I'm pretty convinced the people who push all of these "-insert holiday here- is for families!" ideas have never read the news. Ever.
Newsflash for you people: Some people's families SUCK.
So you make all these days (mostly Christian-chosen holidays, which is a whole other issue) days that what you can do is be with those abusive assholes who you haven't seen since they told you to get a real job or die on the street when you were a teenager, or you can be alone hearing all about how Xmas is all wonderful and yay family who love you and are awesome no matter what.
And to that I say, fuck you.
There are all sorts of myths already about people who have shit-awful families. Didn't you know? It's my fault my parents are abusive. Obviously people from dysfunctional families are unable to love or care or whatever; never trust someone who has no contact with their family because no reason is good enough to justify that because family is family. Someone who has no contact with their family, even if their family is abusive and toxic, is all sorts of indescribable awful. That is the meme. We all are just spiteful and horrible because, don't'cha know, families always are there for each other and love each other. No exceptions.
And to that I say, go fuck yourself. If you want them so badly, you take them.
Then you throw holidays in there. Go spend time with your family, you say. All families love each other, holidays are for family, forgive/forget, I slap your face off and you're still going.
Because our culture refuses to admit that some people are related to shitstains, a holiday is a day where your only choices are:
a) go be abused
b) sit at home hearing how you should be with your family.
Because I don't feel bad enough already about being told I'm subhuman for avoiding those people, I also need to have no options for doing stuff today. It's like society at large is trying to bore & shame me into forgetting that I have parentally-induced dents in my skull.
And I know I am not the only person in this position. It isn't a moral failure to hate your family or hate holidays. You can't really have one without the other very easily, and if you really think it's a moral failure to not like having parentally induced dents in my skull & other PTSDy memories, go fuck yourself.
K
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
They taught me to not opine.
One of the main goals of autism 'treatment' is passivity. Unfortunately, they succeed at that. A lot.
Those of you who know me are laughing your asses off right now, because "passive" isn't the adjective most people think of when they think of me. But none of you know what it is to be inside my head.
They taught me that having an opinion is wrong. They taught me that wanting a say in what happens is wrong. They taught me that what I think and feel is far less valid than what anyone else thinks, feels, and wants. They taught me that standing my ground is among the worst things I can do.
And I internalized that.
I know, none of you believe me, because if there's anything I am known for it is standing my ground. But keep in mind-I don't give 2 shits what most people think, especially internet people. If I do give 2 shits what someone thinks on the internet, chances are good we are on the same side. We are fighting through the same things. And the stuff I stand my ground on, that I fight for with the whole of my being, it's often a literal matter of life and death-if not my life, someone's, somewhere. And that's worth it.
But what you aren't seeing is the panic and freeze. Every time I am asked for an opinion or a quick decision, even one that doesn't matter-often especially one that doesn't matter-my mind shuts down and starts racing at the same time. Do they actually want my opinion or are they checking to see that I have the right one? What if my opinion is the wrong one? Oh god. It's easier to not have an opinion. I don't have time to figure out the motive of asking and what my opinion is or how to say it in a palatable way. I'm not good at palatable ways, not even for innocuous things.
The way I do advocacy is the only way I can. Brute forcing through the panic, because those beliefs are more important than the very real fear of very real, terrifying consequences. It isn't easy. At all. It's like having to face a rational fear that developed into a phobia every day. But I have to allocate that energy-it's worth it for matters of life and death. It's worth it when other people like me are affected too. It's worth it when the listener doesn't immediately particularly matter to me (sorry. That's how it is) or they can't do anything to me.
But that kind of energy, on everything? I can't do it. The fear is too much.
Fuck yeah, passivity training. Hope you're happy.
Those of you who know me are laughing your asses off right now, because "passive" isn't the adjective most people think of when they think of me. But none of you know what it is to be inside my head.
