Minister of Propaganda for the Decepticon Empire (fierceawakening) wrote,
Minister of Propaganda for the Decepticon Empire
fierceawakening

Blogging Against Ableism A Day Late

Okay, so yesterday was Blogging Against Ableism Day. (So technically they call it "Blogging Against Disablism" but "disablism" hurts my brain so there.)

I hate that I couldn't think of anything to say. I dunno. I just feel like so much of it has... already been said, and what am I going to do in a friends-locked LJ in which most of my friends agree with me anyway on this or they would be booted off my flist sooner than passing a hot potato?

Eh. I don't know. And then there is so much disparity between people -- people who have illnesses and want, in a sense, the RIGHT to be sick. To be tired. To need rest and get it. To have people not expect them to be their fucking ray of sunshine all the time. And then there's the opposite -- people where what's ignored isn't their limitations but their lack of them. "Look, I just ran the 50 yard dash in TEN SECONDS. THAT'S AN ACCOMPLISHMENT!" while everybody laughs. Except the one enlightened person who thinks you're cool and somehow has a clue what you said.

Yeah, I remember that. Anyway it's weird. Because I'll read the entries of other pwd and so many of them are just so... different. Sometimes I find myself hostile too. Like "Don't be sick" where that means "Don't make me look sick by association! We're not sick!" Even though I don't really believe that. And I imagine they could read me, some of them, and be like "Wait, why do you need to prove yourself and pull muscles all the time? Why are you making it look like I should do something so unproductive too?"

Because the whole thing about ableism is: There's no right answer. There's no real dignity that settles and feels completely right. I find myself thinking about Marilyn Frye on the oppression of women, where she mentions that a woman has two wrong choices about heterosex: Either she has it and likes it and she's a slut, dirty, rapeable because everything is fun to her no matter what, or she doesn't and she's frigid and unnatural and cold and... rapeable, again, because it's a challenge to "melt her ice" and prove to her that she "really" loves it.

And... it's the same thing. It's no matter exactly what you do you're this thing: Hercules with a cane or a waif. And where's you? Not really anyplace.

I look in the mirror sometimes and I see this muscular body and I think of myself as a lumpy freak. And that's not because I'm not proud I don't think. That's because there's part of me that thinks, hey, I'm supposed to be frail! What's this thing staring back at me that, um, isn't?

And that's what it is, I guess. Because what they take away from you if you have a physical disability is being at home in your own body, and I think maybe it's more pronounced than in some other oppressions. Because the big issue for people with physical disabilities is: what does your body mean? Or for people with mental ones: what does your mind mean? And the answer under ableism is: Something broken.

This is a public post. I hope people find my late ass.
Tags: disability
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