An Open Letter to the Current Administration:

Dear President Obama, Republicans, Democrats:

You have made me cry. This takes a lot of doing, over the years I have become quit the tough chick. I have endured years of abuse at the hands of my father, a veteran of the failed Vietnam Occupation. I have endured abuse at the hands of a medical establishment that seems to forget, just because my body is not strong as your body, I am still a person. I fought for an education that I am now too sickly to use, and I fought for housing and shelter. I fought and fought and yet, you reduce me to tears.

It is not the fault of the poor in this country that the US is in debt. This is your inept leadership. Past President Bush also is guilty, but the fact is not a one of you is poor. I was born in a condemned building, at home. I was born with health issues that went ignored and untreated over money.

You fight over medical care, yet other countries have full medical coverage and their people have far less disability and sickness. This is no cure all, because disability is actually something everyone, even the richest of the rich should expect. Disability has no preference for rich, poor, already abled, slightly sickly, a brilliant mind, or a below average one. Anyone can be disabled.

You waste money, while cutting spending to programs such as Medicaid, on wars that make more disabled persons. You cut education and have carved out the marrow of the United States of America. I read tonight that further cuts are expected for SSI, Medicaid, and now the Pell Grant. Just because your spoiled little children; and they are spoiled by the right of not hungering, not being homeless, and having an education beyond the mediocre and substandard versus the average world levels schooling in this country, do not have to fear over their college education does not mean this is the truth for MOST Americans.

There are no jobs. You sent them overseas. I did not go to school until I was an adult. I am self educated. Even I know the basics of supply, demand, and economic return. You took out ECONOMIC RETURN. We buy, we spend, and the money goes to China, Russia, Japan.

You borrow more. You cut funding to housing, You do not create MORE jobs.

Stop punishing the poor because you inept elitists cannot fathom what it is to hunger. It is not OUR fault YOU made this debt. You should all resign, at once. There may be chaos but perhaps some of the down trodden will finally get a chance to lead.

Yes, I am saying that I, a disabled, autistic, undereducated person with severe brain damage could do a better job than you.

Yours,

Kateryna AE Fury

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James Bond (Trigger Warning and Destruction of Fantasy Warning)

James Bond, the fantasy of many men. The ideal that men are told they must be. He is deemed sexy, he drives fast cars, and shoots people without remorse. The super spy, agent 007. James Bond is every ideal according to the media and is a role model for elegance for many men. James Bond is a rapist. James Bond is a Misogynist. James Bond is not the type of person anyone should model their sex appeal after. James Bond’s franchise shows more violence against women while dehumanizing them than many others, while making this seem like a good thing. The female characters that Bond has sex with are reduced beyond a name but to property. The Bond Girl. A Bond Girl.

It started out as a pleasurable afternoon activity, a reward for my hard work. I turned on Doctor No, and though I was aware the film would be disablist, racist, and generally ridiculous I was prepared for that and Sean Connery’s stereotypical white man in the movies good looks. I was not prepared for the growing disconcertion that would happen as I proceeded through my Bond movie Marathon. Bond is a rapist, he commits sexual assault and his female coworkers should file complaints daily. This never happens of course. MoneyPenny instead becomes entranced with him, wanting to be a Bond Girl herself but of course she’s just not good enough for Bond. Little does she know this saves her from what I have deemed his Death STD.

I became unable to like Bond by the end of From Russia With Love. You see, I was prepared for the sexism, I was prepared for the violence and the racism as I said. I was not prepared for a scene which I had forgotten was present. James Bond doesn’t take no for an answer, in fact this is a part of his trademark. He ‘seduces’ women who are unwilling. As the female fights and pushes him away, as she says no he continues to force himself on her. Bond’s body pins Tatiana Romanova down. She said no, he kisses her and she stops fighting him. That was when I stopped the movie and had to deal with the fact that James Bond is a rapist. I couldn’t just turn my brain off, instead my brain kicked into hyperdrive cataloging everything wrong with Bond.

I could list them here and run out of energy to type. Instead I will skip over the fact that every single Bond Villain up to Quantum of Solace has a disability, disfigurement, or blatantly uses a wheelchair. I could in fact point out that although the Bond films have more people of color acting in them than many other films, all the roles they have are of villains. Such as guy who blows up, guy who gets shot by Bond, etc etc. I could even talk about the objectification of violence but instead I am stuck on the dehumanisation of women, the constant sexual assault, and the frequent rapes that are made worse with the very bad puns.