They taught me that having an opinion is wrong. They taught me that wanting a say in what happens is wrong. They taught me that what I think and feel is far less valid than what anyone else thinks, feels, and wants. They taught me that standing my ground is among the worst things I can do.
And I internalized that.
I know, none of you believe me, because if there's anything I am known for it is standing my ground. But keep in mind-I don't give 2 shits what most people think, especially internet people. If I do give 2 shits what someone thinks on the internet, chances are good we are on the same side. We are fighting through the same things. And the stuff I stand my ground on, that I fight for with the whole of my being, it's often a literal matter of life and death-if not my life, someone's, somewhere. And that's worth it.
But what you aren't seeing is the panic and freeze. Every time I am asked for an opinion or a quick decision, even one that doesn't matter-often especially one that doesn't matter-my mind shuts down and starts racing at the same time. Do they actually want my opinion or are they checking to see that I have the right one? What if my opinion is the wrong one? Oh god. It's easier to not have an opinion. I don't have time to figure out the motive of asking and what my opinion is or how to say it in a palatable way. I'm not good at palatable ways, not even for innocuous things.
The way I do advocacy is the only way I can. Brute forcing through the panic, because those beliefs are more important than the very real fear of very real, terrifying consequences. It isn't easy. At all. It's like having to face a rational fear that developed into a phobia every day. But I have to allocate that energy-it's worth it for matters of life and death. It's worth it when other people like me are affected too. It's worth it when the listener doesn't immediately particularly matter to me (sorry. That's how it is) or they can't do anything to me.
But that kind of energy, on everything? I can't do it. The fear is too much.
Fuck yeah, passivity training. Hope you're happy.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
In Which the Term "Self Advocate" Irritates the Shit Out of Me
I don't like the term "self advocate" as it's used right now. The "self" should be a given, it should be understood. I should be a disability rights advocate, an autism advocate, an accessibility advocate, a neurodivergence advocate. Stuff like that.
I'm not, though, in commonly used language. In commonly used language, those terms-especially autism advocate-are about parents and professionals. Most of these people are not autistic. It's fair to say the majority of them have no disability whatsoever. So why the hell is it my description that gets a qualifying appendage? Why am I not the default in the work I do?
That's really what it comes down to, isn't it? Allistic, enabled people are considered the default for anything and everything, so when someone like me-autistic, disabled-does something on my own behalf like every other adult in the world it's seen as so damn special and cutesy that they decide they need another word for it. A word, I may add, that implies that what I have to say is not as important as what "real" advocates have to say. I'm just talking about myself, you see. They're doing the really real work, for we need the great allistic savior! We're cast as sidekicks in our own movement.
That, obviously, is wrong.
It is my movement. The accurate term for people like me (and a lot of people whose work I admire, and who I can't list here without it running 2 pages and me forgetting someone and feeling like an asshat) shouldn't be self advocate. We should be called advocates. Those people who are co-opting my movement? You know, the ones calling themselves advocates while telling us that what we say is less than what we say for a whole number of reasons? They can be allies, if they wish to work with us. Or they can be parent-advocates.
But the term advocate in this context should belong to us. We shouldn't be peripheral to the movement. It is ours. Give it back to us.
I'm not, though, in commonly used language. In commonly used language, those terms-especially autism advocate-are about parents and professionals. Most of these people are not autistic. It's fair to say the majority of them have no disability whatsoever. So why the hell is it my description that gets a qualifying appendage? Why am I not the default in the work I do?
That's really what it comes down to, isn't it? Allistic, enabled people are considered the default for anything and everything, so when someone like me-autistic, disabled-does something on my own behalf like every other adult in the world it's seen as so damn special and cutesy that they decide they need another word for it. A word, I may add, that implies that what I have to say is not as important as what "real" advocates have to say. I'm just talking about myself, you see. They're doing the really real work, for we need the great allistic savior! We're cast as sidekicks in our own movement.
That, obviously, is wrong.
