridge the language barrier going to the ER will only make it far worse. It wouldn’t be so hard if medical professionals knew about it or were even interested in learning.

When people can’t see that you’re sick so you have to be the healthiest sick person you possibly can because at times it feels like no one even knows what species you are which is why a lot of times YD (young disabled people) will opt not to go to the hospital at all; one meme in the community is comparing what has to happen before we will go versus ABs. ABs go to the ER because of gas pains.

This isn’t to say that people in the medical field don’t know that we are outliers to some extent. When my CT (caretaker) got high and turned on the stove resulting in my getting carbon monoxide poisoning although I insisted that no one call an ambulance an AB friend was too afraid to respect my wishes. It may have resulted in a good learning experience because when the paramedics came and I explained that I’m so disabled that it might be better just not to do anything and they agreed. She was shocked at their apathy.

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This was like watching an out of body experience. It’s a place I’ve been before, thank God not often, but I know it well. Having never seen it from the outside watching this horrified me, but it struck me as odd that I wasn’t horrified at her safety like I do when I see ABs in severe pain and unrest. It felt horrifying because I was remembering my own horror from flareups.

I really want to know what it looks like from an AB’s perspective. I really want to understand where my mom was coming from when she told me to just shut the fuck up or when the nurses refused to stop even for a second when they are causing this.

In this respect there is a lot in this movie that I can learn from.

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“but I just feel like, I’m like robbing you and I’m hurting you and I…” – Brea to her husband

Brea’s relationship with her husband is not familiar and it certainly isn’t common. The situation was obviously incredibly hard for him and after certain amount of time people reach their limit. For friends it’s a month to a year, for family it’s at day one or a few years. When your family runs out of patients you get sent to a home, they murder you, which is ruled as a mercy killing, or they stop doing anything at all, and you become a ghost in your own home. In the rare occasion that your family doesn’t demonize you or objectify you as a fallen angel there is still abuse, albeit good intentioned.

I don’t think Omar is more empathetic or has more love than the average man but he’s not an average man. Besides being intelligent and his accounting for his own ignorance he is a minority and, anecdotally, the more marginalized person, the more likely they are to understand the extremes of bigotry.

Still, what the hell? Even my AB friends thought he was Prince Charming.

But he was a part of Brea’s life back before she got sick. This makes a huge difference because loyalty is real. People that have the ability to stay in a disabled love one’s life may not know it’s possible and most don’t have the loyalty to try. You still have an expiration date, but in the worst times you may only have to deal with good intentioned ableism.

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“You know, and honestly, there are a lot of days when I just feel like I’m doing a good job just by just holding it together and not killing myself.” – Brea

This is also something just comes with a disability. It’s what has helped to alienate disabled people even within their own activist communities. You’re not supposed want to die. People get upset or angry with you when you don’t respond to their alarm by anything other than gratefulness. You can’t tell people your suicidal thoughts are not a cry for help and you most certainly cannot support someone else when they make the decision to commit suicide.

Almost a decade ago, when Cripple Punk was forming, I had a tumblr about disability. When I abruptly closed it people thought it was from the constant hate mail and death threats but those never bothered me; I just couldn’t find a way to explain to my followers why my peers were suddenly disappearing or why I would have ever told any of them that I supported their decision.

It’s hard to explain to someone what it’s like to be told by a friend that they want to kill themselves, or at least not what it’s like to know that they are being rational about it. It’s not a teen drama type of suicidal tendencies, they don’t have an eb and flow after certain point. Whether you’re happy or you’re sad suicide is always in the back of your mind and most of the time you pull it out as your last coping mechanism: you can stop this at any time. It’s empowering to know that in a world where your body is literally made to be inaccessible from buildings to healthcare you have the kill switch, you are still in control.

If you are alive, it’s not because of anyone but you. Only you can take the credit. Everyone else doesn’t know that this is currency to you so they won’t try to take it from you.

It’s hard to hear your friend tell you they’ve decided to kill themselves and you’re thousands of miles away from them, but even if you were sitting right next to each other there is nothing you can do to help. You want to give your friends the honor you treasure yourself so you tell them that it’s their decision and you will support them no matter what they decide. And you do.

It’s hard to admit how proud you are of them for making a decision even after they’ve killed themselves. How relieved you are that they’ve gotten away from the abuse. How envious you are that they found their breaking point and you still have no idea where yours is.

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“Sickness doesn’t terrify me and death doesn’t terrify me. What terrifies me is that you can disappear because someone’s telling the wrong story about you. I feel like that’s what’s happened to all of us for living this. And I remember thinking, there’s no one coming to look for me because no one even knows I went missing.” – Brea

This lack of visibility and lack of ability to protest in ways people acknowledge is the worst part of any disability. That, in and of itself, is disability. Disabled from society; literally.

