Help Create a Crisis Line for PwD, by PwD

 

phone-wheelchair-users-sign-31075305

Taking a break from the usual dark, personal content to tell you about an initiative that I’m working my butt off to make a reality: A crisis line, run by people with disabilities, for people with disabilities(PwD). It’s a wonder that a crisis line specifically for PwD doesn’t already exist. After all, we’ve got crisis lines for the LBGT+ community, and for people that are experiencing abuse, we’ve got teen helplines—we’ve even got one for helping kids with their homework. We recognize that certain circumstances warrant help from people who” get it” (ugh, homework), and yet we don’t have any phone support for those struggling with disability-related stuff.

It’s a puzzle as to why that is, when the suicide rate of PwD is 2.5 times higher than the average population in North America. (Depending on where you look— despite high risk, PwD are often overlooked in suicide prevention and analysis, which is another classic example of erasure. I digress.) Other deeply alarming facts, like how over 80% of women with disabilities will experience sexual assault in their lifetime, scream for the development of a disability-specific crisis line.

Aside from gut-wretching stats, there’s the simple, undeniable truth that living with a disability can be fucking difficult sometimes,. It’s hard when doctors don’t really know how to treat you, or assume your disability is the root of all your health problems, instead of examining you properly. It’s wearing to have to educate people often, on what your disability is and how it affects you. It’s tiring to fight against subtle or overt discrimination, against hate speech, against ignorance that has kept you isolated so many times in the past. It’s heartbreaking to grieve loss of ability, and to not have the ongoing support needed as you enter life as a newly-disabled person. And these are just a few of the struggles we so frequently face, as PwD.

If we can’t immediately remedy the ableism at the root of many of these troubles, the least we can do is provide emotional support for PwD, and that’s why I’m trying to start a crisis line for PwD. To give us a space to talk, to vent, with someone who knows what it’s like to live with disability. To have a number to dial when you’re looking for disability-related resources. To bridge the gap, create connection, break isolation.

So. If you’re reading this, and you’d like to help make a crisis line for PwD come to life, there are a few ways you could help:

  • if you’re a PwD who wants to tell me their thoughts on a crisis line, and how it can bet serve PwD
  • if you know anything about writing grants
  • If you know anything about crowd sourcing/fundraising
  • If you can tell me why having a crisis line for PwD is a shit idea
  • If you know of any excellent resources/social agencies, that serve PwD well if you know of an organization that might help fund a crisis line for PwD.

Finally, the rate of unemployment for PwD inON is nothing short of pitiful, with PwD at 51% unemployed, while those without disability have an unemployment rate of only 21%. Many organizations struggle to be accessible to those that may work best from home, or with accommodations in an office setting. The Partnership Council on Employment Opprtunities for People with Disabilities’ report states that businesses are reluctant to hire PwD because of concerns regarding “absenteeism, lower productivity and expensive accommodations.”

These ableist (and disproven, see further down on the linked page) beliefs clearly have an impact on the disabled population with respect to employment.It’s crucial that we work towards changing that reality, and in order to that it would be a priority to pay PwD support workers adequately. Hence, the crisis line would likely start off small, with paid workers, and grow as more funds become available.

All suggestions/thoughts are welcome—Don’t hesitate to email me at Kristen.williams10@gmail.com The more feedback, the better. Thanks, folks.

Dating A Hippie Who Isn’t Actually Very Hippie.

I just got out of this shitty relationship. Shitty because, when it was good, it was really good, and when it was bad I wanted to stick my head in an oven. The guy? Dude’s name is actually Tim Kitz–I won’t be complicit in the protection of abuser’s identities. Stay away from him, friends.

Anyway, Tim seems like a hippie in the hippiest of ways, with trademark unkept hair and a commune-like living style. The type that cleans out plastic cups so he can recycle them, and turns dinner conversation into a deconstruction of capitalist ideals.

On paper, Kitz seems fantastic.He knows all the relevant feminist-progressive ideals and when to slip them into casual conversation. He, like me, seems to have a huge hard-on for radicalism and equality, and enjoys analyzing the places where the two intertwine. He’s also super affectionate, and spends more time touching me than, well, not touching me when we’re together.

When push comes to shove though, he is not even close to being the things he portrays and purports to care about, and it’s become more and more evident that a lot of his radical thought and progressive beliefs in things like “listening and validating others” and “not being a manipulative fuckhead to women that you’re sleeping with.” are nothing more than lip-service that he spouts when it suits him. Yeah, remember that part about wanting to stick my head in the oven?

