Who's sick? Who's Disabled?

In my BADD post I made a few weeks ago, someone commented about the Social Model of Disability. I read about it on Wikipedia, and it really struck a chord with me. I think partly the Social Model reminded me of the history LGBTQ+ people and how we have (and still are, in many places) been classified by society as "diseased" and "sick." As I hope you're aware, LGBTQ+ folk are NOT sick or diseased, or, if we are, who gives a fuck (shouldn't be you). We're people, LGBTQ+ people. So what about Disabled people? I for one, am not at all like them other people; I'm writing as I inhale from a nebulizer and shake from a percussion vest. Should cystic fibrosis be classified as an illness, then, because I do these things, because of crap people who treat me like shit, or not an illness but rather just something else about myself like my hair color?

Let's compare CF and gay-white-man stuff, since I know a lot about gay-white-man issues (I am one) and I brought them up already. In many ways, being gay and having CF have similar backgrounds: I never once decided that a life of expectorating and man-o-sexualizing would be for me. Really, I just found keep finding out these sorts of things about myself. I'm sure there's a lot I don't really know about what I like and dislike in this world, and I'll only discover a small fraction of that, but these were kind of hard to miss, personally. Of course, let's not overlook some frightening differences: one of these kills people. Just yesterday I was walking around and my CF genes LEAPED from my body and just strangled this poor person sitting on the sidewalk. Gruesome. Man-o-sexualism doesn't do that; it traps blood in certain body parts, making them swell, quivering with licentious anticipation.

So we get back to the question: What's the sickness here? As I understand the Social Model, it's argued that my Disability, CF in this case, isn't what's wrong; it's the attitudes, restrictions, expectations, judgments, etc. from society that create a sick environment, that make me Disabled. In many ways I have to agree; I think I would be a lot better off if I had way more resources to support myself monetarily (who's paying all these health bills?) and time-wise (I spend maybe three hours a day on medical treatments and care, including organizing, washing, and maintaining my equipment. Also the hospital). I'm Disabled not simply because my genes don't work like other people's do, but because I have to do so much to make up for that. And even still, I am not "normal" and never will be. On the other hand, no one puts mucus in my lungs, no one forces my intestines to need laxatives. So clearly this shit is complicated and there's going to be some range of how correct the Social Model gets things.

Personally, I feel like we shouldn't care about the classifications of who and what is sickness and illness etc. We're all going to have periods where we feel stronger physically than others, and any line we draw will be ultimately arbitrary. Yes, we can make objective diagnoses, but the objectives for the diagnosis will be subjective: some viruses won't cause illness in people and will in others, and some people will be resilient enough to not have to stop and rest. Even with cystic fibrosis, a very yes-no kind of disease to diagnose, there are people with genetic mutations and are clinically diagnosed, but have such mild symptoms (or none at all) that they don't need any of the treatments I do, maybe just the same exercises that "healthy" people should be following. And so we have to ask: why should we consider them sick?

Unless they tell you they are ill, I'm not going to listen.

Blog Against Disabilism Day! My Identitification as Disabled, Mixed With Some Queerness

Hi everyone! I made a post the other day talking about what I might want to discuss, which was basically me being excited and not doing homework because I find this much more important. So, here I am discussing:

• What terms do I use to identify as Disabled?
• What internalized disabilism/abelism do I see in myself?
• Why am I afraid?

Before I begin, I want to thank my friend at Bad Assburgers who absolutely CANNOT make burgers out of asses; I'm sorry, but only bad things happen when attempts are made. Other than that, I am very grateful for not being alone, and I think Bad Assburger has some lovely things to say, so CHECK IT OUT!

Terms?