It is my movement. The accurate term for people like me (and a lot of people whose work I admire, and who I can't list here without it running 2 pages and me forgetting someone and feeling like an asshat) shouldn't be self advocate. We should be called advocates. Those people who are co-opting my movement? You know, the ones calling themselves advocates while telling us that what we say is less than what we say for a whole number of reasons? They can be allies, if they wish to work with us. Or they can be parent-advocates.
But the term advocate in this context should belong to us. We shouldn't be peripheral to the movement. It is ours. Give it back to us.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Existential Guilt.
This is a world that would rather I weren't in it. That's a thing I and many like me fight every day-the pervasive feeling of being reviled and unwanted, infringing on everyone else's wish for a normal, uncomplicated little life where everyone and everything makes sense.
I try to not let it bother me too much, but sometimes it does. Like right now. Right now I feel as guilty for existing and subjecting other people to me as I imagine people who accidentally run over their children's pets in the driveway do.
There's just a lot of stuff that pours into that, you know? There's this ever present narrative that people with brains like mine don't deserve to exist. There's the deficit model of pretty much everything. There's all the everything about how hard it is to know or like or love or be friends with or consider human someone of my neurotype.
Then I go climbing, or try to, and they won't change the music to something that isn't seizuregenic. Hell, they don't even understand why I asked, or why when they made it out to be the HARDEST THING IN THE WORLD to change the Pandora station to "not electronic techno whatever the hell this is" I wanted my money back.
So it was a bad day and then we're in a car crash that was totally not my friend's fault in any way and it turns out my steroid injection is expired and no one at OHSU understands that even minor car accident + inadequate steroid cover = pretty big deal. And I sit in the ER waiting room in a cervical collar for 3 fucking hours, my pulse hovering between 46 and 52. And then they look at me and with my vitals in this whole BARELY ABOVE DEAD range and still argue about whether or not they should do more steroid cover.
Yeah, jackasses, someone with documented adrenal insufficiency is presenting in your ER after an injury (not a broken anything, but I TOLD YOU THAT MYSELF) with dizziness, low blood pressure, alarm-ringing-low pulse, nausea, etc and you decide to get in a power struggle about what to do about it? The only thing that would have made that better would have been if you'd offered me a medication I was allergic to.
Oh wait. You did. Because people like me aren't even worth the time it takes to review a chart.
So not only does society at large not want me to exist, but the people who are paid to see to it that I don't die are more concerned with being right than anything else.
And my back hurts. And I feel bad about my back hurting. How dare my back hurt, when I am so many other kinds of shitty to have to interact with any way? Who the hell do I think I am, to think that I'm allowed to feel bad and feel postictal and not want to die in the ER?
So you throw all that together, along with the knowledge that the failure of rock climbing + the car accident and subsequent ER visit totally fucked up my friend's day, and I feel like shit at the bottom of the ocean just for existing.
I keep seeing and hearing and being told that it's irrational and unacceptable for me to demand or ask for or even suggest that maybe something could kind of be not a big battle for me. But no. How dare I exist, how dare I think I'm human, even a little? Who the fuck am I to have needs and wants and try to get them taken care of?
So yeah. I feel inordinately irrationally guilty just for existing. Hope the autism tragedy complex is pleased.
I try to not let it bother me too much, but sometimes it does. Like right now. Right now I feel as guilty for existing and subjecting other people to me as I imagine people who accidentally run over their children's pets in the driveway do.
There's just a lot of stuff that pours into that, you know? There's this ever present narrative that people with brains like mine don't deserve to exist. There's the deficit model of pretty much everything. There's all the everything about how hard it is to know or like or love or be friends with or consider human someone of my neurotype.
Then I go climbing, or try to, and they won't change the music to something that isn't seizuregenic. Hell, they don't even understand why I asked, or why when they made it out to be the HARDEST THING IN THE WORLD to change the Pandora station to "not electronic techno whatever the hell this is" I wanted my money back.