This is what draws most people to suicide, not physical or mental symptoms. Again, it is the isolation, rejection, and discrimination.

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“Doctors want to know what to do, but it’s not in textbooks of medicine… So they have to go the same places you will go in Google it.” – Dr. Nancy Kilmas

If there’s any part of this movie I especially hope ABs watching will listen to and not just watch as sympathy porn it’s this quote. If they can understand how literal this is and how unconcerned doctors are with their own behavior we could move toward gaining civil rights instead of arguing our right to have them at all. Maybe ABs can empathize with the normalcy of this. It’s not even web MD, it’s a broad search to find anything anywhere. The nature of people’s existence is as common knowledge as any pop culture trivia they’ve googled out of boredom.

You know you’re fucked when your doctor is excited to find your condition on Wikipedia.

I’m incredibly grateful for this movie because now that it’s available to the greater public we can stop needing to go through disability 101 before every conversation. This doesn’t hardly cover all of the issues involved in disability but it will save a lot of time, which is nice when you’re dying.

Old disabled people are irrelevant

The social model of disability was created in 1975 by UPIAS (Union of the Physically Impaired Against Segregation) but was coined as “the social model” in 1983 Mike Oliver, a disabled academic.

Disabled people didn’t have a civil rights movement until the 80s and much like the feminist movement it was both allies and the most privileged among the disabled who got to speak. At all.

bIt wasn’t until the 70s when all states within the USA finally did away with “Ugly Laws” which were their actual names. It made it illegal for disabled people to go in public. This was due how many able-bodied people who had become disabled by contracting polio and soldiers coming back from war. It was never about minorities.

The ADA, Americans with Disabilities Act, was created in the 90s. Credit for this is a little varied and a little controversial. A large reason why the ADA was created was because of the AIDS epidemic. The queer community couldn’t find help from the government to get funding to find a cure or to treat patients. The only way to get what is essentially disability rights was to reassociate themselves with the disabled community after sexual and gender minorities were taken off the DSM 5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.)

Not to suggest that we, the disabled community, renounce the DSM but there is a large dissent growing.  because of what it’s become and how it’s being used.

The key to this was the social model of disability. The government didn’t see GSM (gender and sexual minorities) as disabled people but the case was made that they had become disabled from society because of the disease they contracted which even though patients remained able-bodied was still a terminal disease with no cure in sight. At least at the public know of.

The LGBT™ community now rejects the identity of disabled, although many people in the community never used the word to refer to themselves in the first place. They now celebrate the fact that things like homosexuality are not seen as a disability; that achievement was made through the social model of disability and would not have happened without activism from the disabled.

You might be thinking of intersection at this point. The modern LGBT™ community is largely criticized by DM (disabled millennials) communities because of this and the fact that things like Pride parades want made to be accessible to physically and neurologically disabled people. In the last few years things have gotten better accessibility wise in some states, in certain areas.

There is animosity amongst some DMs toward the LGBT™,  primarily the disabled sexual and gender disabled minorities both for issues like these previously stated and the 2016 Sagamihara genocide in which many disabled people were euthanized inside their segregated neighborhood (something like a group home) by Satoshi Uematsu who had written a manifesto calling for the extermination of disabled people globally. This happened about the same time as the Pulse shooting which was widely reported on and the LGBT™ community in particular refused to ally for their disabled members at that time. Even when the names of all the Pulse victims were released whereas in Japan none of the victims  names were because it would’ve been embarrassing to their families if people found out they were related to someone disabled in the first place.

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The public was forbidden to pay their respects or leave flowers or candles at the site.

Tracking back a little, on through the 80s there were also many disabled protests and activism that didn’t get reported on unless it was a “die in” or the Capitol Crawl. A die in is when disabled protesters sit in public spaces, fasting, and peacefully refusing to leave. These resulted in good for TV moments like public assault by the police.

Much like what happened earlier this year when the radical disability activist group ADAPT (with the slogan “adapt or die”) were violently assaulted and arrested and then detained in inhumane ways and places. The first two were largely covered in independent media but information and proof of the latter came from twitter. Because  the cops didn’t think to take away their cell phones when they were arrested or detained. Although, they pulled people out of wheelchairs so I’m sure many people’s cell phones got busted so someone must have had an old Nokia on them.

Health Care Protest Arrests
Yes, those are zip ties the police arrested them with.

