One More Girl's Plea to Turn on The Lights.

I have written several openings to this post about my struggle with mental illness: The day I was put admitted to the psychiatric floor, I did my hair.  OR:  One day, I decided to count the number of lies I told, and got to thirty before I was  home from school. OR: At age 22, I threw the kind of hissy-fit you’d expect from a toddler, because my friend had to go to work; snot and tears thinly coated my face. I was shaking—I was screaming. The problem with each of these options is that then of course I have to tell a story, and I hate each of those stories.  The stories that begin with those sentences embarrass me. They exhaust me and they make me feel like maybe the people who know them will disappear from my life.

The truth is that as involuntarily as developed Cerebral Palsy shortly after birth, I developed at some point in my early life, an unrelenting fear of the people I love going away. It is anxiety that is so enveloping that admitting to its existence in this way is making me feel slightly sick. I have a loving family, and although my childhood wasn't without loneliness or pain, it didn't cause this. Most days of my life have been free of reasons to complain. My anxiety is as close to innate at something can be without meeting the word's definition. I am surrounded by wonderful people, who I know love and want goodness for me. I want my friends and my family who may read this to know, they did nothing to create this in me. My supporters are the only reason that now I live, usually happily, with my anxiety.    

Nobody built me this obstacle, but I certainly did not choose for myself. I do not want to feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest when I have to ask for help. I don’t want to close my eyes and remember everything I said in the last month while my throat feels like it’s shutting in shame. I wish my stomach thought of honesty as the best policy.  I have sought effective help, and I am okay. Lots of times, I’m better than okay.

Because I have physical challenges too, I hope I can offer a somewhat unique prospective on these matters.  I know undoubtedly that the last paragraph I wrote would be superfluous in a piece regarding CP. Society understands that I can’t change my legs, my balance, or the way my voice sounds when I get excited. If a stranger tried to imply that I could, onlookers might call them crazy.  It’s different with the other stuff. With the other stuff, explaining that at times I am helpless to it makes me the crazy one… I promise you on my puppy, I cannot control either condition.

This of course does not mean that I am not solely responsible for my sometimes absolutely horrid behavior while in the throes of my anxiety. Like it would be stupid and selfish of me not use a walker and to make everybody wait around while I crawled, it was stupid and selfish me to go so long without seeking help. Humans act  stupidly  and selfishly  when they are trying to avoid being judged-- being labeled. The irony is not lost on me.   Monsters, as they say, live in the dark.

Here’s hoping the world turns the lights on soon. 

On Inspiration Porn

Typical porn is bad for numerous communities partly because it sets completely unrealistic expectations of the human body and sex, and also because its characters are almost exclusively arc types such as   “ditz”, “vixen”, and “clueless man who cannot help himself”.   Inspiration porn which is currently a hot topic in the disabled community, while milder, is similar.    This term refers to media that exploits people with disabilities by portraying the ordinary things we do as extraordinary, and by depicting all of us as perfectly innocent. (See examples here, here, and here)

Many readers may think: Stories and pictures like that are well intentioned and even celebrate people with disabilities. Why would anyone be offended?  This is valid, intelligent question. I hope my response is valid and intelligent.   

Like pornography creates restraining labels, inspiration porn places people with disabilities into in boxes usually marked “angelic”.  Fitting into that box is obviously impossible.  I like to think my C.P. has taught me a lot, but I can’t compete with Tiny Tim, and because people are naturally dynamic and multidimensional, that’s not even something a clearheaded society wants. We often learn our most significant lessons after acting inappropriately. All people, regardless of ability, deserve opportunities to screw up and learned from it.     

Perhaps the weirdest, most painful thing about inspiration porn though, is that unlike X-rated material, which often makes sex look sexier, women look more flexible, and men look more toned, inspiration porn lowers an able bodied viewer’s expectation of disabled people. It teaches them to be impressed when one of us goes to work, or even gets out of bed.  When those around us do not expect that we will achieve normalcy, it is difficult to believe that we can.  I do not subscribe to the idea that people rise to whatever level the majority says they can reach. It is undeniable however, that knowing that strangers, and sometimes  our loved ones see us as incapable, definitely depresses those of us with physical challenges, much like the unrealistic goals the porn industry sets for young women has depressed generations. Undoubtedly, images of women being tied up, or  of couples performing a sex-acts, emaciated, while hanging upside down, are much more detrimental and dangerous  than a cheesy-captioned picture of a wheelchair user; there is no arguing that. The truth remains: you can only be pushed down so many times before you just lay on the floor.  

Most everybody understands the appeal of watching disabled people legitimately succeed. It is fun to see people do something you  thought they never could. I know that life is, in some instances, more challenging for people like me. So, if you’re blown away by a guy with no limbs climbing a mountain, I get it.  What I wonder is how the same   people who are shocked that I have been employed, made  friends, or even  that graduated high school, want me to smile through every experience.  It isn't fair to assume that I am inept just because I walk funny, and it isn't fair to expect me to be the picture of kindness either.  My knock-knees and horrible balance never make me want to stay in bed all day. Battling those crazy assumptions sometimes does. Inspiration porn is one of the many reasons I am engaged in that battle.

Almost everyone in the world means well. Sometimes, they just can’t tell how tired others are.  Maybe this will post help someone understand. That would be awesome.