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.

 

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I fell on the floor on purpose.

This morning I was having a typical whatever morning, barely awake but making tea, when my wheelchair decided to fuck right off and die. So there I am, fridge open, scoping out butter to put on my bagel, when my chair stops acknowledging me. It’s totally frozen, the screen or joystick isn’t reacting to anything–including being shut off. I look in the fridge for answers. I find brie cheese and salami and denial-eat for like 15 minutes, waiting for my chair to regain awareness. Somewhere in there, my bagel pops out of the toaster, just out of reach. The kettle goes off. Everything is happening around me and I’m eating salami. Finally, my denial starts drifting away from me–I’ve reset my wheelchair clock and checked the fault log and ate a whole fucking lot of cheese, and the situation is still the same, I cannot move.

“You can’t just break. No. This isn’t a thing.”

“Who makes chairs that just stop working?”

“Why aren’t I happier to be stuck in the fridge?”

After I say these things out loud to no one, I open my footrests and start psyching myself to make friends with the floor.  I picture the ways this could go down:

  1. Find footing and try to bridge the distance between my wheelchair and the counter. This way, I could stand for a bit at the counter and eat the bagel and maybe even find enough balance to spread loads of butter on it to make myself feel better. Then i could lean on the counter and walk until the counter ends. And then fall over.
  2. Buttslide like a six year-year-old (5? 4?) at recess. The distance from my chair to the floor would cause brusing, but it would be quick.
  3. Turn my body all the way around, like that stupid, moronic way they taught us in kid-physio, while all the other (non disabled)kids were learning cool things, like gymnastics and soccer. I recall it involved a lot of me pressing my face into my backrest saying, “This is sooo hard,” and “I can already do this, why are you making me do it again?” as if those two statements don’t totally contradict each other.

I know option three is the way to go. All that time away from peers, resulting in social isolation because of physio had been building up to this moment.I take my footrests right off, throw them in the fridge to make space for my wiggling worm body. I turn my hips, slowly, heaven forbid I fucking scare myself by moving too suddenly. And then I start to just fall to the floor. Except my body doesn’t just allow for shit like that to happen, so my legs start spasming, they’re fighting gravity, they’re twisting around each other, trying to keep my upright. They know that beyond a certain point, there is no getting back up. I talk to them. I really hope other people talk to their body sometimes. “Come on feet, if you can’t help me, you gotta let me go.” They spasm anyway, but I drop my hips to the floor and allow my legs to flop to the side. I feel good about this for half a second, until metal from my chair digs into my side and puts everything in spasms. My hand is wrapped tightly around the side of my chair, holding my up. I  consciously try to let go, and fall quickly onto my back. It’s weirdly comforting to realize step one is over. I made it onto the floor.

I start grabbing at the drawer handles around my kitchen and pull myself–on my back, like a slippery bug– to the living room. It’s easy, and I start to think  I’m amazing. Just scootin’ along. In the kitchen. On a Thursday morning.

And then I get to my bastard rug and my vibe is wrecked. I turn over and start dragging myself. For some reason my shoulders are burning and I’ve only been pulling myself along for like, once. I stop and take a nap. I’m not sure how long I’m there, but it is long enough to notice that my carpet is full of winter salt and purple hair. Basically, I’m a dirtbag.

I’m thinking about how it’s great that my hair stays purple even after it falls out(purple is immortal). And then I remember that I’m on the floor. Still. I crawl like a child who can’t actually crawl but can’t give up either, for like a zillion more years. Finally I get to my desk, where my landline from the nineties awaits. I knock it of the dest and naturally, it hits me in the fucking face. I’m a tad angry at the phone for not empathizing with all I’ve been through. And then I call for help.

 

 

 

#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.

Here’s The Ableism We Disguise as Empowerment

stichhappy

In social justice circles, the phrase, “Take your power” is thrown around like a hot potato, encouraging people who have historically faced oppression to “speak up,” and “take their space.” Most of time, these sayings are meant to allow people ownership of space/time/rights that have been previously taken from them. While born of good intent, a closer look depicts a whole whack of ableism/problematic implications. Here’s why:

  1. It suggest that we’ve been denying our own agency & ability this whole time.Telling someone to take their power implies, oh-so-subtley, that we’ve been neglecting what’s been right in front of us all along. It implies that something about us needs to change, which goes against ideologies behind most social change movements.