The Capitol Crawl was done by early members of ADAPT and it was a major event which is given a lot more credit than it actually intentionally achieved. The Capitol Crawl was a protest in which disabled people got out of their wheelchairs and left assistive equipment behind like crutches or walkers and slowly climbed up the White House steps while staff walked past. A now iconic photo was taken of Jennifer Keelan who, at the time, was a young disabled girl who was very white and cute and insisted on making it to the top to complete the protest so the public actually paid attention.

Disability Rights Protest

After that it was a lot of boring political legislation and drama between marginalized activist groups.

The ADA was created in 1990 which was based on the social model of disability. The medical model (which excludes people like AIDS patients) is still heavily embedded in many laws which is why things like segregation haven’t been made illegal. Forced sterilization was delegalized across the United States in as recent as 2010 under laws created for the disabled but had been extended to POC (remind you of anything?) The last victim was in California; reparations are being legislated for victims in North Carolina and Virginia.

In the past, disabled people were usually killed at birth, given a mercy killing if they  were NTAB and became disabled, or simply didn’t live long partly because of the lack of medical advancements but in greater part because they were marginalized and disabled from society.

Millennials are the first generation of disabled people that were allowed to reach adulthood because of things like the ADA. We are also the first generation in the world to have the Internet our entire lives and due to things like segregation and lack of accessibility we built our communities online through social media. Just like other millennial groups. We are the children they fought for and we owe them our lives and our health.

Obviously many of them are still alive as this is relatively recent history and they are like the parents of the disabled community.

shutterstock_202195894-600x600They are completely out of touch and have animosity for DM (disabled millennials) because many of us have different philosophies. One is we don’t want to write letters to Congress to beg for rights, we want to destroy society like other millennial’s in marginalized groups. Essentially we want to make a better world and not put Band-Aids on bigotry.

With the rise of Nazi activity and the fact that it’s actually being covered in the news is especially a big issue for disabled people as the Nazi party used propaganda like mercy killings and disabled being “useless leaders” to carry out our genocide and use the legal precedent to go as far as they did. The infamous gas chambers themselves were first created for the disabled population. For further information the victims were referred to as T4 patients which refers to the preferred drug for execution, Aktion T4.

The number four refers to a street address Tiergartenstraße 4 in Berlin where beginning in 1940 the “Chancellery department” where people received paid training. The most accomplished that went on to run the gas chambers were sent to run them in concentration camps. There were 70,273 T4 victims between September 1939 to August 1941. It was then banned due to what is referred to as the most influential protest since the rule of the Third Reich; NTABs had legitimate concerns of how many and how quickly people were deemed disabled enough to be a T4 patient. Of course, it still continued on. Primarily by Catholic authorities in Germany.

To be fair to Germany, the United States was far more extreme in eugenic philosophies (just the word didn’t have the gravity it does post World War II so there is a misconception that America were the good guys but not to eugenic policies were based off of America’s political philosophies and laws.

Our two groups usually don’t interact very much, even online, but if you follow disabled bloggers or people on twitter you will see them complaining about how people particularly treat “young disabled people” or DMs.

Those disabled people who consider themselves liberal or conservative and especially people who subscribe to the medical model of disability are a sub–community but they are used to being the entire community. They are a sub–community of which is largely irrelevant here because their philosophies are irrelevant.

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This subculture of disability has no term to refer to it specifically, one has yet to be coined, on this issue I welcome old disabled people offer up a term they would like us to use to refer to them. There hasn’t really been a need for a term thus far because, as I said they are irrelevant, and we only talk about relevant things so there hasn’t yet been a need for one.

But I sincerely welcome them to coin their own term but I caution them from doing it on social media as words that are “created” on social networks like Tumblr are regarded as… I don’t know house to put this  other that they are irrelevant. Those terms are given little credibility because they don’t have a long history which can be sourced before the invention of social media unlike the term “social model” of disability despite how similar they sound.

I love my disability

My public persona IRL is incredibly friendly and funny and “eccentric” and I know I obviously developed these characteristics to a cartoonish level because of my disability. You have to survive off of the benevolence of others. But one of the things I do that people refer to as “eccentric” or me just being me, like boys are boys, when I want to leave a conversation I do it blunts to the point of offensive but so jovial that people always think it’s endearing.

I curb my language depending on who is around me or where I am but if I’m with someone I consider my friend I will just suddenly say, “okay, you’ve been here enough, get the fuck out.” It’s a passive-aggressive spoon theory. Or friendly–aggressive? My disabled game is off the charts so I easily hide the fact that I always feel ill, in pain, and I will push myself to limit. Most of us do this among some people but I’m still self-centered enough that I’m not going to “borrow” any spoons for anyone.