So it was a bad day and then we're in a car crash that was totally not my friend's fault in any way and it turns out my steroid injection is expired and no one at OHSU understands that even minor car accident + inadequate steroid cover = pretty big deal. And I sit in the ER waiting room in a cervical collar for 3 fucking hours, my pulse hovering between 46 and 52. And then they look at me and with my vitals in this whole BARELY ABOVE DEAD range and still argue about whether or not they should do more steroid cover.
Yeah, jackasses, someone with documented adrenal insufficiency is presenting in your ER after an injury (not a broken anything, but I TOLD YOU THAT MYSELF) with dizziness, low blood pressure, alarm-ringing-low pulse, nausea, etc and you decide to get in a power struggle about what to do about it? The only thing that would have made that better would have been if you'd offered me a medication I was allergic to.
Oh wait. You did. Because people like me aren't even worth the time it takes to review a chart.
So not only does society at large not want me to exist, but the people who are paid to see to it that I don't die are more concerned with being right than anything else.
And my back hurts. And I feel bad about my back hurting. How dare my back hurt, when I am so many other kinds of shitty to have to interact with any way? Who the hell do I think I am, to think that I'm allowed to feel bad and feel postictal and not want to die in the ER?
So you throw all that together, along with the knowledge that the failure of rock climbing + the car accident and subsequent ER visit totally fucked up my friend's day, and I feel like shit at the bottom of the ocean just for existing.
I keep seeing and hearing and being told that it's irrational and unacceptable for me to demand or ask for or even suggest that maybe something could kind of be not a big battle for me. But no. How dare I exist, how dare I think I'm human, even a little? Who the fuck am I to have needs and wants and try to get them taken care of?
So yeah. I feel inordinately irrationally guilty just for existing. Hope the autism tragedy complex is pleased.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Well-Behaved Autists Rarely Make History: Why "Bad Autistics" Are Good Activists
It's not difficult to figure out how to be a "good" autistic. Just preface everything you say with "this only applies to me, of course" or "I'm quite high-functioning, but," apologize for existing. A good autistic answers every question, no matter how invasive, that a neurotypical person asks. A good autistic is honored that parents give them the time of day, praises said parents regardless of how they treat their kid, never questions NT supremacy or authority.
I am a bad autistic.
Bad autistics demand to be treated as human. We are not afraid to call people out on treating us-or their children-poorly. We say that asking us intensely personal questions is inappropriate. We are not honored by being "allowed" to be universal translators or self-narrating zoo exhibits. We don't apologetically state our experiences, all wrapped in disclaimers that no other freak like us will necessarily experience the same thing the way we did. Many of us reject functioning labels entirely. We do not praise parents for not drowning us in childhood; we know that is not praiseworthy.
We want and demand more than that. We want more for ourselves. We want more for the "good autistics, who have stumbled on a way to be bullied less. We want more for the children of the very parents who vilify us. Where a good autie is told "I hope my child grows up to be like you," I am told "if my child could argue like you do, I'd consider them cured." This is not a compliment-it is a silencing tactic.
I and other uppity auties I know have received death threats. Our diagnoses are constantly questions; really real autistics are apparently unable to have our own opinions on autism. We are called delusional, we are told we are bitter, angry, too emotionally connected to the issue to be rational. Knives have been pulled on activists. We are told that there is no way we can actually like who we are. We are vilified and maligned constantly.
It's not easy. Most of us have PTSD from childhood bullying and abuse-parents have told me, incidentally, that abusing me was acceptable and understandable. And yet, we persist in fighting the good fight.
Why? Because it's important, that's why. No one should treat anyone that way. They do it because it is socially acceptable. I want better for me. I want better for their children. I'm idealistic enough to think that they probably want better for their children. I want a world where "good autistics" are not afraid to contradict a parent. I want a world where my humanity is a given, not something I have to fight for. I want a world where people who bully and abuse people like me are seen as the monsters they are.
First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win. I'm a bad autistic and I intend to win.