The female characters in the films defined as Bond Girls for the purpose of this ramble will be defined as such: Bond has shown interest in them, he has had sex (consensual or no) or flirted with them, and they are given a name that makes absolutely no sense and is often some sort of sex joke. These females come in sets of three in most movies, he only marries one, and they all end up dead with the notable exceptions being the female lead in Quantum of Solace. They must also be rescued repeatedly, even M once the role was given to Dame Judi Dench is not saved from this humiliation, they must scream and flail a lot, and every single one of them says “Oh James!” during sex. In fact most of them look exactly alike, they are all “beautiful” by society’s standards. This is a loose definition in some areas and yet there is absolutely no deviation even in the newest and supposedly renovated Bond Films.

By naming the female characters things such as Octopussy the characters are dehumanised, they are reduced to sex. James Bond furthers this by treating every woman that he deems attractive, and that is most women, as if they are there just for his penis to enter. There is no concept of lesbians and if there ever is in a bond film it will be Lesbians for HIS pleasure. Most Bond girls are blonde, though there are a few redheads and the newer films have more dark haired females, all have large breasts except Halle Berry who was misbilled as the first female of color to be in a bond film. This erased Grace Jones’ tenure as the “scary black villainess”. In fact the lack of a signular identity for the characters reduces them to Bond’s property. They exist only for Bond, at his pleasure and discression. Every Bondgirl is attacked, beaten, and most are murdered because they belong to Bond and destroying his property is a good way to get him to react. He almost always “avenges” them but it would be far better for him to just stop having sex all together so that his female companions don’t die. My friend M and I discussed this and he pointed out that this makes it less emotional when he moves on. The woman didn’t die, she died. This means he has a free pass at the next female paragon of his sexual pleasures.

In the 22 Bond Films that exist at the time of this writing over half of the Bond Girls say no. Not in the “playing hard to get” fashion either. The majority of his sexual encounters are non consentual. The other half change their minds once they see how manly he is. Though if a man acted like Bond in person, even his white male privilege would be placed into jeopardy as at least in my local social sphere a person who drives that many sports cars, plays with guns as much as he does, and tries to act so overtly macho is deemed to have impotence issues. This played through my mind often, and helped ease what became an excercise in torture.

It took me exactly 1 week to the hour to watch all of the Bond Movies, though this became my day job. I admit fully that several times I had personal revelations about the forumula for Bond. As a child I wanted to be Bond, not the Bond Girl. This still stands, though I wouldn’t rape anyone. I was disciplined for this and I firmly associate Bond with the assignation of gendered behaviors that is so present in Western Society. I suspect other colonized societies carry this burden too but I can only speak from my sphere of existence. By wanting to drive the fast car, shoot bad guys and get the girl I was being unprofessional. Four year olds aren’t supposed to want this, that was what my mother said. My father corrected her, violently, and pointed out that Boys can want this. Being in a female body, I was forbidden to want the girl, the car, or the “fun”. I realize as an adult that the culture of violence we live in disguises being nearly killed constantly as fun. We pay great deals of money to endure mindless torments in the US. We pay to watch people beat and kill defenseless and rather stupid women.

Back to the Bond Girl Formulae I wrote above. We can expand his Bond Girl related deaths by deeming every female in the bond films a Bond Girl. This means that the charactes that I can recollect surviving right now aside from the final Bond Girl (he usually has two or three women he “loves” during each movie, one to betray him, one to die (sometimes combined) and one to survive to fuck another day) would be MoneyPenny, who is oddly credited as Miss MoneyPenny in the early films as if this will somehow explain why Bond does not desire her, via her being too good for him. The second would be M as Judi Dench.

MoneyPenny is thankfully not brutalized violently, beaten, shot, stabbed, poisoned, suffocated by being painted in gold, dipped in oil, strangulated, dies saving bond, or as a casualty of a drive by style violent thing but is constantly objectified and teased by Bond. The one woman that would consent easily to his sexual requests is rejected, this adds to his predatory nature. MoneyPenny is also one of the few female characters that is shown to have a brain in her head. From the beginning she often could procure information that others with in the agency struggled with. There is no MoneyPenny currently, in the Daniel Craig series. She is now a computer at best, though perhaps she will be made into his equal, a spy of equal power. Of course not. No she will likely be lobodimised or was recast as a male and I didn’t notice. Bond still treats her as if she is a child, another crime against the women, even through the end females are infantalized. We need the big strong men to tell us how to think and act.

The Early Twenties Bondgirl sex doll pattern was advertised as being broken when Die Another Day was being released. I remember the trailers, the supposed controversy over Halle Berry being a bond girl. There were racist pigs who decided she was too black, despite her being on the paler end of the dark skin spectrum. She was billed as the first strong female counter part to bond. A CIA Agent who could take care of herself. Except, this was a lie. She ends up tied up, drowned, and then for some reason having sex on a pile of diamonds. I suspect they chose diamonds because that has to be the least comfortable way to have sex ever. The only deviation in the usual bond system aside from her skin color was her flirting with Bond. This meant twice as many really bad puns while bad guys died, but just as when M was locked in a cage, Bond had to save the girl. Over and over again.