Of course that hurts all of my relationships but besides that I wonder, if I didn’t closet the fact that I have a chronic illness would I be even remotely like myself? This is then obvious observation but it’s one of those things I’m realizing our a basic skill we are seemingly born with like their ability to swim. They can throw their babies in water right after they’re born and they can swim.  Their babies will almost immediately lose the ability to swim, they don’t need to survive in the water so they don’t bother remembering how to swim, it’s logical. That’s why they don’t utilize the all of the resources they can find in nature.

We can and do use just un–fresh water to use more ideal environments for ourselves. To be their equivalent of or demolishing everything and building from scratch, I don’t mean this in a long term evolutionary scope, right now they still keep building society in ways they themselves are constantly complain about. Their thing is building big shit, I get it, but it seems so counterintuitive.

But maybe I’m being naïve myself. Maybe there is a big detriment to our fixation with continuously churning out content like art and writing and music and innovation… And astronomy, astrology, you know, anything that’s ever had any cultural value.

Maybe Freda Carlo was their Hitler.

But back to myself,

Obviously my being closeted most of the time would help the eccentric thing but I wonder how less “funny” I would be if I were one of them?

I’ve been disabled my whole life so it’s not like this isn’t actually a part of my personality, it’s just a nicer version I use in public like everyone else does but it really seems like it would change the fundamentals of how people perceive me just as a person.

As much as I roll my eyes over the word eccentric and my reputation of “oh my God, she’s so funny, she’ll say anything” makes me swallow my eyeballs I like who I am.

I hate that AB (able-bodied, and I totally don’t mean that as a slur) have such a hard time getting out of a simple conversation. There have been thousands of times that I’ve been with and ABs so awkward with someone they are talking to that it wastes time and both people are dying to get out of the conversation.

My disability is why I don’t have that handicap.

Applicably, I take any complement badly because to me it feels like I’ve made commitments to be certain ways with certain people at certain places. I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for this either but, fuck it.

It sounds cold or embarrassing even though everyone who is the “funny guy” feels like this but I have so many social tools to manage these things that people have “crippling” anxiety over. ABs will agonize about this happening just one time in their life… For the rest of their lives.

I have no idea what that’s like.

I can intellectualize it but I really can’t empathize. Caring so deeply about someone’s opinion of how you ended one interaction, especially when you never see that person ever again, are things that ABs deal with so often that it’s a cliché on sitcoms. It’s something they use as their representation.

It’s something they even put in their intentionally bad representation of those in their society that they’ve marginalized.

You never see a cripple on TV being embarrassed about calling someone by the wrong name, no matter what race or gender or sexuality.

In the real world there isn’t this petty bullshit. Not on that insignificant level.

We stress over conversations about whether we get to live or die.

ABs have no concept of how common violence is for disabled people because harming someone weaker than you is something that is not done. But that’s the thing, it doesn’t happen, not in that society. It happens in the real world.

There are people who leave the house worried about whether they have their wallet or not, they don’t make conscious decisions of whether the reason they’re going out is worth risking their lives over. It explains why ABs don’t believe that authority figures in their society treat us well. Their job is to treat the weak members of society well and a nice courtesy would be to extend it to others.

There are mutations and illnesses common to ABs so that’s why they find it so shocking that when we go to their doctors they use Wikipedia, our version of the DSM I guess.

It’s also why they don’t consider things being segregation when it comes to anything other than specifically race or gender.

To them we all look alike so they can’t tell the difference between someone with a physical disability or neurological divergence or even be aware that they usually intersect even though that’s common sense – wait, I guess it’s not common sense to them, I take that back. Either way they can’t tell any of us apart. They don’t even recognize their own that they threw out.

And just like every great Society they get rid of the elderly only they do it by but they do it by just perceiving that the old ones don’t exist anymore to kick them out. That’s some real world quantum physics.

That must be hard, knowing that either because of time or something random at any point in their life you will become worthless eater.

They are either in denial or very naïve to be able to go about their lives worrying about things like what their voice sounds like.

This offends some people but honestly, that’s why they are going to die out first. Their infants can swim but it’s the first thing conditioned out. Does it seem as bizarre to anyone else that they brag about evolving past the need for water environments? That’s somehow better than the animals that evolved to be able to live in both? As juvenile as it sounds it actually is homosapiens vs homosuperior and Magneto was right.

Diary: I hate you all

I’m not an angry person. I’m the type of person who you would assume has a bad temper because I’m naturally argumentative but anger is too physically exhausting for me. AB people rely on anger all the time, easily because of their entitlement of course, but also because they can peace out of any situation.