It also assumes that power-taking is an option for everyone, which simply isn’t true. People who have experienced life times of trauma or abuse may not know how to take their power–or, might have no interest in doing so, as it is not how they have learned to navigate their lives. We need to allow room for these realities in all SJ movements.

2. It wrecks collectivity. As a kid, I had trouble speaking at an audible level.This meant that I just whispered everything, and most people never caught a damn word. I also didn’t use a wheelchair at school at first, so I frog-hopped everywhere. Combine the two circumstances and you’ll know what Kristen Age 4 was doing with her life: Crawling around Kindergarten class, whispering to kids, and hoping that someone would hear her. Soon enough, the other kids got tired of bending over to  listen, and everyone just started crawling, some whispering with me. No one thought anything of it, until one day we saw my mom standing in the door way of the classroom with what she called “happy-tears” in her eyes. Apparently something special had happened, and it made her cry.

That’s what collectivity looks like. It doesn’t necessarily mean shouting commands from the rooftops. It doesn’t mean taking space, or power. It means adapting, so that a person can be however they want.

Another thing: my whispering gave my excellent hearing, and my dad called me “Big-Little Ears,” for a little while. That wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t get to live in a much quieter world for a few years.

3. It re-triggers. You get why, yeah? It seems absurd sometimes to ask someone who has been dominated or oppressed to take power. In doing so, you’ve become yet another person telling them what to do and how to do it.  Especially in the realm of people with disabilities ( both physical and invisible), who have often gone through life feeling different, not good enough, not normal, and maybe out of control of their own circumstance. These feelings of difference and loss of control can very frequently be related to experiences of violence as well, so the very last thing they probably want to hear is how to act or behave in a more acceptable way.

4. It re-enforces dominance. And by proxy, that we take dominance as the most acceptable form of taking control, negating and excluding all the other ways to do so…..

Angry wheelie out.

Faces of Self Care

As someone who is both a supporter of women and a very sensitive human being, self care is essential in maintaining my well-being. Self care is the actions and initiatives people take to treat themselves well. It seems simple enough, but is too often complicated in application. Many times, people think self-care is the same as self-pampering, and sometimes, people (myself included) confuse self-care coping with coping that is actually self-harming (which is a nuanced issue–and debatably, certain actions can be both harming and caring, in that they are both methods of coping.)

Below are some methods of self-care, the big ones you would expect, and the little ones that get me through the day sometimes. If you are someone who self-cares, feel free to add that which gives you strength.

  1. Pulling my hair of my face. Because I like my face,
  2. Waking up earlier than I need to. Because then I’ve already done something right, even if it is only 4:30.
  3. Making myself do something I hate to do, that I have to do, so that I can be proud of myself yet again, even if it is only 4:45.
  4.  “You’re doing good enough, in that you’re doing it.”
  5. Not procrastinating. Hahahaha, yeah right.
  6. Procrastinating.
  7. Netflix, see 5, 6.
  8. Recognizing what I’ve succeeded at today. #thisblog
  9. Telling someone who deserves it to go fuck themselves.
  10. Trusting my gut.
  11. Only doing what I want to be doing. Selfish self care.
  12. Believing my perceptions, and allowing myself to feel my own feelings.
  13. Forgiving my own ongoing anxiety. Remembering that everything is one breath at a time.
  14. Remembering that my passions are great, but somehow, simultaneously, nothing fucking matters. Think about it. It’s the unbearable, beautiful lightness of being. You can’t change a damn thing. So relieving and suffocating all at once.
  15. Thinking of those who have treated me with respect, and allowing space to feel grateful for them.

I wasn’t specific to disability, cuz it didn’t show up for me today. No no, it’s still here, just, not in this post.Having said that, I am immensely jealous of people that can bath whenever they want. You self-care gods, you.

