Monthly Archives: May 2010

I have become a cyborg!!

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Did the trial surgery a couple weeks ago, and did the full surgery this morning.

I now have an implant that zaps my muscles in some way I don’t fully understand, to stop my urethra spasming so I can urinate. And it’s working extremely well most of the time and moderatelycwell the rest of the time. I’d forgotten what normal urination felt and sounded like. (And yes I tried other treatments before going to this.)

I now have a remote control with a receiver in my butt of all places.

It’s going to take awhile to recover from the surgery though. The pain isn’t too bad (surgical pain is usually less painful than several of my chronic pain conditions). But bodies don’t differentiate between surgery and being stabbed, and I’m on megadoses of antibiotics, and anesthesia makes me weird for at least a few days. Not to mention that my body is trying to figure out what the implant is doing inside of it. I hadn’t recovered from the surgery to put the test wire in by the time they did this surgery, so figure on me being blech for awhile (and I had to promise the doctor I wouldn’t do all the bending and lifting and crap I did after the last one).

If I don’t moderate comments very fast, this will be why. Then again I’m lying around not doing much so maybe I’ll do it more.

I AM NOT PART OF THE AUTISM HUB. Period.

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There, maybe now that it’s in big bold letters people will listen.

I left the Hub last November and wrote this post explaining why.

I have had, and wanted, nothing to do with it since then. Heck, I have wanted nothing to do with it since a long time before that and stuck around from pure inertia.

I am not part of the committee that runs it. I am somewhat annoyed at the committee who runs it (and I don’t know or care who they are) for listing my blog there again, despite my previous posting about why I didn’t want to be there. They assumed I would want to come back as soon as the Hub was under new management. As if that was my problem with it. All the problems I listed in my post remain problems and may always be problems no matter who runs it.

Some of the problems I listed are problems that come up in most groups. There is a reason I am not part of most groups (and any groups I remain part of, my participation is generally pretty dormant, aside from one I just remembered that remains blissfully drama-free and is quite task-focused rather than nebulous).

I am not part of the group even in any casual manner. In fact, at this point I can’t think of anyone I interact with regularly on a casual basis who is a Hub member. Not that there’d be anything wrong if they were. There just aren’t.

I really, really loathe both formal and informal groups that attempt to function like Hotel California (“You can check out any time you want but you can never leave”). Because I don’t at this point want to be associated with any group at all. But there are a couple groups that have never accepted my leaving or where others outside of them have never accepted my leaving. And that’s not okay. Groups you can’t leave no matter what you do are my worst nightmare.

*sigh* I don’t mind the existence of groups. I don’t mind other people being in groups. But at this point in my life group membership feels like entanglement and strings attached. If I have a goal in common with a group that I feel strongly about I will work with it when necessary and then part ways. There’s nothing about the Hub that I feel that strongly about, and I’ve always been bothered by the concept of Hub As Group instead of Hub As Blogring anyway. When I joined it was a blogring, when it became something else I wanted out.

So this isn’t about unwillingness to work with people or groups. It’s about unwillingness to join groups. It’s about a loathing of places with entanglements and strings attached no matter how much or how little they may appear to have things in common with me. It’s about being sick of being pigeonholed as an autism blogger or something else like that when I’m an ethical/political blogger who happens to be autistic among many other things. It’s about everything else I wrote about in my old post when I left, and much more of the same general sort. It’s about being a human being and not a stereotype, not even a beneficial seeming one.

Do I hate communities? No. But I hate groupthink and other cognitive warpage that sometimes springs up in them. I hate when I feel like an individual interacting with a group of other individuals, but other people insist on acting like I’m a representative of the group or like we are all identical.

So, basically, no. I am not part of the Hub. I never again will be part of the Hub. No matter how the administration changes. And I am not even part of the Hub in an informal sort of way. I’m just not. Period. And I am the only person in the world who gets to decide what I am and am not part of, and what that means to me.

Comments are disallowed because I don’t want to discuss this, I just want it known. Having it ignored is aggravating enough, I don’t really want to go through all the social crap that transpires after statements like this, I haven’t got the energy (less than usual, even).

What I mean by “beneath” words.