They can walk away. They can leave the room. They can leave the building. They can hit people back. They get the benefit of doubt. I can’t leave; not on any level. I literally can’t leave the house on my own and going into another room only makes it worse when you are disabled. Everyone is entitled to speak for you and make decisions for you even if they aren’t legally supposed to. When I go to the ER I tell the staff I have MD and then I have to find at least two AB people to ask the nursing staff to change what they had written down, MS, to my actual diagnosis of MD. No one believes me because I sit in a wheelchair so no matter how emphatically I say “not MS, I have MD” I still can’t be trusted to decipher between the two of them.

Auntie L has been “done with” my mom and I for a while now and yet she is the only person medical and social professionals seem willing to talk to. Despite going into Social Security and getting my competency the first thing people want to know is why are they talking to me and not an AB who’s advocating for me?

Assholes aside, like my social worker who has refused to speak to me at all, everyone just assumes disabled people are the least capable of all people. Even about disability. Especially about our own disabilities.

AB people are angry on my behalf when I tell them things that I’m going through which is validating I guess but they then insist I should do something, that I should fight for my humanity. They don’t want to help or anything, but I should totally do that.

They don’t understand when I tell them this is my life and this is the way things work; this is the way things work for all disabled people and it’s much better than it ever has been for us which doesn’t say a lot. I refuse to be a vigilante and then ABs get mad at me. I need to deal with the 24 hour job the state gives me for being disabled as well as having health problems and manage being a member of the most oppressed group in the history of humanity. I don’t have a lot of time on my hands.

This is too much a part of my everyday life that it could never really make me angry but I’m becoming more and more impatient, especially now that I have to take care of my mother who has become disabled. I suppose it’s because I have had to speak on her behalf lately and I can sympathize with her situation so when people act the way they have my entire life is not really about me anymore so I feel guilty for letting it slide.

And then I talked to other young disabled people who are going through all of the same things I went through and nothing is getting better, some things are even getting worse. I suppose the real source of my anger is my own fault because I’m having a hard time getting past the guilt of sheltering NTABs my whole life. If I had demanded respect or insisted people listen to what I had to say maybe things wouldn’t have to be this way anymore. I feel complicit in stripping my peers of their humanity. I can’t imagine there is a worse type of guilt but as someone who doesn’t feel guilty often even a little bit of this shit is too much.

I did it all to survive but I never much cared about surviving so it’s not a good excuse. I wasn’t supposed to live until 30 so whenever things would get bad I could tell myself “it’s not going to last much longer” but now I hit 30 and I don’t have an exact year to shoot for anymore, it just depends on how healthy I can remain and my health depends on being stress-free so even though I still tell myself it’s all going to be over soon I also did that terrible thing where I became an adult and realized even passive behaviors have grave consequences and it’s usually the burden of the following generation.

I’m melancholy because this week I have to interview a caretaker, I have to take a daylong appointment at the bank, another daylong appointment Social Security, I need to find a way to make money to pay off last month bills since my SSI got dropped to $3 after I went in to get my competency. I have to find a way to barter things in such a way that my mom and I can survive this month.

Now auntie L texted my CT Zari telling her she was going to pick up my mother sometime this week to take her to lunch. She didn’t know exactly when or what day because she’s very busy and won’t know until the mornings what her schedule will be.

Well guess the fuck what?

I never know if on a given day if I’ll be able to get out of bed or eat. I never know who exactly is going to be here and when because even people coming here for a paycheck come on their own time. I never complain but it’s been explained to me many times that the pay isn’t great and despite this being a job I need to be thankful for everything anyone does for me because what would I do without them?

They’re right, I can’t do anything without them. They make sure of that.

I never know on any given day if I’ll be okay or if I’ll be in so much pain I start to disassociate and what causes me pain and illness does not factor into any decision because it’s not important to anyone but myself.

Auntie made it clear she does not care about my well-being. She thought it was absurd when I asked her not to let herself into my house and wake me up to scold me about how unlovable I am. I was so incredibly ill after that whole thing I was starting to hope I was actually just dying and now I’m starting to feel that way again.

I’m supposed to overcome my disability to make my disability easier to manage for people who I don’t even want in my life. I have to overcome any physical sensation, any emotional burden, any independent thought.

I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.

I promised not to kill myself if I found a way to manage things and this is no longer a way to manage things. It may work for everyone but me but at this point I realize that not being selfish is the most selfish thing I can do.

I’m not all suffering and I’m not selfless.

I will not live like this any longer.

I’m already in pain, I’m already hungry, I’ve never had any agency, what do I have to be scared of?