So first let's talk about my Disability. (I'm capitalizing Disabililty, by the way, because it's empowering, I can, and why not?) I have cystic fibrosis (CF for short), and we come to my first problem about identification and openness about this. I really don't like explaining what on earth this is, because to me, it and the effect it has on my life is so egregiously complex that I don't feel like any short spiel satisfies it. Should I list the organs that don't work like other people's do? Should I just say "it's killing me!!!" and fall over, writhing on the ground with fake pain? Should I show them the sputum I cough up every day, the stool I excrete when I forget pancreatic enzymes, the faces I make when terribly constipated? I feel trapped; I can show either the bare bones or the relentlessness of a chronic, progressive, life-threatening disease. One doesn't do the truth justice, and the other might scare people away! Usually, though, when I tell people I have CF they might go "oh I heard of that" and then I stop caring what they think, or else I just say "oh it's this sucky genetic thing that sucks" and let them ask questions if they want. So I guess I only use the term "CF" and abut it with a host of vile expletives and graphic descriptions. (Also shush about my sometimes questionable use of vocabulary.)

Internalized Disibilism?

I don't remember telling anyone ever that I'm Disabled, using this word. I usually just say "I have cystic fibrosis" and then whatever. I could say I don't use the word "Disability" itself because it's not as specific to who I am and I want to be honest, but as an identity it's always been available and I haven't really sprung for it. Really, I think the "specificity" "argument" hides my fear of association with the word. Similar to how I used to be afraid of flamboyant, gay men (which I kind of turned into... yay!), I do think I fear Disability and the Disabled in general. Aside from some things I frankly should probably just shut up and toughen up about, I fear that I could become more sick with my progressive disease, and be in what generally people consider a worse fate.

But would it be a worse fate? In many ways, the only thing worse would be how many people might treat me--as if I were dying, spreading disease, worthless. In many ways, what I really am is differently-abled: Like everyone else, I can't fly, but I can do damn well plenty. Even if (when?) CF worsens, I'll still have much to enjoy. Sure, the stark difference I see between myself and other humans can suck, but I don't fall apart every time I watch birds soar. I think I can live great with being Disabled.

Fears?

Plenty! Let's go back to what might be worse about calling myself disabled: other people. Don't get me wrong. I love people. I am out-going. I am energetic, talkative, and happy when I get nice, intimate attention (haven't had sex yet, but I imagine I'd be the bomb--I'd give more details, but that's for another, more explicit post). Cruel, mean, nasty attention sends me from smiling, to confused (why would anyone want to be malicious?), to shooting poisonous vipers from my eyes. Unintentional hurts hurt just as readily, too. While I generally don't find people trying to hurt others, it still happens, and it sucks! Further, I really fear the defensive response to my attempts to explain who I am, what drives me crazy, and how I like to be treated. 

People sometimes have a hard time hearing "I don't like this type of comment." I think it's because they feel vulnerable; they realize they're not perfect, and acknowledging that can sometime be difficult. Of course, they should grow up already, especially considering how, being Disabled, I get that "imperfection"-ness shoved down my throat too often by societal expectations and standards. So really, I fear letting myself get defined by other people; I fear expecting of myself what other people expect, and not the standards I want; I fear letting others decide how I should behave, not what I value in personality and behavior; I fear limitations and traps.

I've talked about a whole hodgepodge of things, and while I don't think I've had Dutch stew, I think everything I've talked about fit well together. I've discussed what I wanted to discus. So! Thanks for everyone who read this. I love you! <3

Planning BADD: What will I write about?

Woops I posted the title without making my post. Let's try this again. I think I'm going to write about how I identify, and what sorts of terms ("labels") are out there that I can use to describe myself. There's lots to discuss! Also it's important to me to be sure what I am to myself. I'm sure I'm not alone in this regard. I'm also queer, and I'm more knowledgeable about queer identity and politics, so a large part of how I approach disabilism comes from my experiences with LGBTQ social and academic work. Being out and proud about being gay versus having a disability, though, are different experiences for me. So! I'm going to write about that sort of thing. I'm excited! I hope you are too! <3

I want to BADD: Blog Against Disabilism Day

Hi everyone who hasn't read my blog ever! I exist. I want to do a thing: BADD

I'm just making this post so that the no one who reads this blog will get me to do it. I love you all! aaaaand I can't do an ascii heart? wtf. <3 I DID IT YESSSS

I can has the power

So I haven't written here until I made a comment somewhere, so I've decided to write something. I have a final in 20 minutes. OK that's good. I love you all! Even though none of you exist! Yay!