Sex Party Stoppers (Reasons Why PwD Might Opt Out of The No Pants Dance)

On a perfect planet, everyone would stop ogling the PwD-friendly sex party and just come already. But things (and people) are hardly ever that easy, and perhaps talking about the reasons that people are unable or unlikely to attend is just as important as the event itself.  Below are a few reasons why PwD might not show up at our gig.

nosex

  1. Vulnerability. Let’s just get the obvious out of the way.Differing levels of nudity can be awkward, because feelings of being exposed and seeing others exposed can be awkward, and make someone feel vulnerable or generally uncomfortable.
  2. Because Good Help is Hard to Find. “Sure, I’d love to help you go a sex party and get naked and possibly have sex with a person you met 10 minutes ago!” is not a sentence commonly uttered by caregivers, friends, or parents (who sometimes double as caregivers). This is a huuuge barrier in PwD being able to attend the party. Not only do us disabled people have to be comfortable with our own vulnerability, but we often have to find an attendant who is also comfortable, open-minded and willing to help. A situational diamond in the rough.
  3. Because Sex Can Be Hard Our culture puts so much emphasis on spontaneity, it hurts. Movies  and porn glorify sex that it so passionate and quick it almost looks entirely accidental (which is in itself, problematic..).   And for many and most of us, disabled or not, sex ain’t like that–but it doesn’t mean we don’t hold the spontaneity standard close to our hearts.

The spontaneity standard can hit some PwD pretty hard–as it often just isn’t possible with the amount of figuring that goes into great sex; and the planning that goes into our lives, generally. Andrew and I term this sex planning “sex-storyboarding,” and as much as I hate it, communicating what works and doesn’t sexually (and expressing that before, during and after sex) is the surest way to a positive sexual experience. Unfortunately, sex-storyboarding requires a lot of pre-requisites, including patience (on the part of both parties), self-awareness of likes/dislikes, position preferences, and ability to communicate these specifics. In short: Sex can be hard.

Add to that the fact that disabled people have been treated as asexual for centuries, and you have a group of people that have not yet been given the chance to explore or understand their sexual fantasies and the like. Due to lack of opportunity, they may not be aware of their sexual desires, or have indeed internalized that they are asexual, PwD may not be able to storyboard their sex, making sex even harder.

5. Because Money Sucks. The big one. A high percentage of PwD live under the poverty line, many on fixed incomes, and even those of us who are privileged enough to work often struggle to make ends meet. There are so many factors that contribute the the systemic oppression that keeps almost all disableds that aren’t Christopher Reeves (RIP) or Stephen Hawking,  broke–I’m not even sure where to start.  Ableism that keeps  us unemployed (“You just wouldn’t get the job done as efficiently in this busy environment…”). Ableism that treats us like thieves for needing help when we can’t work. Ableism that asks us to “prove” we struggle to work and “prove” that we’re disabled–even if our disability is permanent. Ableism that only hires those that drive/ bike/ run.

Lack of finances means so much–maybe it makes us unable to hire attendants. Or travel. Or pay cover. It’s just another sex-party stopper.

6. Lack of Personal Agency Y’know that ableism we just glazed over? It can kill your insides over time. This means that as a PwD, you might often feel out-of-control of your own life, as it can so often be dictated by those more able than, and the systems that govern them (think: medical system, housing system, personal care system). In terms of sex party attendance, this might result in PwD not even realizing or believing that they can actually attend.

In terms of practicality, if you’re a person with a disability that’s been institutionalized at some point (as many of us have), then you might not even be aware of your own ability to access resources (such as attendant care, accessible transit), and you might be limited in the area of personal agency. I was 21 before I learned how the Ottawa buses worked, people. Twenty-fucking-one.

Point is, ableism is such a strong force, that some PwD understandably think that they can’t access certain resources or venues, like a sex party. Because before now, they really truly couldn’t.

7. Safety Sometimes we internalize that we’re vulnerable, because everyone tells us we are. Sometimes we truly are vulnerable. Whether grounded in truth or stereotype, the belief that a sex party puts our safety at risk (even though the party will have safety proctors to prevent anything unwanted…) safety will likely be a factor that keeps many PwD away.

Please, add things I may have missed, my perspective is limited.

My hope is that this play party will be one of many, that this will in fact become more normalized, so that at the very least, people can move on to sensationalizing something else–and disabled people can have access to sex parties, no questions asked.

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.