…and no, it’s not boundaries
Content warning for ableism.
Cheers to my intuition and my body who knew what was up for months and rang all the alarm bells last minute, which I blatantly ignored. Because I’m stubborn.
Disability sucks
There, I said it. It sucks to be disabled. And I don’t mean the mental or physical condition itself. That IS hard enough to get your ableist head around. It fucking sucks to no longer be able to do most of the things you used to love doing. It involves a lot of grief. And whilst my physical condition will improve (don’t ask me how I know, I just do), i.e. I WILL get to do some of those things again, the hurt is has caused will not.
What sucks about disability is that the world around us is not built for anyone who has any kind of access needs. Everyone is constantly running somewhere, not giving a second thought about the ones of us who kind of… crawl. Or, you know, use a mobility aid like a wheelchair. Ramps are either too steep, too narrow or just non-existent. Every shop you walk into is a sensory nightmare. Accessible toilets are anything but. You faint in one? Well, you’re usually fucked then because that emergency cord is either somewhere high up, cut off or juuust out of reach. What a shitshow. And those are just the things I’ve observed lately.
What is even more fucked up is that people are rarely prepared to make things more accessible for you in an inaccessible world. There are ways this could be done. But in the capitalists’ opinion that won’t make money, so there’s no reason to invest in changes. Capitalism thrives on inequality, inequity, injustice. Capitalism thrives when we suffer. Keeps the rich and the poor well out of reach of each other. Or rather, the poor and disabled so busy surviving that they have no energy left to fight the systems that causes most of their problems when the more privileged aren’t ready and willing to.
Coming out
I had two coming outs this year. At least I think it was this year. In writing anyway. Neither were a big deal to me. Well, that’s not true. The second one kind of was. But for internalised reasons, not for fear of judgement.
My first coming out was about my sexuality. Something I have figured out in the past few years is that I am pansexual. People celebrated me. Some were surprised, but supportive nevertheless. No big deal in the grand scheme of things.
My second coming out was about my disabilities. Plural. And physical disability joining the party. Let me tell you, THAT hit different. What I got was silence, “I’m so sorry” and people telling me they’re overwhelmed because they don’t know what to do to help me when they wish they could take it away from me. Because I’m struggling. A lot.
The reality of becoming disabled
As if I wasn’t “punished” enough by being fat, poor and mentally ill, now I’m physically disabled as well??? Nah, I cannot handle that. Except I have to. Somehow. I still don’t fully know how. Some of the first thoughts occurring to me were very ableist and, well, capitalist. Like it is my own fault. Somehow I have neglected myself (typical fatty trope right there as well) and caused this to happen.
I am a failure because I am now even less use to society, literally being unable to work. Like, at all. There is no energy left in me. Getting up is difficult. Walking almost impossible. Taking a shower and washing my hair at the same time? Sets me back three days to recover. I wish I was joking. And I know so many people are facing the same struggles or “worse”. But as I’ve touched on above, it’s not bad because of the energy levels or what my body can and can’t do. It’s bad because the world is not made for people to need help and support in their daily lives. The individualism of Western societies is harming us in very real ways every single day.
Amongst all of this, I still have many privileges. Which is, in many ways, the reason why I’ve tried shying away from even claiming the disability label. Because I didn’t want to take away from people who have been dealing with these difficulties all their lives. I didn’t want to participate in the “race to innocence” (a term I highly recommend looking up!). But I had to realise really quickly that is not what I’m doing. What I’m doing is overcoming my internalised ableism and allowing myself to actually be disabled and acknowledge that I need support; mainly financially.
You can support me financially right here on Substack. It’s £8.88 per month and you’ll be on my Close Friends and have my internal gratitude.
How will you react?