This is the Bond formulae. Bond is a training ground for violent rapists, normalizing the fact that we are just meat. Roger Moore’s era had the least intelligent Bond Girls. One accidentally saved the world by bending over in a bikini. Another was too stupid to realize people were shooting at her. Intelligence is not something a Bond Girl has, though the Daniel Craig films did improve on this slightly.

There is one other thing that I am compelled to note. James Bond is actually a horrible spy. He sucks at his job. The idea of spying is to NOT get caught. In each and every bond film his cover is blown, followed by things blowing up and women dying. He usually figures out that people know James Bond is James Bond when he finds one of his victims dead. The Death STD he carries is in his own lack of wit. He may be able to make innuendo but a real spy would do their utmost to not use their real name, to obfuscate their origins, and they would try to blend in. A real spy aims to be average. This is of course unless the Russian Spy ring that was recently caught is used as an example. They seem to have gone to the James Bond School of Spying. The man kills all his contacts, ruins most of his equipment, and causes so many international incidents. It is a wonder that the British people embrace this male supremicist pig rapist as a wonderful thing.

I have no answers to why James Bond is so popular, except that if you can watch a movie without thought and go “ooh pretty explosions” it may be alright. The contrived plots of this spy franchise however should offend almost everyone alive, unless they are so innundated with White Male is Right thinking that the idea that anyone should just shoot Bond to put England and the rest of us out of our misery is bad. The idealism of Bond goes so far as the fact that I have heard and seen via the internet people of color that lament their genetics as they prevent them from being like bond.

We need a female spy of color who doesn’t rape people, kicks as much butt and doesn’t blow her cover. Of course, the media doesn’t want people to realise that Bond Girl is synonymous with Dead Barbie, or James Bond is synonymous with bad spy. They want everyone to ignore that this normalization of violence effects each of us. The ambiguity of the sexual assaults, as some are very hard to spot, and the acceptance of his rapes as being sexy and beautiful adds to the dangers women face. I know this because I have been raped in the name of Bond. I have been told that to be a good girl you must submit to any man that deems you penis worthy. Not just by my father but by most of the white men I have dated. This phenomenon is well documented with many franchises and I am sure I am not the only person to go “Oh my god Bond raped her!” I just think more people need to.

I am going to find some brain bleach to try and get the 22 films out of my head. I must wash it off! WASH IT OFF!

The Cliche of Anger

I am tired, in massive pain, and yet I still am riding on the waves of fulfillment. I worked an entire week straight. I am taking a few more days to get back to my standard however, and reminded myself why I do not work in a traditional manner. I would have been fired today for being unable to wear standard clothing for one, and my attitude for another. Every action I take, every interaction I am bogged down by references to the past, lessons, and reminders. I hear my mother’s voice most clearly, and that is not something I welcome. I want to be an individual not the product of my family.

I wasn’t going to post until tomorrow but I was reading a few pages over at Womanist Musings. The proprietor of Womanist Musings has recently outed herself as being amid the disabled. She is beginning to run into the challenges of being suddenly unwelcome, invisible, and at times hated for merely existing. Today one of the commenters told her that she should start a civil rights movement, ignoring the fact that the disabled community has been pulling for equal rights for as long as other civil rights movements have been in effect. Before we go on, I want to remind you my dear reader that every single civil rights movement hasn’t ended, and that the fight for equality is on going no matter what your ism is. This reader seemed to think that a few protests fix everything.

This ignores the protests in New York, the individuals who do sacrifice their energy and at times sanity to try and force businesses to comply with the laws, and it ignores the fact that there are those who came before you and I. This is an erasure of our history. I responded with snideness and sarcasm, ignoring for the few moments it took to suggest a hacksaw so she could remove her legs as “easily” as I can get off of my scooter, the voice of my mother. “All disabled people are angry, they think they have rights.” I am aware that it is the events of today that shape the memories that seem to nitpick at us. Before I was disabled my sexuality was most often the harbinger of a Mommy Memory. “Bisexuals are selfish, they just want to have sex with as many people as possible.” Every time I went to flirt with a woman or a man, I heard something like that.

The myth of anger is just that, a myth. It erases the happy moments with friends and family, it erases the moments where competent and open minded people realize that everyone has rights. The myth of anger is often used to subjugate. Stop being angry, so that I can continue to oppress you. That is what I hear. The expectation that an entire group of people must never feel one emotion is ridiculous yet this is foisted on women of color, the disabled, homosexuals, and countless other oppressed groups, all to control us. Anger is forbidden.