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I was trying to explain to someone what it meant when I said that I spend  so much time “beneath” words, and have to climb up to them from below. And it hit me that I could depict all of the different layers I go through one on top of the other. I once depicted them (but not all of them, and not showing them as layers) before, so I already knew some of how to do this. I used cut out pieces of construction paper to do the top six layers, and paint for the bottom two.

underwords

I’m numbering the eight layers from bottom to top, but describing them from top to bottom. So I am going to start with the eighth layer.  Also these are the layers for written language specifically. Some of them do correspond to spoken words.  

The eighth (top) layer shows the words, “Don’t you know another”. It could be any words, but after not having a clue which to use, I chose the start of a sentence that a guy in an emergency room told me when I was a teen, after I was picked up very overloaded in public and humming one tune over and over to calm down. (He was in that mode people get in when you’ve become unable to talk so they suddenly decide you’ve become unaware of your surroundings too, and they mutter at you in a specific tone that seems to assume you will never tell anyone what they said.) These words represent what happens when you understand the words perfectly well.  

The seventh layer reads “melly doxel rin tunsh”. It represents being able to recognize the sounds a word might make, but not being able to understand their meaning. Whether or not you know that words can have meanings (I didn’t know that when I learned to read, and had skipped over some layers entirely that only became meaningfully separate later).  

The sixth layer reads “ncj fv rztlh xlm hnnc”. This layer involves recognizing the letters as letters, but not deriving sounds from them. 

The fifth layer shows a series of symbols such as circles, squares, zig zag lines, and other shapes. They are arranged as if they form words with spaces between them. This represents recognizing the letters as symbols, but not as recognizable letters.

The fourth layer shows a series of small slightly wavy lines, arranged in a pattern. This involves recognizing the letters as separate things, but not recognizing them as symbols. 

The third layer shows a bunch of joined together lines. This represents seeing and noticing a black pattern on the background, but not really separating out the pieces. 

The second layer is painted. It shows a variety of shapes, some recognizable and some not, some vague and others clearer, all blending into each other and the background. The photo has different colors than the real object due to the flash, for instance something medium green came out almost light pink. There is some loss of the actual multilayered texturing that’s in the real one too.  This layer represents just sort of seeing a lot of shapes and colors and visual textures, and the patterns those things make, and not even noticing the text at all.  Although it’s by nature visual, this is usually happening in all the senses at that point. 

The first layer is gradually and unevenly shaded into by the second layer. It shows a textured black background with a white circle in it. This is when not even sensory impressions make much of a dent in conscious awareness. The white circle is meant to show that even though this may seem completely blank in some ways, it’s not as empty as it may seem. (When things seem totally empty I feel “disappeared”. I did not attempt to draw this, but it would be zero.)

The things I drew were usually somewhat arbitrary. It would be possible to include more or fewer layers, or things “off to the side” that don’t fit into a simple sequence. I drew this to communicate a basic idea, not to do a perfect representation of everything.  There are doubtless layers above eight too — but I drew this to show what is beneath what most people think is the most basic, not to show all the different levels that fluent reading can take.  

Anyway, in different people who experience all these layers, things may work differently. For instance someone might live in the sixth layer, climb to the seventh layer easily, climb to the eighth layer with more difficulty, fall back to the fourth layer during ordinary shutdown, and the second during more severe shutdown. Such a person will have a very different experience of each of these layers than I do (for instance viewing the second layer as total confusion instead of comforting, familiar, and easily navigated).  And a second person may live in the sixth layer also but never make it to the eighth and have great difficulty with the seventh. And someone else may live in the fourth, and climb to the seventh easily by skipping the fifth and sixth altogether. 

I generally live in the second and first layers. This is where I am comfortable and have the widest experience navigating. I have a lot of experience built up there and it isn’t disorienting.  There are things that can disorient me during shutdown but they aren’t part of the scope of something about reading and are hard to depict. And then there’s layer zero during shutdowns. 

Climbing up to layer three and four can be done with some effort. It’s not always possible but it’s easier than the things above it. 

Layer five has a barrier that takes much willpower and effort to push through. Layer five is when things become pretty painful. It’s like each time I look at a symbol and recognize it for one, it burns my brain and squeezes on other aspects of thought until they run off and hide. 

There is a similar thing that can happen to me when at a similar layer in perceiving my surroundings in general. For instance, I might pick out anything circular in my surroundings and each circle I see hurts my brain the same way.  And in listening to my environment, I will generally pick out a really annoying and short musical rhythm or tune from the sounds around me, and hear it boring its way into my ears over and over. 

Past that barrier, things might be hard but nowhere near as hard as going through that barrier is.  Sometimes I go to the sixth level and sometimes I skip it and go straight to the seventh. 