I am a bad autistic.
Bad autistics demand to be treated as human. We are not afraid to call people out on treating us-or their children-poorly. We say that asking us intensely personal questions is inappropriate. We are not honored by being "allowed" to be universal translators or self-narrating zoo exhibits. We don't apologetically state our experiences, all wrapped in disclaimers that no other freak like us will necessarily experience the same thing the way we did. Many of us reject functioning labels entirely. We do not praise parents for not drowning us in childhood; we know that is not praiseworthy.
We want and demand more than that. We want more for ourselves. We want more for the "good autistics, who have stumbled on a way to be bullied less. We want more for the children of the very parents who vilify us. Where a good autie is told "I hope my child grows up to be like you," I am told "if my child could argue like you do, I'd consider them cured." This is not a compliment-it is a silencing tactic.
I and other uppity auties I know have received death threats. Our diagnoses are constantly questions; really real autistics are apparently unable to have our own opinions on autism. We are called delusional, we are told we are bitter, angry, too emotionally connected to the issue to be rational. Knives have been pulled on activists. We are told that there is no way we can actually like who we are. We are vilified and maligned constantly.
It's not easy. Most of us have PTSD from childhood bullying and abuse-parents have told me, incidentally, that abusing me was acceptable and understandable. And yet, we persist in fighting the good fight.
Why? Because it's important, that's why. No one should treat anyone that way. They do it because it is socially acceptable. I want better for me. I want better for their children. I'm idealistic enough to think that they probably want better for their children. I want a world where "good autistics" are not afraid to contradict a parent. I want a world where my humanity is a given, not something I have to fight for. I want a world where people who bully and abuse people like me are seen as the monsters they are.
First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win. I'm a bad autistic and I intend to win.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Anti Bullying Stuff
Most of you likely aren't going to like this. In the words of swim coaches everywhere, "Suck it up, Buttercup." It's true.
A lot of people my age and a little older are leading the anti bullying charge. A lot of parents, mostly, and adults who were bullied as kids, and parents of kids who were bullied.
Welcome to the fucking 80s & 90s, kids. Bullying was a problem when I was a kid. Bullying was a BIG problem when I was a kid.
By "big problem", I mean:
-I got thrown down the concrete stairs at my school.
-I got stuff thrown at me.
People put stuff in my hair & smeared it on my uniform skirt.
-I spent 2 years avoiding art class because of the rampant hooliganism (and I have not picked up a single paintbrush without throwing up since 5th grade).
-I got locked in a locker.
-I got suspended for getting myself OUT of said locker.
-Pinching, pulling, shoving, mocking, alternating excluding & including to have an object of mockery, and more.
-There was such a culture of asshattery, physical & emotional torment, and general being shitty excuses for human beings that the last time I went into that school building, I-again-couldn't stop throwing up.
-The administration aided & abetted by ignoring & telling me it was my fault for, I guess, being there.
This was at the 'smart' school, full of 'good kids'. I have clinical PTSD from my 'smart' school full of 'good kids'.
Now those same 'good kids' are involved in leading the charge against bullies. Do they not know what they are? They are bullies. They are repugnant. They are hypocrites.
That's right, hypocrites. If you behaved like my classmates did, and are now against it-without ever acknowledging that you were the biggest turd in the toilet bowl-you are a hypocrite.
You don't want your kids to go through what you put me, yes me, or others like me, through. Yet you won't admit "I am a shithead. Who I was as a middle schooler is exactly what I am fighting against, because I was a shithead."
Oh no.
We can't have that. All the children of my generation suffered overly inflated self esteem and became bullies, were coddled for being bullies.
Do they remember what little assholes they were? How could they not? Do they really think they were so fucking awesome that they're exceptions to the "don't be a jerk" rule? But the children their kids are interacting with aren't?
No?
Maybe they DO remember what fucksticks they were & don't want to admit it. Then they'd be -oh noes- wrong about something. Ever.