Many times when I am smiling, I am told, “This inaccessible area will be fixed soon, we swear!” The tone is always frantic, that hint of “Oh god she will be mad that we haven’t done this yet.” It doesn’t matter that I am smiling and just nod and say, “Great, thanks for letting me know.” The fear of my anger, which is some how more toxic than their anger or fear is there. I still don’t understand it, but, I see this often. The times when I am angry, I am also not heard. It’s enough for me to want to go back to trying to be Super Cripple, but, I won’t do that.

My anger is valid. Your anger is valid. Anger is not a reason to oppress, discriminate, or subjugate. Anger is not an excuse to not build the ramp in an accessible manner, and anger is not an excuse to try to “just get rid of” someone. I am tired today, and I am trying to seem reasonable. My mind is far from reasonable. I am in truth alone, and am having a small tantrum every time I need to get up to move. My fiance forgot to feed the cats, which merited an hour of sitting there whining about how I wasn’t sure if I could do it, I can’t bend, and their bowls are on the floor.

It wasn’t anger that had me make a really big mess trying to feed them either. That was love. They were hungry so I fed them, without bending. (Sorry honey, but the kitties have to eat too!) It won’t be anger that I let him know he forgot either, but amusement. Every emotion that I have is not anger. The lessons that our parents teach us, may shape what we see but it is the choice that I made in my first experience with disability as an adult that showed me otherwise. I chose to not see anger.

It’s really that simple. Demeaning an entire group of people does cause anger. If you fear our anger so much, stop discriminating. If you come near me right this second and discriminate I will show you anger, but I won’t run you down with my scooter. That’d hurt me too, and you just aren’t worth my time or pain.

To my friends, allies, and fellow disabled persons, don’t forget that every moment that we are alive is the revolution for our people. Every time we are seen out of our homes, with our assistance equipment, service animals, and even having issues, this is our revolution. VIVA LA REVOLUCION! Free my people!

The Chronic Life Style

When you live with one or two or even more chronic illnesses your life changes. You lose something. Life becomes medicalized. You are removed from society, even if society doesn’t see it. Some conditions are blatantly obvious, but others may be hidden by clothing, misinformation, or even great efforts by the patient. You become a patient. Likely you also lose patience with the practice of medicine. Depending on the rarity of your disease or diseases you rapidly eschew laymen’s terms, having to research so that you can teach your doctor about the latest treatments.

It may feel like you should give up on doctors, but you may need medicine in order to have any sort of quality of life. Painful procedures including biopsies may become a regular requirement for treatment. You will have a team of doctors, none of whom communicate with one another. The coordination of this team depends on you. Most doctors will try treatments that do not corelate, and many will eventually give up on you. They want to treat you with a cookie cutter treatment, though for most rare conditions these do not exist because the pharmacutical company cannot make enough money and doesn’t really care if you are in pain.

You spend most of your life in a waiting room, and once you have a doctor in a room with you there is often a fight to get them to listen to you. Eventually, you learn how to make them listen, though this comes with practice. You are known by your first name by a pharmacist if they care. You learn to count your painmeds at the counter if they don’t. Sometimes they pretend to care just to steal your medicine.

Your doctors all want you to take dozens of pills, and often put you at risk for an overdose if you do not know why you are taking other things or their side effects. This burden can be very heavy if the pain is effecting your cognitive function. Some doctors will ignore what you want, they will ignore your chart and may prescribe drugs that you are allergic to. They then get offended when you point out that the medication will harm you. You don’t matter to these doctors and they are often specialists. You learn soon too, that you want a doctor freshly out of med school, because they are open minded and are often the ones who remember the names of rare diseases, but you want the experience of a doctor who has been at this for years.

There is no option for both, you can either have inexperience and passion or the doctor who has been dulled by years in the system. If you go to a hospital with even one medical student you will be shown off like a side show freak, because you are rare and fascinating. They will prod you, even if your condition has nothing to do with your visit. If you have an ear ache, they will still want you to flex your joints or to poke your skin to see it’s odd reactions. They all want to interview you or treat you so that they can write a paper on your condition. None of them keep in mind the humiliation that some of their questions can cause. Some doctors do not ask permission before telling these students about you, violating your HIPPA rights.

At other hospitals the internists may be in the same position as medical students, though they are much rarer. Often the internists will arrive and will ask permission. The curiosity still gleams in their eyes but they are not going to ask the questions with as much bluntness, a sign of mental maturation. Still, even if you are a small child, you forget to have a childhood. Doctor’s don’t really seem to understand that you lose your personal life.

The condition may have treatments, but many of them might be surgical. You could have a few conditions that cancel out the treatment options of others. The horrible sensation of turning into a grotesque monster may hit you. At this point, or even before, many with Chronic conditions turn to thoughts of suicide. Some even commit suicide, abandoning their families and lives. Some choose this route because they were abandoned instead. All Chronic Illnesses come with a side risk of severe and Chronic depression.