Between the seventh and eighth there is another barrier. Not as big as the barrier between fifth and anything below it, but still recognizably difficult. My guess is that’s because putting actual meaning into the words is very different from, say, matching a set of sounds to a set of visual squiggles, which is just pairing one sense with another without having to match it to concepts. 

(The concepts themselves are usually not one word at a time. It’s more like, what set of words goes the most often with what set of experiences, and then which patterns of word orders and such go with which others.  And then skip the words you don’t understand (more than you might expect) and take what’s left and hope it makes sense.)

Anyway, obviously most of these layers involve climbing, and some parts of the climb are steeper or more difficult than others. But often I will find that it’s impossible to climb any higher than a certain point no matter how hard I try. Other times it’s impossible to climb because I entirely forget that the higher layers exist. Frequent cutoff points for both of those are between two and three (the point where the text is noticed), four and five (the point where symbols are recognized), and seven and eight (the point where meaning of words is introduced).  

Additionally, most of the time I let go I fall down to at least the second layer if not the first. Sometimes I fall down to the third or fourth instead. But there are two really terrible things that can happen instead. I can get “stuck” in one of the really painful areas. 

Getting stuck in the fifth layer happens sometimes. It’s as if the symbol-recognizing thing in my brain has so much momentum that it takes time for it to stop and drop down to something easier to take. Everywhere I look there are symbols. And every symbol noticed is pain. There is no way to stop this except to ride it out. 

But even worse is getting stuck at the eighth layer. This happens if I read or write too much without falling back to the lower layers to rest. I described this layer as the one where meaning is added. But I meant this only in the sense of matching a set of words to a meaning. I didn’t mean meaning as in meaningful. Quite the opposite.  

When stuck at the eighth layer, there is no escaping the words whether I look at words or not. The words have gotten inside my head.  The meaningfulness that I derive from the second layer is nowhere to be found. Direct experience is nowhere to be found. The only thing to be found is words, words, and words. 

Things go orange or yellow (the two most painful colors) and flickery, accompanied by an equally flickery ringing in my ears, and a dry burning all over my body.  And inside my head all I see or hear are words. Flickery words. Buzzing words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Words. Repeating like that in an endless loop.  And the terrifying emptiness that to me seems like the essence of what words and all other abstractions are (yes I am a writer with a loathing for words).  

The longer I try to do something like read to take my mind off the flickering, the worse it gets and the longer it takes to go away. Time seems infinite at times like this. The only thing to do is suck it up, lie down in a dark quiet room, and tough it out until it either disintegrates or I fall asleep.  If I’m awake, I gradually experience more and more periods of dark quiet, until finally the humming flickering wordiness dissipates. Usually at that point I’m exhausted and possibly have been frozen in one position for hours. 

I can think of very few experiences I like less than becoming stuck in the eighth layer.  I would far rather deal with shutdowns where nothing I can’t feel/see/etc. exists and I keep hitting layer zero and vanishing from my own awareness. 

Another important thing is that people operating at the same layer are not necessarily experiencing the same thing. My ability to read means I can operate at the eighth layer despite living at the first and second most of the time. Another person might live at the eighth. Another person might live up at some sort of eleventh layer I haven’t got into, and be experiencing the eighth due to shutdown. The person who lives there will be the only comfortable one. I will be uncomfortable because I am greatly stretching my abilities and hanging by my fingernails. The person from the eleventh layer will likely be distressed and disoriented because their usual abilities are gone and they don’t have the long experience functioning in that layer that someone who lives there does. 

This is one reason I find it really offensive when people assume that every person who can read and write (at least some of the time) has identical experiences. That assumes that everyone who can sometimes get to the eighth layer lives there, doesn’t understand the other layers that come before it, and can always get there. It’s not that simple. It’s not even as simple as the picture makes it look (and this picture is only about reading!). Life is quite a lot more complicated than that. 

So that’s my simplified guide to what I mean when I talk about living “under” or “beneath” words. Similar but not identical things apply when I talk about what’s “beneath” certain kinds of thought, perception, movement, etc. Oh and generally writing something this long puts my reading at layer seven at best, which is one of several reasons I can’t easily proofread, summarize, remember what I wrote, or do various other things.

Kowalski and SBWG close their blogs due to cyberbullying.