So anyways, both of us have known for weeks now that things between us should be over. On my end, things are done because he’s incredibly manipulative. On his end, I don’t fucking know. He says I don’t listen to him. On our Last Night Ever Getting Back Together, he just kept saying that–over and over, in between other shit about how I’m a liar and a hypocrite and a user–“You don’t listen to me.” Even though I’ve spent hours upon hours listening to his rants about how I’m actually awful. Even though he guilts me for doing the very things I should be doing– hanging up, kicking him out–I should’ve never listened.

Before he derailed every one of my concerns into being about how don’t listen to him, he made it about how I always give up too easy. He said I never have ever given him a chance, and that when I ended things (which, I tried to do on average once a week), I was just giving up again. During one of his worst railroad rants he told me I’m a quitter, among other things, for ten minutes straight. No exaggeration.

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All said, I’m sure you see the toxicity here.  Label it what you like–I’ve tried to compartmentalize it under “bullshit that seeps in to my soul, even though I’d rather never think about again ever,” but it’s tough. It’s tough because the first few paragraphs of this post still remain true.And those hooks, they’re deep.

Even though every fight somehow became about him and his pain, he’s the only guy who’s walked around the city with me, holding my hand. He’s the only one who gives me space to talk to strangers who assume I can’t talk, or talk to him first. The only one who said, “Fuck you,” to a passerby that said he was a “good man,” for holding my hand.

They’re are countless reasons why people put up with abuse. As a disabled woman, I think one of my reasons in this scenario was the way I simultaneously felt totally seen, and not seen at all. I felt a lot of love, and then I felt the rug slip from underneath me. I felt like people had no choice but to confront their ableism when we were out together, and that felt a bit like crack. I loved feeling like a real person.

Maybe one day I’ll feel it again, without a price.

 

This is what it feels like

I don’t know about you, but my last few months have consisted of men’s bullshit, and my minimization of said bullshit, as a means of survival.

But today, today I say fuck your bullshit.

Fuck the time you laid in my bed, right after I clarified that none of the hanky-panky would be had, stuck your fingers inside of me and said, “I want this.”

Not, “I want you” Not, “I’m attracted to you,” and definitely not, “I want your consent,” just this, and your stubby fingers in my beautiful vagina.

Fuck the night leading up to the morning of your intrusive fingers, when I said I was too tired to sleep with you, and you kept kissing me anyhow. Fuck the fact that I said at least 3 times that I was sleeping, and kept my eyes shut as you penetrated me with your penis regardless.

Fuck the fact that when you left the next morning, after your fingers had been inside of me and your penis had gone soft twice, (to which you blamed the speed crash you were having, and not the fact that you were trying to fuck someone who wouldn’t even open her eyes for you) the last thing you said was “You could’ve been more playful, you know.”

Fuck the likelihood that many of you will read this and wonder why I said “I’m tired” and “I’m asleep” over and over, instead of “No.”

Fuck the reality that I wonder that too.

Fuck the fact that you still text me.

Fuck the fact that you don’t know what you did wrong.

Fuck the knowledge that I’m a statistic.

Fuck the way that knowing you for a year changed nothing.

Fuck the way that all my wisdom on consent, and violence, and self-care couldn’t change a goddamn thing.

Fuck the perception that I’m vulnerable, as a disabled person,and its tangible, undeniable, non-socially-constructed truth.

Fuck the fact that after you’d left, all I could do was lay there, with my face in your pillow and your smell lingering, thinking about how it was bound to happen to me sometime.

Fuck the truth that so many girls have been here, and can’t read this without crying.

Fuck the fear that this won’t be the last time I experience this.

Fuck the fact that this isn’t even what I wanted to write about.

 

#AbleismIs (Fuck Ableism)

#AbleismIs

What’s the best way to maintain inequality? Never name the fire that fuels it. The best way to hog power and control? Keep people in the dark about the ways they’re being mistreated; be it by individuals or institutions. Tell them it’s their fault. Redefine their reality. Tell them they’re losing they’re mind, that they did this to themselves, over and over until they take it for truth.

I’ve been asked to define ableism multiple times in the last few months. Each time, my stomach clenches with fear and retreat, as many different instances unfold themselves in my mind’s eye. I can’t. I think, almost instinctually. Putting the complexities of my daily life into tangible, understandable terms of oppression feels all-too-intense.

As intense as unacknowledged oppressions are, silence is worse. Silence is harmful. Silence manifests more ableism. I’m done with silence, and below is some of the ableism I experience. Add your experiences with ableism, so we can paint a fuller picture together, and hopefully dispel the power held by silence and ambiguity.

