Act II

I am back; twice in one month. Yay! Ok, focus. This is going to be one of those theoretical mumbo jumbo posts with less rants and more philosophical and internal realization crap. You are warned.

I recently bought a book of poetry written by a Hispanic man and realized something. I can’t honestly think of any piece of art work created by a disabled person that really spoke of their experiences. You can find with out too much effort novels, poetry, or art that is considered ‘black’ or ‘hispanic’ because of the ways in incorporates certain cultural ideas and ways of life but when has any one ever seen that for disabled people?

Of course I am not saying we should wallow in self pity and let ourselves be wholly defined by our physical body. To let society label us as broken and wrong for existing the way we do  with out a fight would be to willfully degrade ourselves to second class citizens but, at the same time, to resign ourselves to a quiet life of simple non-existence is disgusting. Society should not be allowed to define us and our place and I even find myself annoying in my sudden need to group ‘disabled people’ together. Our culture likes to group everyone, particularly minorities, women, and the disabled. The fact is that there is no one ‘disabled perspective,’ the disabled are people with a large variety of personality and backgrounds so to think we all agree on shit is ridiculous.  

I could blather on forever, as you have come to find, but I will try to keep this around three paragraphs. Basically I have recognized a shift in my life separate from my course of study or possible occupation. I have spent most of my life, all but a year or two, trying to convince myself I was ok. I drank too much, drove too fast (not at the same time), listened to loud music, and dated emotionally abusive men and all of this accumulated over years of confusion and anger. The fact is that I am a vastly emotional woman who has survived on anger, condemnation of society, and a feeling of necessary vengeance. I have lived a life best described as a scream, a 24 year long scream that says ‘I am not wrong.’ I guess this post is really about my sudden need to make society hear me because I have finally heard myself.

Hooah,
Nest

Iago: society redressed

So it has been forever since I posted, just as I figured would happen eventually. Fear not readeries I have not abandoned you…yet. I have recently finished my first semester in grad school and have started working at a fast food restaurant as the lobby cleaner. (Side note: The napkin dispenser is NOT made to dispense 10 napkins at a time so don’t force it. Stop fucking up my shit!) As you might imagine working in a fast food restaurant with customers that are often not the brightest crayon in the box is not always pleasant, particularly if you can be seen as comical. This experience brings about a few thoughts. Thought 1: The disabled are not somehow magically unaware you are laughing at them just because you look away when they pass by…that actually makes it MORE obvious. Personally I don’t see how the misfortune of others is comical, particularly when it is a painful misfortune being experienced, but whatever. This leads to my next thought (queue rant). Thought 2: The disabled are in fact capable of whooping your ass pretty boy. Let’s see how funny we are when we shove our crippled fist down your throat motherfu… Inside voice….I feel better.

As for grad school….fail. I passed with much bitching but I have decided to change programs to (drum roll please) creative writing. Raise your hand if you are surprised. No one? Odd. While I was going to grad school in a program I must have been drunk to think was for me (what was I smoking?) I met a teacher that annoyed me. The only way I can describe how this woman made me feel is to say she made me want to eat babies. Do you know that feeling? Like a temper tantrum where you just want to go home and beat puppies….with kittens. Bless their heart. (Cookie if you name the reference) I am often amazed at some people’s ability to stare me straight in the eye when I express my, in this case, disbelief in their teaching ability and still brush me off. You speak Engrish?(Said in horrible Asian girl voice) Are we speaking the same language here? I managed to tell this woman that I no longer wished to have her as an advisor, that I stopped putting forth effort, and no longer cared about her class. What happened? I got BETTER GRADES. How the f&$% does that work? P.S. I have 0 filter.

I have subsequently found out that she has treated some of my classmates unfairly, to the point that half the class of highly intelligent students dropped or failed because she has favorites and has for years. Everyone in the program knows this, ‘good’ students included, so this is not just angry student syndrome. My question is this: Why the hell would I be a favorite? Let’s face it, I am not exactly a poster child for loveable. I am loud, brutally honest, foul mouthed, a bit of a lush, and generally everything my old south grandmother isn’t but yet I am attending a graduate program in a SMALL town in lower Alabama. My cousin works at one of the only two bars in town for God sake; I am talking banjo music and Baptist revivals people. So why would I be a favored student, particularly after telling her she basically sucked? Because it is hard to be mad at a cripple girl. I feel that this woman, at one point a social worker, feels sympathy. I can only assume if this is true that is it because of my disability and generally sickly look I had this semester as we are otherwise similar in background and status. So, **Misconception 5: When a disabled person airs their grievances it is a genuine problem and not that of an over reacting mind. We aren’t ‘emotionally damaged’ to the point that we find ourselves unable to have rational thought and thus rational issues with subpar behavior. You just really do suck and you need to take us serious. **

           Of course I may be reading the issue wrong and I really just remind her of some cousin twice removed or some shit but that is how I read it. Either way this is an issue I have experience before and has a name; ‘gas lighting’ but usually refers to the way in which men characterized women as over emotional and irrational. The idea is that women are trained by society to see themselves as irrational and emotional so when we are hurt by others we are often made to feel wrong for being upset. The same goes for the disabled. That person wasn’t actually being insulting by saying you couldn’t take bread from an oven so you are over reacting and should take their help as we all know you need it don’t we? Really folks??