You might start laughing at every new diagnosis. You might hear the words “rare” or “genetic” and burst into giggles. They aren’t sounds of joy but it is really a mask for your horror. Each diagnosis has the same grief process. Sometimes you may be able to skip denial but you can never skip over the tears that you cry when you are alone. Even when you have a support system, they can’t always help you to feel better.

As your condition progresses you forget to do things such as buying groceries, or you have to choose between the medication that is vital to you and your pain medication. Many people with chronic conditions are looked down on if they need a handicapped space to make it through their shopping. Some careen through the store in a rush trying to get everything done before the pain overwhelms them, or the fatigue. Others use a motor cart provided by the store, praying that some little old lady doesn’t see them. They might feel guilt the first few times, but the ability to buy groceries with diminished pain is such a huge relief that they continue to use the carts.

At this point some continue to work, though others may lose their jobs. Not only are most people with Chronic conditions, even those which are supposedly pain free, fighting depression but the treatments may cost them their ability to work. If, as with Hidradenitis Supprativa, there is no treatment beyond surgery the patient will likely wait until the condition has debilitated them completely depriving them of their livelihoods. Some of these conditions are listed in the government’s database of conditions which need expeditious approval for a Disability claim.

Due to the listing in the Disability Database, the patient may run across a person who desires their disease or at least the diagnosis. This can be in the waiting room of the doctor, in line at the Social Security Administration Office, and even online, when seeking information and hope. This can often prevent a patient from seeing this doctor again. The patient might notify their doctor or the receptionist about the conversation. Instead they likely are too ashamed by what they have heard. Usually the person who has stated they desire this horrible condition believes it is truly painless, and considers it the easy way out. They are unaware of the detrimnetal effect that their words might have.

The patient with disability still faces the cyclic visitations to a doctor that the patient who has retained work or has made the choice to try and deny the need for Disability Benefits does. No chronic patient is exempt, though there may be enough relief from their condition to give them the sense of remission. Sadly due to the Chronic nature of any Chronic condition, there is no truth to this and they face the risk of a deepening depression or the onset of depression depending on their personality.

It is recommended by most physicians that patients seek therapy, although the psychiatric community eschews supporting most pain patients, preferring to tell them that their condition is in their head. The patient likely has spent years fighting for a diagnosis and will often have trouble with the notion of seeing a therapist again due to the traumatic treatment recieved before. This is not universal, though it is more common than a happy history with a therapist. This does not mean that therapy is not a good choice, as the state of mind can effect the reception of treatment by a medical physician.

Many patients will seek a support group before seeking out a therapist. With the advent of the Internet there has been an upsurge in email groups. Some patients may struggle with finding a group where they “mesh”. This struggle can be due to race, religion, or even prejudice faced against certain conditions. The rampant discrimination with in the chronic illness community can at times push people back into the mental distress mentioned previously. Many support groups try to modify the twelve step system or insist on a certain religious belief. Some members of support groups may be religious centric, focusing on prayer. Not every chronic patient wants to pray constantly. Many have had crisis of religion and are also seeking out their beliefs. This means that the religious patients who have turned to god may agitate their mental stress further.

This does not mean that any of these groups should disband, it merely means that a further support structure must be created and maintained by the patient. The patient has at this point forgotten that they can be more than a last name in a waiting room, or a first name if their last name is moderately difficult to pronounce. The patient may have had multiple personal crisis, and many years may have passed. Each patient progresses through various points in this article, and perhaps all of them. Some may be exceedingly lucky and find the perfect doctor, therapist, and have the perfect family who supports them unconditionally. These patients are rare. They also live with Unicorns.

Depending on the condition and the level of gore that the patient faces romantic interludes might be impinged. It may become difficult to hold their children, or to touch their pets. Fear may also be an issue with the patient’s spouse. Sadly, many chronic pain patients face marital crisis though a significant number of these crisis actually strengthen the relationships. Chronic Illness does not preclude the patient from desiring romance, love, or affection despite the potential for an increased level of anger as a side effect for the pain. The patient might begin to display outbursts of rage, instead of depression. They may also seem to mirror the bipolar patient (if this is not their chronic condition) with Mood Swings.

Some of these emotional reactions are the natural response to the brain altering it’s function to try and work around chronic pain. Others may be a response or side effect to treatment. Some medications excaserbate depression, others may mask the symptoms but only for short periods of time. The end of the masking period will be followed by a worsening of the condition.

With patients who have only surgery as an option there is the risk of being scammed by snake oil salesmen, untrained herbalists, and finks. A patient must research every medication, doctor, and treatment. It has become the patient who knows more than the doctor.