#AbleismIs a contradiction, a trap, that constantly invalidates people with disabilities and then tells them to get over their disabilities, be different, erase parts of themselves, look more ‘normal’

#AbleismIs the belief that disabilities are an excuse, born out of laziness or incompetency.

#Ableism says that disabled people are liars and/or criminals. Its baseline asserts that we could work but don’t, and if we are able to work, are scamming government funds and resources if we still have physical or monetary needs. #burdenofproof.

#Ableism locks disabled people up in institutions, presently, in many countries around the world. In Canada, the last known(abusive) institution was shut down in 2009.

#AbleismIs the assumption that everyone wants to be able-bodied,

#AbleismIs the belief that disabled people are less-than.

Systemically, #AbleismIs the structural oppression that legitimizes our poverty, unemployment, isolation, and general lack of well being. #Ableism justifies these inequalities by calling us inefficient, undeserving.

#Ableism glorifies our helpers as saints, while ignoring our names and stories.

#AbleismIs the reason why so many men still ask me if I can have sex.

#AbleismIs the reason those same men ask, “but how?”

#Ableism is this online dating text:

Screenshot 2015-11-10 16.54.55

Right. Because POF is where you find people to climb Mount Everest with.

#Ableism (internalized) tells me that I should not have other friends in wheelchairs, or with disabilities of any kind. It says that I’ve worked so hard to overcome my disability (eye roll), and thus shouldn’t have to associate with other PwDs.

#Ableism (internalized) whispers that I’m too good to date other PwD, because that’s all society expects of me and I better ‘do better’.

#Ableism (internalized) makes me a snob, isolates me from my own community.

#Ableism (internalized) makes me uncomfortable with disclosing my disability to those I’ll never see face-to-face, for fear they’ll start questioning my competency/legitimacy as a person, once discovering that I’m disabled.

#Ableism expects me to talk louder.

#Ableism wants me to learn in a standardized way.

#Ableism makes no time for mental health/sick days.

#AbleismIs the reason I didn’t know what ableism was until I was 24.

And maybe worst of all, #AbleismIs what’s made me think all these negatives are simply, “the cards I’ve been dealt.”

#AbleismIs never going to acknowledge that I was born with less spoons than ablebodied people, and #Ableism will never note that that does not make me less-than, but in fact gives me a greater filter against bullshit and time-wasting.

#AbleismIs the reason the rate of suicide for disabled people is estimated to be much higher than those of the “average” population.

#AbleismIs the reason those suicide stats are so well-hidden.

#AbleismIs the pity-smile from the passerbys at the grocery store.

#AbleismIs hiding my learning differences, because my physical differences are already too much to handle.

#Ableism causes closeted-living.

#Ableism teaches us that ablebodied people’s time is of more value than ours, that their lives matter more than ours, and that we should be grateful we are alive.

#AbleismIs ignoring or invalidating invisible disabilities.

#AbleismIs refusing to believe in the legitimacy of our disabilities.

#Ableism is, “You have brain damage? Well, you seem really smart.”

#AbleismIs the “R-word,” because when you use that word, you dissociate from the humanity of people with intellectual disabilities.

#Ableism says that I don’t understand how my body works.

#Ableism says my body is broken/deformed/tragic/something to gawk over.

#AbleismIs why I felt ugly as soon as I hit puberty.

#AbleismIs why I eventually decided “Fuck that, I’m pretty.”

#Ableism assumes that institutions know my priorities, and what’s best for me.

#AbleismIs responsible for the medicalization and dehumanization of my body.

#Ableism still regularly tells me I’m stupid, not good enough, and should just take what I can get out of life.

#Ableism hurts.

That’s all I have right now. My goal is to make a comprehensive list depicting what ableism looks like for all sorts of people, so contribute if you feel comfortable. Tell me, what does ableism mean to you?

Additions to #AbleismIs From Other PwD:

Jennifer Clayton says: “Ableism is…doctors telling me to find another doctor because they don’t treat people with “multiple problems.”

Ableism treats me like a dumb child, and is surprised I’ve had any accomplishments.

Ableism thinks I should be cured by now, or dead.

Ableism thinks I should apologize.

Ableism can suck it!”

Andrew Morrison-Gurza says: “#ableismis CP Warriors. Why are we fighting our disabilities and not embracing them? “
Point of reference:
 TIFFANY GRACE
Andrew also says: “‪#‎AbleismIS‬: Not knowing how to take things slow or create boundaries, because as PwD, we are rarely given the opportunity to experience consistency.”                                                                                                                                                                               Anne Killpack says: “#ableismis feeling like I have to be polite about not getting basic civil rights others get.

 #ableismis when a sign says dogs are welcome at the cafe that doesn’t let wheelchairs in.”