Now, the reason that support I need is mainly financial is because I don’t have community. As in local, very tangible community where we take proper care of each other. If we had that, money wouldn’t be an issue. Benefits wouldn’t be an issue. But capitalism can’t have that. I digress…
Against what my intuition and my body said – very loudly I may add – I took the over seven hour journey to Scotland. Except it took me 12 hours. Twelve. Hours. That is unheard of, but unsurprising. A few hours into the drive, everything in me screamed to go back home. To abandon the trip. But there was this stubborn thought in my mind that kept convincing me it was worth it and there would be healing on the other end. Especially with the hugs I’d be getting from finally meeting people in real life who I’ve been connected to only online so far. Well, I didn’t even get to do that.
Your overwhelm is not my responsibility
I am the friend with the solutions. With the shoulders, the ears and the sleeves rolled up ready to help you get out of whatever mess you’re in. I’m the helper, the mother in a way. Something new to me? I will get my hands on resources and research for days and then prepare myself to be the best support you can get. Even if that means just sitting in the shit with you for a while without solutions. That kind of support is valid and needed. More than we think it is. And I will voice if I cannot be the support, no matter how much it hurts my guts.
In some ways, I expect the same from my friends. What I never expect is the same level of commitment to the cause. Because you may not have the bandwith, the capacity or the words to express any of these things. I understand. What I do expect, though, is that you’re willing and able to take care of me and my needs when I come to visit you. That you ask questions. Not that you tell me you’re overwhelmed and that it is hard for you to see me this way and then do absolutely nothing. (If YOU find it hard, how do you think it makes ME feel???) It is not my responsibility to hold your discomfort. That is something that you need to figure out. And if you know you can’t do that, don’t invite me. Just be fucking honest. That’s all I’m asking.
What I got instead was neglect. Literal neglect. I was ignored, left to my own devices, not even asked how I feel anymore. My presence was tolerated because of the invitation but there was no willingness to deal with me or talk to me in any meaningful way. Not even questions. At the very least, should there not be questions? How I’m coping? What can be done to ease my suffering? Because my suffering was VISIBLE. And, according to two of you reading this, audible. Like…IMMEDIATELY AUDIBLE. That’s how bad it was.
This is how it always dies
The friendships that have died in the past few years, have always died this way. People cannot hold the fullness of who I am. They cannot hold how I change as a person. Externally and internally. They cannot handle my being of no use to them anymore. There. I said it.
In my current state, I am rarely any use to anyone. That is hard for me to come to terms with. Intellectually, I know that my worth isn’t tied to being useful. In reality, it is still hard to accept. Especially when those false beliefs are constantly mirrored by society and people who looove to call themselves my friends but drop me the minute I get too uncomfortable for them. Or just disappear. Or tell me I am the problem somehow. For upholding boundaries.
This particular one has been trying to tell me my boundary of not accepting ableist language being used around me (think idiot, stupid, dumb etc.) triggers them. But they never actually did because they knew they would get backlash. Because what they were is activated, not triggered. Trauma or not, me wanting to be respected (and funnily not triggered) by friends is not me telling you what to do or say and somehow oppressing or abusing you. If you cannot make that distinction, maybe it is time to get some professional help. And I say this with love, because I actually want everyone to be able to voice their boundaries properly and know what’s going on in their internal world, so they don’t do harm to themselves or others. Using ableist slurs (or fatphobic ones or racist ones…) is not a right you have. You do not have the right to insult and hate on people. And whilst I’m all for dragging Tories and calling them arseholes, never in a million years would I think to bring their body into it or their race or their disability. Some of which we regularly see. If you want to critique people, there are so many ways to do that. If you want to insult people, there are SO many ways to do that. You do NOT have to resort to ableism. Ever.
Again, I’m drifting away from the point of all this. Now that I am disabled and unable to be of much use, I am being dumped yet again. Potentially even unconsciously. But I’ve made my decision. This friendship is over. It has been for a while, but my fierce loyalty didn’t want to see it. Well, I have now felt it deep in my soul and it hurts and I am not willing to go deeper into that pain. I don’t even have capacity for that. I may or may not articulate some of this to them. Right now, I have no energy for it, but I may one day. Until then? All connections are blocked and cut. I burn bridges. I suggest you do, too. Life is too short for shit relationships.
Stay magnificent. Stay witchy.