In order to return to being a person instead of the patient, a patient may tell their doctor to sod off. This is otherwise known as firing the incompetent buffoon. This is not always effective, as the medicalization of their humanity may have progressed rapidly and with great depth. The patient has found that resistance is futile. It appears that the Chronic Life Style is much like that of the Borg, as the patient has lost personal identity with in their medical file, beyond DNA evidence. The patient has discovered the medical hive mind, and thus their own knowledge has given them the ability to connect to it.

Published By Dr. Sarc A. Sim in the American Muddicle Association Joynal.

Author’s Note:

This was my attempt to try and vent. I spent last night trying to find out if I needed surgery for a very painful abscess that stayed hidden in my flesh for a good while. The cavernous hole was larger than a baseball, and showed up only as a small spot. The current treatment prescribed was oral antibiotics, which I stopped this morning. They made my stomach hurt and effected my reactions to the sun too much to continue.

The incompetent dermatologist I wrote about before prescribed this and a topical antibiotic that I used last night. I am now being forced to choose between improvement in the skin itself with the sensation of being burned alive or a faster progression of this illness that has no real treatment besides surgery and skin grafts. I haven’t decided yet. I am not sure I can handle that much pain.

I also am trying to get over the feeling of being alone. I wrote before about my rejection of mainstream religion, and all of the HS groups I could find last night seemed to talk about how prayer is the only treatment. This left me feeling as if I should just go to sleep and never wake up. This is a step away from suicidal thoughts for me, but is very close. The urge to give up is universal, with any challenge.

The final nail in my emotional coffin was seeing pictures of the treatment for HS. My skin is unable to hold a stitch, which means that where someone else could have the skin literally cut out completely and grafted over I could not. I did determine, as my doctor never knows and I have yet to find a Dermatologist willing to treat me more than once that I likely do not need surgery as long as I drain the abscess hourly. I am doing this and the wound is already shrunk down to the size of a golf ball.

I know I have support here, and someone else who is reading this probably found out they aren’t alone. I am considering doing something that feels drastic. I am considering building a website to host an email support group, a forum to discuss medical things, and a place to discuss non medical things. This would be a place to congregate. There would be a selection for those with the need to talk about their religious choices, but it would be seperate from the main support group as those persons are more likely to find a support group that fits them. I hope that it is clear that I am not judging anyone based on their religious choices with this, yet I want to make a place where you do not have to be religious, of the same religion, or can be an athiest without being judged.

I dislike reading about how once someone started praying, eating parsley, and did penance they realized they are marked as a sinner and that is the end cause. Yes, this is an extreme form of self belief, yet with the more untreatable conditions, of which I have many, that this form of extremism is more prevalent. I believe that some persons who happen to believe in the more widely accepted religions just as the less widely accepted religions may go to extremes but the main groups do not.

I feel that this all needed explanation as some people may be offended by my words, and that is the last thing I want. However, I needed to vent my emotions in order to subvert the depression that is trying to take over my mind.

If you would be willing to help create a system as described, please either use the contact form and drop me a line or post in the comments section. I cannot do it alone, and I do not have enough time to make this a reality at this time. This of course is logical as any group needs more than one person. I am looking at the Yahoo Groups System, as well as some of the free services for a website.

Measles, Mumps, and Rubella

There is this claim floating around the world, people are passionate about it. Autism is caused by vaccinations. I disagree. I know this makes me a target. There are people targeting advocates that do not want to cure Autism. I can’t cure myself. I am not a problem, I am just different. I almost didn’t write this because I am very afraid of whack jobs. I come from a family of them.

I am Autistic. I am a woman. I also did not get vaccinated when I was a baby, or at least not the MMR Vaccine. I had Measles. I had Mumps. I also had Rubella. I had each one. I remember little about the measles, I barely remember much aside from my face hurting about the mumps. I was a bit older when I had Rubella and I remember my skin burning. I didn’t have a clue about the dangers I was facing. More reasons that I am angry with the parents in my life.

I am certain that Autism has been around for as long as people have been breeding. I say this because to me, the way I think is perfectly natural. You may not get from my point A to MY point B. It may be point Z for you. For me it is what is logical. I am not a machine. I am not a robot. I am capable of emotion and love. I dislike the proverbial chick flick because it plays on emotions cheaply. I love action movies, because I can cry when the hero gets blown up but he gets up and keeps fighting at the end.

I am an adult who was recently diagnosed with Autism. I am still learning what it means. I have learned that it explains a lot of what makes me who I am, little quirks that I was punished for. Violent punishments. I wonder too, if my mother’s improper diet, diseased body (She has lupus and it has never been treated), and my genetic history with so many mental health issues contributed. I know the violence in my home helped me mask it. I can make eye contact without appearing to flinch. I can also steal a car, and lie to your face about it. This doesn’t mean I want to do either, or will do either now that I know I do not have to hurt myself.