 Katie Calahan says: “[#ableismis ] When someone aggressively “insists” on “helping” me after I’ve politely refused their un-needed assistance several times! [#ableismis ]When my disabled friends tell me about the things they “can never have.” [Can-never-haves include],  “I’ll never get married” “I’ll never have a family” “I want to (career goal), but I’ll never be able to do that.”                                                                                                                                                                      
Odat Dbd says,: “[#ableismis ]the assumption that just because I don’t “look sick” I must be faking it. Naw man. I’m faking being well.”
Frank says:[#ableismis ] We are disabled not due to lack of our willpower, but, because society refuses to enable us. How can I compete fairly in a job market where 90% of the buildings where I COULD work, are not physically accessible to me?
Cheryl Green says: #AbleismIs the teacher complaining to me that it’s not fair I didn’t tell her I had a disability before enrolling in her class.
#AbleismIs The teachers telling me and the one other disabled student the accommodations they made for us without asking which ones we wanted or needed. And getting defensive when we told them the accommodations they chose for us felt unfair and awkward.
#AbleismIs asking me to wait for the whole rest of the class to get applause at the presentation, and then I can join them at the end.
#AbleismIs My mom reassuring me, “Well, at least you still have your intelligence” and not being able to explain what that meant when I asked her.
Send me your examples of ableism, at williamskristen519@ymail.com. Let me know if you’d like to remain anonymous.
                                                                                                                                                Recently, a group of black women with disabilities released a blog post called, “Black Women on Wheels: 6 Things You Need to Know,” The piece flies flat in the face of ableism, discusses the weight and shape of disability, and how it interacts with race and overall identity. It’s worth checking out if your looking for a little empowerment in light of all this ableism.

More Reasons to Have A Sex Party Including PwD

T minus 9 days til the the world ends–er uh, disabled people have a sex party. Never in my twenty some-odd years have I seen so much negativity around sex as I have when it pertains to PwD–and this party (and the coverage around it) is proof of that.

Due to all this shitty, sensationalist, off-the-mark coverage, I’ve written reasons why this party needs to happen. Because we need to take a step back and remember the facts.

Fact 1: Disabled People Are Either Hypersexualized or Infantalized. 

That’s it–as a PwD, you have no other option.People are either fascinated by the fact that you’re having sex, and hypersexualize you into oblivion as a result, or they can’t deal with your sexuality and the humanity that might demand recognition along with it. The coverage of the 2012 paralympics is a sad example of this oversexualization, discussing ideas such as small-stature as a reason for extreme horniness–  as if they are concrete, scientific and somehow acceptable.

The trouble here is that hypersexualization is dehumanizing. It makes PwD into a spectacle. Do I have to spell out why? When we fuck at the paralympics, you best believe its not because we’re hypersexual, or that we’ve lost our minds, or because of the testosterone “whizzing around in [our] bodies,” (what the actual fuck?!)…It’s because we’re human and fucking is more fun than sports.Fuck sports.

On the flip side, you’ve got the infantalization problem.I’ve blogged about this to infinity and back, so I’ll simply say this: I’m 27, and some people are still genuinely shocked to find out I’ve had sex. It breaks too many people’s brains to hear that I’m not only no longer virginly, but that I also enjoy sex (as many humans do…). People just can’t compute that a child like me would indulge in such atrocities.

So much lit has been writ on the infantalization epidemic, Google it if you want more than my personal struggles.

The fact that these two extremes are the only picks for PwD lend to the difficulty we have with seeing disabled people as people. The tendencies to objectify and/or ignore our sexuality has left us (PwD) excluded from proper sex parties, dance parties, high-school proms. We not only need this. Our humanity deserves this.

Fact 2: Exclusion is Real and Really Shitty.

I didn’t go to my high-school prom because it was inaccessible. I only went to one house party in all my 4 years. I am a prime person to pre-drink with, mostly because main events are almost never at accessible venues.

These circumstances would be a lot easier to swallow if they were infrequent. But inaccessibility is an everyday occurrence. This will be the first party to try and counter the commonplace inaccess to parties, party places, and sex and dating spaces.

Fact 3: We Deserve The Chance to Get Rejected

Someone asked me recently if I thought this party might be damaging to disabled people. They mentioned that it might efuck-yes-meme-generator-fuck-yesexacerbate current oppression and rejections, as the nature of social interactions (and sex) is competitive.My response to this was: “The worst thing we can do is protect disabled people from these sorts of things. Disabled people are people, and part of personhood is being hurt.” We have a right to the shitty side of human interaction, because we have a right to social interaction, period. Enter, sex party.

