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before my thirty-fourth anniversary of being a biped, i think of things
It occurred to me this morning...
I'm resentful of being seen/treated/received as a child because I didn't really ever get to properly BE one.
No, I wasn't abused to the disgusting extent some of my friends were. I managed to weasel around most of that like the slithering little bitch that I am.
But the stuff like "you have to do this treatment, and this one, and this one, and you must do them every day or you will quickly sicken and die horribly"? That, I got to handle. (That, and the business where "gifted" children are expected to be mentats, and have emotional maturity to match our college vocab...)
It's a different trauma and a different class of stressors. But it's no less valid for being less common.
Trust me on this, friendlies. If you pay attention to my tics and twitches, it'll all become clear.
Anyway...
Like. For all the utter asshattery that is ableism anyway, the part that makes the least fucking sense to me is this assumption that disability makes you a permachild mentally? Which. Uh.
No.
This ties into how our sexuality's treated, too--I get to be someone's fetish, or I get squalled at by fauxgressives and accused of fetishizing myself.
And I realize that a lot of my past friendships just weren't BECAUSE of this weird fetish shit. I used to run with people who were fixated on constructing their life narrative as this spaffoclysm of tragic drama pr0n, and when they found out there was much more to me than "genki little piece of stupid fluff to be used as a foil"--when they found out I actually had much more on my plate than they did--when they found out about my condition--they migrated me into magical-disabled-girl and had the gall to get offended when I didn't die on them and add to their woe-is-me chorus.
I came to the realization that there are a lot of people who did not--do not--consider me a whole person.
And because I am a draconic little bitchtyrant with an ego the size of jupiter? that offends me! and my first impulse is this hyperdramatic revenge fantasy wherein I shove my right to exist into people's brains as hard as possible. Maybe with a sledgehammer made of ideas.
IRL, I disappear after a couple unfulfilled requests that I be treated as though I am sapient and an adult. I have enough stress on me without having to babbysit the egoes of people whose grasp on reality only extends to finding their ass with both hands, as it were.
I look young. I have hella babbyface, and I am generally pretty optimistic and cheerful in spite of/because of random shit. I haven't given up hope really because that wasn't an option for me, ever. I haven't given up ever because if I threw myself down on my stomach and wailed that it was the end I got jokes at my expense and zero sympathy (stiff upper lip family tendencies are swell, lol). If I seem lazy, it's because my energy largely gets funnelled into powering through.
I have to consider retirement now; this is not a thing I ever thought I would be doing. I did not think I would make it that far. When I was little my prognosis was shit and all I could do was do my fucking treatment and dream vaguely of a cure. When I was a kid, 24 was an optimistic goal.
Now it's twice that and climbing.
(I doubt that people knew a lot about this because I don't talk about it, except when people act ignorant... I have it easier than many, but harder than many. My happiness isn't stupidity. Try to imply such, hypothetical jerks, and I'll talk to you about how many of my friends are dead, and I won't share my kleenex when you ugly-cry with all kinds of snot.)
Now I have something that is very close to that. Ivacaftor is great shit.
I have stopped mattering to people who wanted me around so I could giggle or die. I think I can live with that and sleep soundly at night.
I have been the change-for-the-better in the lives of people I love; some of them are really far from me now, but fuck it, they're happy, that's what matters.
I've come into my own with my weird magic shit.
I'm painting weird nonsense again. I'm playing with my art more.
I'm thinking of the future. When I was small, "future" wasn't a thing. It's weird as fuck to consider.
Maybe I'll be missed, maybe I won't. Maybe I'm part of good memories. Maybe I'm the demon that cowards always claimed I was.
I dunno.
But cats like me, and Kyl loves me, and my boss likes how I paint.
I'm contented.
I'm resentful of being seen/treated/received as a child because I didn't really ever get to properly BE one.
No, I wasn't abused to the disgusting extent some of my friends were. I managed to weasel around most of that like the slithering little bitch that I am.
But the stuff like "you have to do this treatment, and this one, and this one, and you must do them every day or you will quickly sicken and die horribly"? That, I got to handle. (That, and the business where "gifted" children are expected to be mentats, and have emotional maturity to match our college vocab...)
It's a different trauma and a different class of stressors. But it's no less valid for being less common.
Trust me on this, friendlies. If you pay attention to my tics and twitches, it'll all become clear.
Anyway...
Like. For all the utter asshattery that is ableism anyway, the part that makes the least fucking sense to me is this assumption that disability makes you a permachild mentally? Which. Uh.
No.
This ties into how our sexuality's treated, too--I get to be someone's fetish, or I get squalled at by fauxgressives and accused of fetishizing myself.
And I realize that a lot of my past friendships just weren't BECAUSE of this weird fetish shit. I used to run with people who were fixated on constructing their life narrative as this spaffoclysm of tragic drama pr0n, and when they found out there was much more to me than "genki little piece of stupid fluff to be used as a foil"--when they found out I actually had much more on my plate than they did--when they found out about my condition--they migrated me into magical-disabled-girl and had the gall to get offended when I didn't die on them and add to their woe-is-me chorus.
I came to the realization that there are a lot of people who did not--do not--consider me a whole person.
And because I am a draconic little bitchtyrant with an ego the size of jupiter? that offends me! and my first impulse is this hyperdramatic revenge fantasy wherein I shove my right to exist into people's brains as hard as possible. Maybe with a sledgehammer made of ideas.
IRL, I disappear after a couple unfulfilled requests that I be treated as though I am sapient and an adult. I have enough stress on me without having to babbysit the egoes of people whose grasp on reality only extends to finding their ass with both hands, as it were.
I look young. I have hella babbyface, and I am generally pretty optimistic and cheerful in spite of/because of random shit. I haven't given up hope really because that wasn't an option for me, ever. I haven't given up ever because if I threw myself down on my stomach and wailed that it was the end I got jokes at my expense and zero sympathy (stiff upper lip family tendencies are swell, lol). If I seem lazy, it's because my energy largely gets funnelled into powering through.
I have to consider retirement now; this is not a thing I ever thought I would be doing. I did not think I would make it that far. When I was little my prognosis was shit and all I could do was do my fucking treatment and dream vaguely of a cure. When I was a kid, 24 was an optimistic goal.
Now it's twice that and climbing.
(I doubt that people knew a lot about this because I don't talk about it, except when people act ignorant... I have it easier than many, but harder than many. My happiness isn't stupidity. Try to imply such, hypothetical jerks, and I'll talk to you about how many of my friends are dead, and I won't share my kleenex when you ugly-cry with all kinds of snot.)
Now I have something that is very close to that. Ivacaftor is great shit.
I have stopped mattering to people who wanted me around so I could giggle or die. I think I can live with that and sleep soundly at night.
I have been the change-for-the-better in the lives of people I love; some of them are really far from me now, but fuck it, they're happy, that's what matters.
I've come into my own with my weird magic shit.
I'm painting weird nonsense again. I'm playing with my art more.
I'm thinking of the future. When I was small, "future" wasn't a thing. It's weird as fuck to consider.
Maybe I'll be missed, maybe I won't. Maybe I'm part of good memories. Maybe I'm the demon that cowards always claimed I was.
I dunno.
But cats like me, and Kyl loves me, and my boss likes how I paint.
I'm contented.