<3 <3 <3 C> C> C>

PS I SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM

Papers

See, paper is very nice. It's smooth, full of wood, and if you eat it you don't die. At least small amounts. I haven't eaten more than whatever sticks to my lollipop wrappers. But that has wax on it too, so maybe paper isn't bad for you when it has wax on it. Or maybe it's all just some sort of vast conspiracy where people are secretly feeding me lollipop wrapper paper in an attempt to conquer the world, because that's what people do with lollipop wrappers: feed them to people and take over the world.

Actually it's Saturday so they are all probably asleep and I should be safe. Unless this one was made on a Tuesday, in which case I'm in a very precarious position. Maybe if I adjust my chair. Okay that's better.

But that's not what I'm going to talk about today, I'm going to talk about something else. I'm going to write about writing, because that's what I'm doing. Also I'm supposed to become a meta-existentialistic Neurofrenologist, but I don't know if that actually means anything, so if you analyze it I'll put you in a mental institute. I'm surprised "existentialistic" didn't get a red-wavy line underneath it. I guess the computer doesn't want to play "the floor is lava" with it. I guess if that's what happens though then computers think spell checking yourself is how you save yourself from lava. Actually I wonder if that would work, spell checking everything you say when you're on top of lava. Maybe it would work for Chuck Norris, but probably not me.

But anyway, I was going to talk about writing. I don't have anything particular to say, so I'll just say a few things that are totally obvious but in a way in which you are completely enlightened as to a new state of existence that you can achieve if only you were to make patterned markings with a quill. Or pen. Whatever. Actually I think you're most likely to think I'm crazy, but I don't care. Most people think other people are crazy, so I guess if I make you think I'm crazy then I'm perfectly normal. So, if that's what I'm trying to so, "GHABBA GHAPPY-GOOGLYMOOGLY CANTOOGLEZORZ!!!!" Hooray for onomatopoeia.

But anyway, back to my meta-writing. So when you write, obviously you generally have a point. Like, "I'm writing this because my stupid teacher told me to," or maybe something more along the lines of "I love writing this! Actually I don't, I'm just trying an attitude transplant. What am I doing again?" or most common: "BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH." So as you can see, there are vast and amazingly complicated reasons to write. The reason for me, of course, is sex. Actually it hasn't come in the mail yet, but I remain hopeful, for I am an optimistic writer. Generally to get some, you have to write to the company, but I'm not doing that now, so I suppose that's not what my reason is any more. I guess my reasons fall under the most common "BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" category. Aren't you proud?

Another important thing to keep in mind with writing is that if you are using a toothbrush, things can get nasty quickly. I suggest using a public computer instead, because that way you don't pay anything, so your returns on your investment of walking someplace are nearly infinite. Except sometimes you miss stuff like free macaroni and cheese when you walk away. That happens sometimes, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. Like now, for instance, I'm missing some excellent strippers who, I've been recently texted, are very "hotttttttttt 'n seyxyyyyyyyy" according to my inebriated informant. But anyway, maybe they'll still be there when I get back, so if the rest of this is rushed to you, I'm sorry.

So now that you get the basics to writing, GO TRY IT OUT! Actually don't go try it out, I want to be able to dominate the market, so if you all just go write very very bad stuff, I'll be very grateful. Thanks!

Ping Pong

The other day I went roaming about on my bicycle. It filled me with pulsating ecstasy, especially with the wind flying at you like a rabid, hungry coyote. Personally, biking about is most euphoric with a lot of wind, because at first it's like you're being blown away, and at the same time it's like you're trying to not get blown away, so you pedal like a Daft Punk song title and it all balances out in the sense that you keep moving foreward, which isn't really balanced, but you know what I mean. Right?

Well anyway, I didn't want to talk about biking, even though biking is awesome. I wanted to talk about ping pong. I don't know why, but who does? Certainly not you. Unless you do know, which is just plain creepy. I mean, how often does someone know something about you that you don't know? Generally those kinds of things happen at parties when someone pats you on the butt and you didn't know he or she had cake in his or her hand. By the way, I like to say "he or she" and all that because not only is it impeccable grammar, it adds to my word count and makes me feel more accomplished in my lengthy writing abilities, even though that's just another way of saying "wordiness" and is basically a bad thing. Shush, you.