Fact 4: Comparatively, Our Sex Lives Suck

“Sexpert” and Clinical Psychologist Dr. Danielle Sheypuk tells us that PwD have much less sex than our ablie counterparts, even though able bodies report a low sexual satisfaction rate. She then states that even though she [a person with a disability] “is a catch, her Match.com guy is much more likely to date,” and find sexual partners.

Statistically, all signs point to sad when it comes to the sexual frequencies of PwD. We don’t get enough of it, not nearly enough, because most of the population is hesitant to even meet us for coffee. If you don’t believe me, watch Danielle’s talk in the link above.

It’s our time to change the stats. Our time to change the dehumanization. Our time to rock the boat a little. And ladies and folk, we need a sex party to help us do that.

We Need to Talk About Fear

Actually, I need to be doing so many other things, but the topic of fear has been laid on my heart like a brick.

Fear as it pertains to disability is somewhat of a given. It’s fear of the unknown, It’s also fear of letting go of long-held and abided-by beliefs and stereotypes. It’s all-encompassing and ever-denied by many ablebodied people. And I want to talk about why it’s so damn prevalent.

My experience with people that fear me (and they exist by the truck load) generally shows up in one of 2 shitty ways:

1. The person straight up says, “Your disability scares/confuses me.” Other versions: “I’ve never had a friend in a chair before,” “I don’t think I can be what you need.”

2. The person says I’m awesome, that they won’t treat me differently, or pity me, or whatever, and then treat me differently anyhow.

These are umbrella generalizations of the way fear is communicated to me, but they’re good starting points. Both are awful to hear, in any form, and both speak to a much bigger problem:

An inability to ask questions.

As a society, we’ve started to put on big “accept-everyone-as-they-are” uniforms, These uniforms are one-size-fits-all and comfy as all get out. They’r less constrictive, and represent a common agreement among many of us to be less judgemental. But when it comes to disability issues, these suits fail us. They fit all wrong, taking in and letting-out in all the wrong places.

I can’t keep up with my own weird metaphor, but what I want to say is this–We need to do the leg work before we become accepting of disability. (ahahah, leg work. Disability. #ableistlarry expressions). How can we possibly accept without knowing exactly what it is we are accepting?

I recognize that it’s not for others to judge us, and that asking too many questions, or the wrong questions, exposes an entitlement on the part of the asker. But I think that our overall frowning on said questions has made way for deceit and confusing behaviour when people feel afraid of disability.

This means that day-by-day, people say stranger and stranger shit, to cover the things they cannot ask and mask the guilt they feel around being unable to accept parts of disability. “I don’t think I can be what you need,” (which is both presumptuous and sets a harsh boundary), is born of an inability to explore, perhaps a lack of want-to-know. The question, if it were able to be stated without fear might look many different ways, like:

– How the fuck do you get through life?

– So, like, do I have to help you with a lot, or?

-How severe is your disability?

As much as I roll my eyes at disability questions (can’t I just forget about it for like, one day?) I’d take this over the alternative. Because disability is not an abstract concept. It isn’t socially constructed as race is. There is a very real, pretty poignant difference here, and just as I deserve to be treated as a person, you deserve to know what being friends with me might mean.

Now that it’s finished, I’m not sure I agree with this post. Thoughts?

Please Stop Talking About That #Qdoba Restaurant

You’ve seen it; the viral video that shows a Qdoba restaurant fast food employee helping a PwD eat their meal.In case you live in a blissful world where people don’t have social media, here it is:

This video has been trending on-and-off on Twitter and Facebook since this afternoon, and it’s annoying, because the rhetoric around it is all wrong.

Qdoba

News reporters and common folk alike are calling this happening an “act of kindness” and the uploader of the video said the instance was proof “that there are still good people out there.”

I will be that person, to state that this is a very well-accepted form of exploitation of PwD. Many ablebodies are watching the video with butterflies in their stomachs, wiping stray tears from their eyes, as their hearts grow three sizes.

Stop the madness. Wipe your tear. Think about the facts:

– A disabled woman needed to eat.

-This woman made an order at a restaurant.

– She then asked for help eating.

– The guy decided he could assist her, put on gloves, and she ate.

That’s it. Sorry to bore you. Nothing to see here.

As I’ve been the girl to both need help and give others help with eating, I can tell you that it’s nothing to fuss over. As someone who can usually eat without assistance, I can tell you that it sucks when circumstance demands that I need help with it. You know what makes it worse? MAKING A BIG DEAL ABOUT IT, at the expense of my dignity.

Please stop reiterating our over-glorification of human kindness, at the expense of others. It’s  oppressive to those needing help.

Goodnight.