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Blogging Against Disablism Day: An Obituary

A community that tolerates and enables bullies, stalkers, and miscellaneous similar people, is no community at all. Do that and eventually many of the people who are or fear being targeted, will just fade away and hide. And only those of us stubborn enough to remain despite the harassment, defamation, and death threats will be left. Taking part in a community shouldn’t require the level of stubbornness I have learned, or disregard of one’s own safety. I go online every day knowing that my address has been posted on the web along with solicitations of murderers, rape jokes, and just about every possible level of nastiness and invasion of privacy — and my friends, family, and coworkers have been subjected to the same things. I’ve even seen other people first victimized by the same bullies and then told “The bullying will stop as soon as you denounce Amanda/join in the bullying.” I have learned to live with that. But people shouldn’t have to live with that.

There is no excuse for actively enabling bullies. These things are not some kind of “it takes two” situations (flashbacks to being beaten up in elementary school and being told “it takes two”). You don’t see me, Kowalski, SBWG, or most other targets running around harassing, threatening, or stalking anyone (although you can bet that bullies try to make themselves look as if that is happening to them to justify what they do to us). Sure I’ve seen bullies and their enablers bullying each other from time to time, I’ve seen two stalkers stalk each other. But it’s not normally what’s happening. These aren’t personality conflicts. This isn’t about someone just “not liking” someone else. And it’s not like being autistic or otherwise disabled means someone’s innocent — back in my IRC days we had at least two autistic stalkers and at least two autistic child molesters banned from our channel as well as miscellaneous other autistic bullies. (I’ve also heard “But she hasn’t killed you yet so the death threats are harmless.”. Seriously?!??)

This has to stop being acceptable. People have to stop being complacent. Any community that tolerates and enables bullies is practicing de facto exclusion of everyone who is in so much fear of being a target that they leave. That’s why my blog doesn’t allow such crap to go on here. If bullies want a forum they can have it somewhere other than here. (And when autistics.org begins to allow other blogs again that will continue to be our policy.) You shouldn’t have to have the kind of emotional shielding I have learned in order to participate in online discussions. (And yes this is an accessibility issue.) People need to take a stand on this stuff and quit sweeping it under the rug. Otherwise the bullies win every time someone fails to write because they’re afraid. (Although what the bullies are winning always confuses me. I mean they don’t actually gain anything legitimate or useful from what they do. They just get to be incredibly nasty to people. Which is a pointless goal.)

Also, bullying does more than silence people. It also kills. People commit suicide because of bullies all the time. (So all of you well-meaning people who enable bullies? Look at what you’re enabling because it ain’t harmless. And it wouldn’t be harmless even if it “just” caused pain, fear, and suffering either.)

I’ll end by linking to meloukhia’s post: Internet: It’s time to talk. And a warning: neither bullying nor apologist/enabling bullying will be tolerated in comments. So don’t even bother trying.

Edited to add:

Riel of Amorpha came up with a list of good and bad ways to deal with this kind of bullying and put it in comments. I am adding it to the end of this post because it’s important enough I don’t want people to miss it:

Finally came up with some thoughts (after we said in reply to Kowalski’s post we were still thinking about it) about things that we think are helpful and not helpful when a community is trying to deal with online bullies. Much of it gained through bad experience when we tried to deal with them in the wrong way or other people around us did or tried to encourage us to deal with them in the wrong kinds of ways.

What is useful:

  • Supporting the victim of the bullying and affirming that they have the right to be free from bullying.
  • Taking their fear seriously (as opposed to blowing it off with “oh, you shouldn’t care what those people think,” etc).
  • Block known bullies, and people who have agreed to defame others in order to escape bullying themselves, from commenting in any space you can control. Even when their comments are not actually harassing or targeting anyone. Because just seeing their presence can have a chilling effect on others– “okay, maybe they didn’t attack me that time, but what about next time?”
  • Keep others in a community informed about the activities of known stalkers, bullies, etc, if you see them going after new victims, starting new harassment campaigns, etc. Also if you know they’ve been creating new aliases, sockpuppets, posing as others, etc.
  • Find some way to warn newcomers to a community about stalkers and bullies. Especially if you see them gravitating towards bullies because they (new people) haven’t seen their bad side yet, or are confused about who to trust, or are falling for the pseudo-authoritative veneer a lot of bullies have, or think they should “give them a chance,” etc.
  • If harassing/bullying/intimidating comments do get through in any community you have power in (in large communities, for instance, sometimes this can be hard to prevent), make clear, for both the victim(s) and for bystanders, that you will not tolerate this kind of treatment of others.