So anyway: ping pong. It's a game. With paddles. And balls (or, you know, a ball). And a flat surface. And a net. And some string/rope to hold up the net. And little metal things that help hold up the net too (I guess the net is just a wimp, needing all these things to hold it up), although I suppose those could be wooden or plastic or made out of bone or something, I don't know.

But anyway, you've caught me rambling, and I should get to the point (if there is one). So, I was playing ping pong the other day, and that's why I'm writing about it. Or maybe it's just because ping pong is an awesome game. I mean really, what other games are there that you can hit some small plastic thing and try and make it hit this square-ish bit of wood and then go "yay!" when it hits? It's like a child's game except it doesn't get old or childish--it's in the Olympics, for crying out loud! Maybe people who compete in the Olympics are just trying to act like children. We should build houses for them and then they may feel more grown up. Unless that's what they want us to do. Maybe we should just do nothing and let it all go happily along. Except maybe we aren't happy. Who knows.

Anyway, the word "anyway" is just an awesome word. How many times have I started a paragraph with it? Pretty much all of them if you don't mind a "but" or "so" being in the way. Those "but"s and "so"s. I'll get them. Just like I got Bob Stewart. Actually, who is he? I don't know. Maybe he likes ping pong too, I should call him and ask if he wants to play. I'll be all "Hi Bob, let's go play ping pong" and then he'll be all "oh my god I love ping pong and since you want to play with me I love you too" and then I'll be all "awesome let's go play" and then he'll be all "okay let's do it!" and I'll be all "yay" and then hang up and not know where or when to go to play and feel silly and then I don't know what I would do. Perhaps I'd call back, or maybe just go play ping pong with someone else, because, you know, I don't know who Bob is anyway. He's probably one of those wild cat people who sing and dance on hands as well has legs and feet. Maybe he has psychic powers too. Actually if he has psychic powers I wouldn't want to play with him because he'd do things that shouldn't be done while you are playing ping pong. Like making food hover right in front of his mouth so he can eat and play. That's just unfair. Unless he did the same with my food; then that'd be alright. And by "same," I don't mean he'd eat my food, I meant he'd hover it in front of my face. So I could eat it. Because eating food rocks. Or, you know, cakes.

Now anyway, when I was playing ping pong, there was this dramatic part where the ball got lost. It was such a tragedy, so we hired these people to play sad music, but we found the ball before they came so we would have told them to go away when they finally arrived, except we lost the ball again. However, that was okay because I found this oblong rubber bouncy ball to play with. It was so much fun, it was like playing with a football except it mostly bounced where you expected it to go. Unless you put spin on the ball. Then it went wild. We lost it soon after we tried putting spins on the ball. We think one of the people playing sad music swallowed it, so we tried to make them all throw up but they left instead. They shouldn't be allowed to have such fast cars. There should be a law saying that if you swallow oblong bouncy balls you should give your fast car away to someone in need. Like me. Obviously I'm in need, because I have a blog. Okay so that's not really true, but still. I could use some fast cars! I mean, how else am I going to impress that squirrel on the third floor of my building? Throw nuts at it? Give me a break, here! I've been throwing nuts at people and they all hate me! Are squirrels any different? Probably not, but I suppose we should strive for statistical accuracy. Anyone want to send me some nuts? Thanks!

Right. Ping pong. So anyway, after loosing the oblong rubber bouncy ball thing, we found the actual ping pong ball and we started playing with that again and became very good and putting spins on it. It was spinning so much that it was like that "you spin me right round baby" except it wasn't like a record, it was like a ping pong ball. Or, I suppose, like a grapefruit. But grapefruits sound nasty, because it isn't a grape, and it can get into your eyes. Grapes don't get into your eyes. At least not since I've started eating them, so they may just be planning something. I'd better eat them faster so they don't have time to pull off whatever they are trying to do.

So anyway, that was my experience with ping pong. Except for the things that happened. I didn't put that in there. Or maybe I did. I forget. But anyway, I have to go to the bathroom.