I’ll make this relatively short, because it’s gone on past midnight here on the 2nd of May, and I’m being naughty and staying up past my bedtime. *rolls eyes*</end sarcasm> LOL.
I wasn’t raised by your average family. My parents were actually my maternal grandparents, both veterans who had served during WWII. I was raised as an only child, though I had five other siblings. More on that later. I wasn’t raised to be familiar with disability culture. I was actively raised in the walking world with the belief that I could do what I chose to, if I set my mind to it.
Then came the proverbial ice bucket, years later after I graduated college with my first associate degree. I can’t even begin to articulate the frustration and the sense of invisibility I felt. It only got worse later on when I tried to get help after my marriage ended. I am a survivor of rape and sexual assault, and I wasn’t taken seriously I believe, because I was in a chair and was disabled. There’s a definite can of worms there.
I’ve been on both ends of the disablism spectrum. I’ve been guilty of it myself, but more often than not, I’m on the receiving end. Being talked down to, having choices taken away, you name it. My immediate reaction is “I’m disabled, but I am NOT retarded.”
Having wheels (or any other adaptive aides) doesn’t make you immune to the lovely tournament of life. It can make you stand out; that’s damned true enough. It places you either on the outskirts, or right smack dab in the middle. Me, right now I’m on the fence, and I’m trying my best to overcome.
One revolution at a time.
With the help of a select number of friends, I’ve found the strength to seek help nearly 12 years after my initial ordeal. There’s a whole ‘nother post right there, but now, I must sign off, and head to bed to attempt sleep.
