My heart feels scarred. I’m numb; it should hurt but all I feel is an empty feeling where the pain should be
My heart feels heavy but it doesn’t hurt like I think it should, and it’s heavy because it’s tired. I’m tired of being abused. I don’t really believe anybody does anything to deserve abuse but then I have to wonder what have I done? Why me?
Continue reading “A Broken Vase”
Since getting involved with atheist activism, which was my first introduction to online social justice circles, I have seen people make an effort to drop racism language, cissexist language, sexist language, etc. from their vocabularies. Yes not all and not nearly enough, but still there was a visible segment of the community that made this effort.
The same cannot be said for the effort people put in to remove ableist vocabulary from their language. Sure some of the big ones like R*t*rd that many of us have known since childhood was a slur, but st*pid, Id*ot, Cr*t*n, M*r*n, l*me, Cr*zy, for those I haven’t seen as much effort, even from people who claim to care. It’s disheartening.
Every day I scroll through my newsfeed and I’m bombarded by these words from people who are my friends, who claim to care about me and people like me.
Do you really think we don’t notice?
Many of us are just too exhausted to have the same argument again and again. When many of us struggle to survive in a world that in some cases is actively trying to kill us, often through neglect (think flashing lights, they are fucking everywhere!!), it can feel like too much to tell yet another person: “Hey actually that’s ableist.”
I’d like to consider myself a bit of a visual artist but these past ten years with depression have almost completely sapped whatever ability I had. I think I’ve made about five drawings in ten years. When I do create something I’m told I’m talented. But I just cannot seem to keep the inspiration or even the motivation going.
You hear a lot about how mental illness contributed in some way to an artist’s work; that they channeled their pain into their art. Whether that art be music, painting, writing etc, the point is they channeled it to mean something. My depression just spirals and loops back into itself and all I ever get out of it is more pain.
Which then makes me feel even shittier for not “depression-ing” right. Which I know is ridiculous, I know it’s just depression shenanigans and troll brain talking. I know it all rationally, but I still cannot shake the feeling that I’m a failure at depression. Isn’t that sad?
Lately, I’ve had a few ideas for a drawing and I can see it in my mind’s eye, but when I try to actually make it happen I draw a blank. (At least I’m punny?)
That’s what hurts the most sometimes. I know I have some talent at least. I know that I can make something beautiful but depression is always there just waiting to tell me, that no actually I can’t.
I remember having a pastel charcoals set when I was little. I used up the sketch pad rather quickly. I loved just sitting on the porch and drawing whatever came to mind, blending colors and getting my fingers covered in multi-colored dust. Sometimes I think maybe I can do that again, sit somewhere quiet, armed with a sketch pad and pencil and just draw what comes to me. But the fear is there; taunting me. Waiting for the first pencil stroke to land on the page, so the depression can start its bullying: why bother?, nobody will like it. You aren’t any good.
Why can’t I just ignore that, especially when I know that what my depression is saying isn’t true? It’s a never ending battle.
TW for discussions of Rape
- Because the likelihood of having my symptoms taken seriously is increased if I present male
- Because the statistics on the risk of sexual assault and rape for people with disabilities have been listed as high as 80%.
- Because I’ve been told that my rape doesn’t count because it involved a doctor and a medical instrument.
- Because I’ve been told that people with disabilities can’t be raped because no one wants to have sex with them.
- Because discussions about body positivity never seem to include sick and damaged bodies.
- Because the social concept of “sexiness” excludes those of us with physical disability.
- Because my bodily autonomy being in question puts my life at risk.
- Because the standard doses, side effects, and risks for my medication were not determined with my body in mind but was based on how cis males (usually white) reacted.
- Because my symptoms were ignored for years because of medically assumptions about cis female bodies that turned out to be false.
- Because the first question whenever I go into the hospital is always “Are you sure you are not pregnant”. Always.
- Because every medical form I’ve ever seen only gives me the options male or female under gender.
- Because even sex positive folk rarely discuss the difficulties faced by disabled people when it comes to sex: physical issues, the need for preparation, the desexualisation we face by society, etc.
If you have more reasons, I would love to hear them in the comments. If you are a person of colour, I would love to hear reasons why disability is also a race issue.