We can't have that.
If you want to fight bullying, start by admitting you SUCKED. Admit it loud & often. Don't make excuses. Just do it. "I sucked and I am sorry. Here are the ways I sucked. If you, progeny mine, ever pull the kind of shit I pulled, I swear to $DIETY I will hand you over to your victims to be a pinata, as my parents should have done with me, because I deserved it & you would deserve it too."
That's the first step to joining in-admit YOU sucked. If your kid is being bullied, tell them YOU sucked, just like the kids they are dealing with. You don't get the martyr point of view if you were one of the asshats like the ones I went to school with-fight for your kid, but don't dare act like you are the one being hurt by bullying or that bullying is new.
The kids being bullied are the ones suffering. The kids who you bullied, who have PTSD from your behavior, we suffer. Don't fucking DARE say it has always been your cause if it hasn't. Stand with us instead of shouting us down for a change.
And no, I don't forgive you. And I never will.
A lot of people my age and a little older are leading the anti bullying charge. A lot of parents, mostly, and adults who were bullied as kids, and parents of kids who were bullied.
Welcome to the fucking 80s & 90s, kids. Bullying was a problem when I was a kid. Bullying was a BIG problem when I was a kid.
By "big problem", I mean:
-I got thrown down the concrete stairs at my school.
-I got stuff thrown at me.
People put stuff in my hair & smeared it on my uniform skirt.
-I spent 2 years avoiding art class because of the rampant hooliganism (and I have not picked up a single paintbrush without throwing up since 5th grade).
-I got locked in a locker.
-I got suspended for getting myself OUT of said locker.
-Pinching, pulling, shoving, mocking, alternating excluding & including to have an object of mockery, and more.
-There was such a culture of asshattery, physical & emotional torment, and general being shitty excuses for human beings that the last time I went into that school building, I-again-couldn't stop throwing up.
-The administration aided & abetted by ignoring & telling me it was my fault for, I guess, being there.
This was at the 'smart' school, full of 'good kids'. I have clinical PTSD from my 'smart' school full of 'good kids'.
Now those same 'good kids' are involved in leading the charge against bullies. Do they not know what they are? They are bullies. They are repugnant. They are hypocrites.
That's right, hypocrites. If you behaved like my classmates did, and are now against it-without ever acknowledging that you were the biggest turd in the toilet bowl-you are a hypocrite.
You don't want your kids to go through what you put me, yes me, or others like me, through. Yet you won't admit "I am a shithead. Who I was as a middle schooler is exactly what I am fighting against, because I was a shithead."
Oh no.
We can't have that. All the children of my generation suffered overly inflated self esteem and became bullies, were coddled for being bullies.
Do they remember what little assholes they were? How could they not? Do they really think they were so fucking awesome that they're exceptions to the "don't be a jerk" rule? But the children their kids are interacting with aren't?
No?
Maybe they DO remember what fucksticks they were & don't want to admit it. Then they'd be -oh noes- wrong about something. Ever.
We can't have that.
If you want to fight bullying, start by admitting you SUCKED. Admit it loud & often. Don't make excuses. Just do it. "I sucked and I am sorry. Here are the ways I sucked. If you, progeny mine, ever pull the kind of shit I pulled, I swear to $DIETY I will hand you over to your victims to be a pinata, as my parents should have done with me, because I deserved it & you would deserve it too."
That's the first step to joining in-admit YOU sucked. If your kid is being bullied, tell them YOU sucked, just like the kids they are dealing with. You don't get the martyr point of view if you were one of the asshats like the ones I went to school with-fight for your kid, but don't dare act like you are the one being hurt by bullying or that bullying is new.
The kids being bullied are the ones suffering. The kids who you bullied, who have PTSD from your behavior, we suffer. Don't fucking DARE say it has always been your cause if it hasn't. Stand with us instead of shouting us down for a change.
And no, I don't forgive you. And I never will.
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