What is NOT useful:

  • Telling the victim of the bullying to “not care about what other people think.” To a certain extent it’s true that you need to not care what other people think, if you want to express opinions that are currently not accepted by most of society. But when harassment goes past a certain point, and especially when it gets to the point of threats of physical or legal harm, it can’t be reasonably ignored.
  • Telling the victim of the bullying to ignore it because the bully is too “unimportant” to be taken seriously. “Unimportant” people can still become extremely persistent harassers and stalkers. And it doesn’t matter how “unimportant” someone is if they’re genuinely able to convince others of their lies, or incite them to attack or threaten people.
  • Trying to argue/letting other people try to argue with them in comments. This both has a chilling effect on others and floods out any attempts at actually productive discussions. (Several people have already talked about why doing this in the name of “free speech” is a bad idea so I won’t go into it.)
  • Trying to drive them off by being “just as mean as them” or trying to incite “war” between your supporters and theirs. Just… no, this always goes horribly wrong.
  • Trying to find a “middle ground” between yourself and a bully, or between your ideas and theirs. A bully will never accept a middle ground. They will only accept terrorizing and manipulating you into shutting up or repeating their ideas as if you agree with them.

We’ve also seen the thing that AnneC mentioned about bullies (some of whom appeared to be totally the opposite of bullies at first meeting) acting like they are “in the know” about everyone and everything and like they can inform you about all of it, and putting scandalized interpretations on everyone and everything and getting people emotionally riled up for their own purposes.

In the Sea of Nun

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The next disability blog carnival is on the topic “Story”. Which is convenient because I had meant to post this poem soon. Like most of my poems, it wrote itself and I had to work out the possible meanings afterwards. Some parts were obvious — the first part alludes to specific conversations with professionals in my life. Other parts I only had a feel for and struggled to put it into words.

I noticed two really important aspects of this story. It’s about the difference between my life as experienced by me and my life as defined by everyone from professionals to random others around me. It’s also about the intense lifelong passivity that (despite the best efforts of the professionals who pathologized it) I have only recently begun to break out of. Someone online once aptly described it as “leaf in the wind”.

About the unfamiliar words used: Ghin and foom are nonsense words intended to serve as placeholders for certain ideas in the story. The sea of Nun is an actual part of ancient Egyptian folklore, although this story I am telling is not a part of that folklore and isn’t intended to correspond to anything other than certain aspects of the water itself.

In the Sea of Nun

You told me I didn’t know what water was
I told you, “There is more to the sea of Nun than you could ever guess”
But you told me words were the only way to wisdom
Do you know what life is like floating without fins or flippers to move yourself from here to there?
Do you know what it is like before those words you hold so dear?
Have you been blown around in the currents?
Have you had to make your life wherever the water took you?
I may have seemed like a sleepwalker to you
Without the parts you use to guide and steer
But part of me has always been wide awake

I sit alone, and time is gone
You come in, and turn into a blur of movement and sound
I am like a statue watching living people fly past
But when I’m alone, time stands still for me again

In between your words is silence
In that silence is the world
Beneath all your ideas things come together on their own

I am awake when you call me asleep
I have a voice when you call me silent
I can navigate where you see only chaos
(In the waters of Nun)

The lines are twisting underwater
I feel them spread and branch away
They twist around the corner
They wrap around me sideways
They double, triple, even more
They slide around and up and down
And still it all makes sense to me
Or maybe it makes me to sense
Either way this is my home
And there is life in the sea of Nun

One day I woke up
There was more than the sea
There was a strange place
I found myself there
I didn’t go there
Make no mistake
I just was here then there

How can I describe it?
You have always had a ghin
What is a ghin?
It’s what you’ve always had
I don’t have a ghin
Something else was built
But how can I describe the building?