Still, at times I question the validity of my diagnosis, when I hear these claims. Only boys can be Autistic. Only children who had their vaccinations can be Autistic. These are fallacies. Autism isn’t a disease. It is something that creates people like Albert Einstein. I do not know if he was Autistic but, I have often believed he showed signs of what I know Autism to be.

I feel fear when I hear talk of a cure. I feel frustration when I see that all of the care and support vanishes completely once an Autistic person reaches adulthood. I feel loneliness when I am singled out by my disabilities and am then told that Autism makes me inhuman. All of this is wrong. As you advocate for yourselves and others, you must remember that there is no true inhumanity, except those that refuse to see that genocide is imminent. I understand that living with any non standard deviation is frustrating. I do this daily.

I am so nonstandard I cannot have a cup of coffee. It makes me faint. I am so nonstandard I cannot go into a burger joint without risking death. I am so nonstandard I think it is wrong that people are discriminated against for every possible thing. There is a lot of discrimination with in the disabled community. There are people who use walkers and look down on wheelchair users, there are wheelchair users who think that fat wheelchair users are somehow less than. Every chance we get, we need to not pick at the little things but band together.

I will always bear the scars of my childhood, and I display them here so that someone else knows they are not alone. For all of the Autistic persons who read these words, no matter what you are told the cause of Autism is, what you believe it is, or what you know about yourself. I accept you, I do not want to cure you. You are exactly who you should be and you are beautiful.

I am Angry

I became aware of my anger today. I wasn’t aware how angry I was until trying to explain my back injury. I often tell myself I am not angry and try to behave with altruism in mind. I am pissed. Right now I could cuss! I have felt tension in my neck lately but, there are so many reasons to be tense I couldn’t figure out the why.

I am angry that people take disability as a sign of dramatics. I am not overly dramatic when I do not want to go grocery shopping. I do not want to face people. I do not want to treat something else that is medically wrong with me the doctors way, and choose to abide myself. This doesn’t make me overly dramatic. I have reasons for each thing, and none of them are dramatic.

None of my disabilities are in my head. As a young disabled woman, I am often told to get up and walk. My wheelchair is used as an excuse to shame me. It fails, but, I am angry. I am tired of explaining why I am in a wheelchair. Why is it not acceptable to ask someone, “Why aren’t you in a wheelchair?” Why is it that being seen as abnormal means people perceive weakness?

I am not weak. There is no weakness left with in me today. I might be weak tomorrow but right now I am feeling the roots of the earth. I am feeling ancient and mighty. There is a cost at this anger, but being aware of it means I can try and let it go.

I am specifically angry at the word Vanity today. Why is it vain to want to prepare for the risk of my hair not coming back with scar tissue? Any other person I know of seeking out ideas, pricing wigs, and other ways to hide scars would be assisted. When I ask the question the shop keepers look at me, look at the chair and ask why I bother. This is not right.

I want every bit of perceivable normalcy that I can obtain. I do not want people to see a big scar on my head, then my face. I want them to see my face. It is hard enough knowing that they first see my wheelchair, then my service animal, then my breasts, then my face. It takes so much more for a person with a disability to be seen as a person at all.

Why does it take extra brilliance to be an equal? Why does it take harder work to make ends meet? I am angry about this. My rage burns slow and deep. I am trying to change things but my fear is that I will fail. I am starting a professional public speaking business, and I am hearing the voice in my head whispering, “You will fail.”

I might. I don’t think I will. I know I will face discrimination, I will have to enforce the ADA wherever I go. I fear though, that I will be paid less because of the chair. I fear that people will not want to hear me speak because what good can a chubby chick in a wheelchair do for them? I have to push these aside and feel my anger, so that I can push on.

I am angry too as I realize that bullying doesn’t end with childhood. I am disappointed as that delusion fades upon the minor scruitiny. I will write about that soon. Adult bullies are just as bad as the children they raise. They are the ones who teach children cruelty. I run into them often.

I am proud to say that my lack of weakness shows more often than anything else. I am a very strong and talented woman but, what about those who have not had the chance to flourish? Yes, I fought tooth and nail for every bit of normal I can project, for every success. Not everyone is strong enough and most children with disabilities need more care than I recieved. How much stronger would I be if I had been cared for? I think I would be a million times stronger.

I am a butterfly with broken wings that has flown again. I just want to fly without it hurting. I want a moment of peace. I want to have one day where I do not have to prepare myself for the onslaught of the world’s prejudice. One day of peace. There is no such day. It might happen for some but as a person who cannot hide their disability, as a person who has a disability at all, as a woman, as a bisexual person, as an autistic, as a person of any minority knows… that day of peace is one that you fight for and taking it can cost you everything.

