This morning Andrew called me to chat. I usually prefer our morning talks–we’re both more hopeful, less bittered by the events of the day–so I was glad he called. I waited for him to tell me the scoop, hoping that it was about a conflict with an overly vocal attendant or other disabled person, when he sighed.
“I dunno man, I just don’t think I’ll ever be accepted.” he said quickly, as if to get the words out before they crawled back down his throat.
My heart hurt for him. And then I thought, “I’ll blog about this when I’m bored.”
And here we are.
Conversations between Dirty Drew and I around acceptance and lack thereof are often circular. One tries to comfort the other, but can never succeed because we are both really afraid of the exact same things: isolation, abandonment, never being full people, never getting to work, or never being seen for the things we offer.
Andrew spoke of having to put himself out there, how its tough, but that it’s almost become reflex in any social situation. After about the 3rd “I totally understand,” I said something I didnt expect. I mentioned that if we didnt have to try hard, and if we weren’t so goddamn different, we would be on totally different paths. Andrew wouldnt be the wonderfully novel token queer wheelie. And I might not give a fuck about helping others. Circumstances make people. …or something.
As much as I loathe being a wheelie, I’m grateful to live in Canada. My life is pretty solid. And I’m not sure I’d want to be just like every other girl. If I was able to walk, I’d probably want a different face, and then different hair, and then a higher IQ. I don’t know where it would end. Most days my difference nearly kills me, in a nice way (what?), but I’m glad I don’t know what it is to have it any other way.
Gayness and I are both realizing, somewhat simultaneously, that people are this fine balance of never giving too much and saying enough just to be heard. For me, I need to learn when to say no (and yes) and “help me,” instead of “Go away I hate you,” and understand that when people don’t like me, I sometimes will never know why. Hardest life fact ever, for my sickly people pleasing soul that begs, like Andrew, for acceptance. I’ll quickly add that this not knowing can be exhausting in my wheelie experience; people be like, “You’re so smart/pretty/cool/funny/everything i want in a girl/friend” and then say “…but i don’t really think we should chill.” And you’re left wondering if the person was just humoring you or comforting themselves and this loud little voice that regularly disturbs your day yells “FUCK, not again”. And for a brief moment you wonder: “Is it me or my disability theyre put off by?” Because no one will give you a straight answer, and even if they did, you’re not sure it would help at all.
Another voice tells you to STFU and accept the thing you cannot change, and you head straight for le Smirnoff.
I was gonna write about something totally different, but whatever. My blog owns me.