You have a ghin
You can never know the steps it took
I didn’t build it
It built up like collecting dust
So the dust settled on me
More dust
More dust
More dust
More dust
Eventually the dust hurt
And more dust
(Ow)

And then a mound of dust
A mound shaped a little like a ghin
But it was not a ghin
I will call it a foom
My foom tried to be a ghin
It had not the parts of a ghin
And the foom hurt
And the foom hurt
And the foom hurt
And you said “She is alive, she has a ghin”

And they all danced around
They looked at the foom
They touched the foom
They said “She is alive, she has a ghin”

“Where did she come from?”
(He pointed to the sea of Nun)
“Oh surely not there”
“Nothing from there is alive”
“Nothing from there has shape”
“Nothing from there is real”
“Nothing from there has a ghin”

They set me in the shallow water until I floated
They poked me with long sticks
They watched me bob around
They laughed

I felt the currents underneath me
They could not feel those currents
To them there is only chaos in the sea of Nun
They saw the part of me that was above the water
I lived in the part of me below

And they pushed, and they pulled
And I floated side to side
And they clapped, and they laughed
And the sea of Nun became my tears

I stopped moving
They threw a rope and pulled
I washed up on the shore
They formed a circle around me
Then they drilled me full of holes

They filled each hole with a different machine
And they whirred and they clacked
And I buzzed and I bounced
But the machines all fell out
So they pushed me back in the sea of Nun

And there I stayed and there I dreamed
And there the currents pushed me round
And there I drifted, there I slept
Until I grew flippers

If only, oh if only

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[This is for Blogging Against Disablism Day.]

I knew Adam.

I didn’t know Adam’s mother.

That’s important.

I knew Adam in terms of who he was after he’d already been created. I knew this funny, smart kid who liked to grab my hand and walk in circles with me, who fearfully tried to hide in my room every night when staff came around to tie him to his bed, who looked and sounded very non-standard, and all of these things were just part of Adam. The non-standardness no more and no less than any other part of him.

The only time I heard about Adam’s mother was through those sorts of overheard staff conversations that let you know exactly what you are to them. Through them I heard that no mother should be blamed for “giving up” a child like him, that the unusual but not unpleasant sounds he made were animalistic and unbearable to listen to, and that people like him were, in general, impossible, and should be locked up for the rest of their lives. I heard a lot of pity for his mother. I never once saw her visit — and even the most screwed-up parents usually visited their kids. She had to have at least some money because this was a private institution. But she was never there, and staff made it sound understandable that she would never want to see her child again.

I didn’t know Adam through staff eyes, and I did not know him through parental eyes either. I think this was for the best, all things considered.

And the same has been true of any disabled person I’ve known. Not all of us have been friends. Not all of us have even liked each other. There can be all sorts of negative things in between us like status and power hierarchies, stereotyping, pity, and so forth. But at the same time there’s almost always something missing that I’m glad is missing, and something there that I’m glad is there.

I have never mourned the existence of someone the first time I met them. (Or after that for that matter.)

I have never grieved that someone was not the normal person I expected and hoped for. Not even for a little bit. Not ever.

I have never “had to come to terms with” the fact that someone I knew was born different.

I have never had any urge to commiserate with anyone else over these sorts of things.

I do not look at a person and divide them artificially into the “normal” parts of them that I find tolerable and the “abnormal” parts that I find unbearable and tragic.

I do not look at my friends, compare them to other people their own age, and think how horrible it is that I don’t have the good fortune of experiencing my friends hitting all the ‘typical’ milestones for their age group, there is no sense of loss here.

These ways of thinking are just utterly and beautifully absent.

It’s right that they’re absent. It’s wrong when they’re present. I keep hearing we have to allow for the fact that it’s only natural for people (you know, real people, which I’m not) to grieve this part of our existence. How it’s just wrong, downright insensitive, to want more from people.

Want to know why I and many others I know get nervous about reading blogs by nondisabled parents of disabled people? Even many of the “positive” ones? Stuff like this (paraphrases of stuff I’ve really heard in dozens of variations for each one):

“I go into his room every night while he is sleeping. And he looks so normal. And my heart breaks wondering who he could have been if it weren’t for [insert condition here].”

“It hurts so much every time I see normal children her age. I realize how many milestones she hasn’t hit. How far behind she is. And she may never catch up…”

“Other people will grow and change, but my son will be left behind. Other people become adults, but my son will always be a child.”

“My daughter has to live in a group home because she lacks the skills necessary to live on her own.”

“They said my son would never walk, talk, or take care of himself. And now he’s done all those and more. I am so proud of him.”1

“I overflow with love and pride every time my daughter looks me in the eye, gives me a hug, or uses her words. I would not know how valuable such things are if she didn’t struggle so hard to accomplish them.”

“Life with my son is bittersweet. I love him more than life itself but I know the things he will never do and it makes me sad.”

“I am constantly having to fight to pull my daughter out of her own world and into the real world. If it weren’t for me, she would be lost.”