I am so angry, but I will not let my anger interrupt my path. I will not let it mask my fear. I will instead use it as passion to continue fighting discrimination. I will continue fighting for my freedom. I will continue fighting for your freedom. Everyday more people become disabled. Everyday more people find their rights are a myth. Everyday people die as a result of discrimination. Everyday in the United States, where I live, people die of starvation, people become homeless.

I am so angry. The anger comes from an emotional pain that leaves my heart throbbing and me in tears. This pain is for those who suffer. Part of it is physical pain too. My back aches, my muscles spasm, my ears ring so loudly I can barely hear anything over the din, my fingers hurt and dislocate, and I grow angrier because I don’t know why I feel like this. I shouldn’t lose a day to snow. I shouldn’t fear going outside, because each time I do my saftey is threatened by ignorant fools.

The cost of living with a disability is so high. I am tired of paying it. I am tired of feeling the terror of actually working. It makes me angry to feel fear like this. What if I do not earn enough to pay for my medication? What if I lose my SSI and become homeless? Will my Person and Caregiver both lose their incomes if I work? It effects them too.

I am tired of being angry. I am tired of worrying about appearance, yearning for enough money, proper clothing, and the ability to do what I want when I want not when someone else’s whim allows. I am far from alone in this anger too. Most people feel a form of it.

I thirst for the waters of freedom. I gasp for the air of life. I reach for it, but it is just out of reach. I feel the wind beneath my grasp and know it brings another storm I must weather. This is living. This is a life I did not dream of or foresee. I was unprepared yesterday. I was unprepared today. Tomorrow I will be prepared.

Treatment and the Day of Silence

I am not talking about medical treatment today. I am talking about the treatment that humans offer one another. This is the main reason I do not allow myself to cuss. I want to stop myself from hurting someone without thinking, and that is the most common use for curse words.

I have written a bit about my bullying experiences before, but today I want to talk with you about the Day of Silence and why I am taking part. I keep trying to fit all of this information on a double sided business card. I am preparing, my white board is ready, I am considering which form of tape to put over my lips. I am taping them closed on Friday, so that I do not accidentally babble. It happens. I think I am quiet and I have been talking for an hour about nonsense.

The Day of Silence, in my eyes, is an opportunity to educate those who have various privileges on the oppression that they do not see. I am an advocate for so many and I am advocating with my silence for any without a voice. The main focus is GBLT relations, but, I am adding to my silence the silence of those with a disability that takes their voice, those who are not heard when they speak out about abuse, and those who are not seen. I am taking part in the day of silence, and I call for you to do the same.

We who can speak out, especially with grace and eloquence, have a duty to protect those who have no voice. The world exists today where people who are marginalized are still being punished. A young man hung himself due to bullying. I do not use the word excessive before bullying as many do, because any bullying is excessive. If you excuse smaller amounts of bullying with that one word, you excuse it all.

If you read most of the blogs in my Blogroll, then you are most likely already aware of the Day of Silence. You are likely aware of Carl Joseph Walker-Hoove hanging himself at the age of 11. You might have seen his picture. If not. look into the face of battered innocence.

Carl Joseph Walker-Hoove age 11. He is wearing a football uniform, holding a helmet and smiling.

Carl Joseph Walker-Hoove age 11. He is wearing a football uniform, holding a helmet and smiling.

The antibullying action taken to protect this child was to force him to eat lunch with his abuser. That is as effective as the silence I faced when I was Burned at the Stake. His family is supporting the Day of Silence, as he was going to turn 12 this Friday. The Day of Silence is April 17th.

I look back at my life and see how close I came to suicide as well. I wanted to die so often, but I wasn’t able to make myself or someone stopped me. No one considered the ramifications for this boy. His death is criminal. Suicide? In a way it is murder. Every child who ridiculed him is guilty. They may be children but I honestly hope that they feel the guilt, that it eats at them enough to prevent the next act of bullying. I doubt it. The excuse that Children Are Cruel is not acceptable. No, children are not cruel. They are innocent. They are taught cruelty by the adults in their lives.

We are responsible. If you would not ordinarily take part in a protest, consider it as a way to honor every child who has been bullied because of skin color, hair color, eye color, behavioral difference, able bodied differences, or even for a difference that cannot be listed here. If you were bullied. Take part. If you bullied someone when you were a child. Take part.

This is a call to action. After I get my business cards ready, I will post the file here so you can download and print the minifliers. You can also find information on the day of silence website, they have resources and tools.

This is a way to advocate for yourself, for your children, for the children of the future, and for who you used to be. Stand up, stay silence, and be proud of it. If you are against the human rights of others, you probably aren’t reading this blog.

The Day of Silence Website: http://www.dayofsilence.org/

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