I could go on, but I won’t. All of these sort of comments seem to be commonplace among nondisabled parent bloggers. When I question them people tell me they can’t help their feelings. But the fact is that without certain disability prejudices, they wouldn’t feel that way. And there are right and wrong ways to write about prejudice-based feelings. The right way puts them in the context of ableism. The wrong way simply serves to reinforce ableism in readers. And for disabled readers who could actually be harmed by the prejudices behind the feelings, the wrong way can feel like the twisting of the knife.

The post I just wrote is actually from an old draft on my computer. It seems that I tried to write this in two different ways. Instead of trying to synthesize them into one post, it seems better to just post them both at once. It’s a little repetitive but I’d rather do this than lose the slightly different meanings that each one has.

Despite appearances not response to any recent discussion. Just coincidence brewing in my head for some time. Also despite appearances not poetry. Just way of handling language at the moment.

I knew you
I didn’t know your mother

I only heard about her
In gossip made by staff
The sort of words they always said
That told us who we were:
They pitied her for having a child like you
And said it was good she put you away
And anyone would do so in her place

I knew you after you were already created
And I knew you roughly the way you were

I did not wonder why you were the way you were
I did not mourn that you were not someone else
I did not have a grieving period when I got to know you
I did not compare you to other children your age and cry that you did not do the same things they did
I did not see you as a special angel or a holy innocent
I did not see you as a normal boy who was stolen and replaced by an empty shell

And that is as it should be
And that is as it should be
And that is as it should be
And that is as it should be

Nobody should experience these things when they meet someone else
Yet people stand around commiserating with each other over all of those things
I walk around on the outside
Knowing I can never be part of that
Hoping they don’t notice the knife-pain that they cause

I know I am supposed to understand
I am supposed to grant that this is all natural
I suppose I can see when the world teaches you to think a certain way
That good people will come up with horrible ideas sometimes
I know I have thought and done horrible things before

But how long do we have to be patient
While the groups of people meet with handkerchiefs in hand
And blow their noses about the existence of people like us?

How long before they too will see
Beneath their shawls of tears and pain
Lies naked bigotry?

How long before the world stops glorifying the parents’ pain
And sees it as a tragedy of prejudice
Instead of a tragedy of disability?
(If there must be tragedy

How long before we don’t have to tiptoe around
How long before we can say
This public exhibitionism of pain and suffering at our existence
Denies our full humanity

How many more disclaimers
How many more do I need to make
To show I am not evil
For pulling back the curtain on evil
Will there ever be enough
Or will this always be
That they’re victimized
By having to face the truth
Of how the way they see us
Affects the ones like you and like me

It interests me that the way you and I related to each other
Is not exceptional when it comes to us
We are those below and those below are seen as
Sticking with our own kind

It is exceptional for one of those above to like us
To not mourn for our existence
This is praised as if it’s an achievement
It is just the way things should be

When you and I liked each other
Nobody praised us
If they took the time to notice at all
They either seemed indifferent
Or tried to split us apart

Not all of us liked each other
We had our own hierarchies
And prejudices
We were not some utopia
We are just as much a part of the world
As anyone else
And some of what happened was ugly

But we still saw each other
In a way the others didn’t see us:
We saw each other as we were
Not as we could have been
The sense of tragedy was entirely absent

One day I want to walk up to a nondisabled person
Wipe the tears from my eyes and say
“How tragic — you could have been disabled
And yet” (sniffle) “you had to turn out normal” (wail)
“Oh well. There’s always hope of a cure.”

What? You don’t see each other that way?
You don’t wonder (constantly) what might have been
If only, oh if only you were disabled?

It’s very simple:
Through our own minds
We are not lost and diminished
We are not those who would otherwise have been complete
We are real and whole
Because we are


1 If the inclusion of this line seems offensive, please read the third comment on this post. I included it because the constant recitation of this line can be part of an overall pattern, that came up in a discussion between me, a nonspeaking boy, and his mother. If you use it outside of that overall pattern, I’m not talking about you. But the fact that the line is repeated to the point of cliche does mean something, and it’s not always something innocent. I also don’t mean in any context that it’s wrong to teach or learn those skills. But it can sometimes be part of a distancing, fear, and even hostility towards people who for whatever reason don’t have those skills, a sense of “If she had turned out like you, it would have been awful.” Again, if you truly don’t have that fear, I don’t mean you.