Yay comment!

Enter: Stage Left

   

I have been considering doing this for a while, a blog based on the idea of a public and often angry or annoyed diary entre, and put it off because I either believed it would be pointless or even a sign of weakness and inability to cope with the mental exercise that comes with being disabled and thinking. Of course I have obviously decided to take part in this phenomena known as blogging, perhaps because I am self-absorbed enough to think other should or will read it or because it is just plain easier than writing a poem...and involved less intoxicated bouts of insomnia. Despite this decision I am sure about two or three posts in and I will run out of shit to say or find I have turned this into my own personal temper tantrum time and decide to look less like a pouting three year old by taking it down but until then I blather on. I suppose I should get to the point eventually.

For those of you who haven’t read Shakespeare; Caliban is a character in his play The Tempest that is a slave of the protagonists Prospero and his daughter Miranda while they are ship wrecked on an island over a span of 18ish years. Caliban is described as a ‘mooncalf,’ a term often used to describe the aborted fetus’ of farm animals and often thought to be caused by evil spirits. For the point of the play the term is most likely meant to lead the producer of the play as well as the actor playing him to see the character as deformed, ugly, and likely crippled man of questionable spirituality. The name of this blog, if you still hadn’t caught on, stems from the plight of the enslaved and ridiculed disabled man as I often relate more to Caliban than the other character. I relate to Caliban so strongly because I am also disabled, a mooncalf as the renaissance tongue may say, and often am subject to less than pleasant opinions.

Of course now we are not under the belief that deformation or disability is derived from inherent evil as in the past but that does not go to say that we are free of false beliefs and misconceptions. In fact there are too many for me to even consider rattling them off for you here but perhaps I will give you a few ensamples. I have what doctors call 'mild' destonic Cerebral Palsy, or CP, that affects the upper extremities and back more than the lower. The ‘mild’means I managed to stay out of a wheelchair without use of a walker but I still have a variety of issues such as hand tremors and several unseen issues such as irregular breathing rhythm and scoliosis. Basically these issues manage to collide in just the right manner as to make me generally sickly, pain riddled, but otherwise mostly physically capable short of spilling every damn drink I am ever handed all over myself. With that said here is a personal example. Once when I was about twelve or thirteen I moved back to Tennessee and my parents proceeded to try and find a suitable private school to enroll me in, because apparently public one were not disable friendly…HA. Any way; while visiting with one particular principal my mother explained my disabilities and how it was a physical one. The principal, of the ‘best’ private school in town, requested I write my name so as he could observe and thus be prepared for any issues. It is not what he did but how. When asking this he first spoke to my mother, as if I was incapable of understanding speech, but was quickly told to ask me himself. When the man did eventually get to me he proceeded to speak so slowly and articulate so carefully it was as if he was trying to describe the laws of special physics to a rock. **Misconception 1: Just because I am physically disabled doesn’t mean I am fucking stupid. Just because I can’t write in cursive doesn’t mean I need a padded room and a drool bucket…jack ass.** Needless to say my mother was amazed at my ability to keep from monkey hopping that douche bag’s desk and throttling him …and I quickly started at a public school.

Example two: I once heard a religious man state that we should take care of the mentally handicapped because they were inherently innocent of all sin and so had a free ride to heaven. This idea make my brain want to go skinny dipping in bacon grease then run through a dog pound for several reasons but firstly, this idea groups together all mental disabilities when there are a huge variety and so lends to sounding uneducated. READ A BOOK. Secondly, this is extremely derogatory as it assumes the disabled are incapable of mean, complex, or personal thought and only think what you or God put in their head. This is both incorrect and insulting so I suggest any who suffer from any similar misconceptions watch The Ringer, very funny and up lifting. Thirdly, and most bothersome to me, is that this also sounds dangerously like a way to self gratify at the expense of others. You may no longer be able to feel big and important or pious by lowering blacks or woman but find yourself a ‘retard’ and you’re set. **Misconception 2: The mentally or physically handicapped are not put on this planet as vessels for your holiness. They have their own feeling and thoughts so go stroke your ego elsewhere.** (For those upset by my use of the R word do not be under the impression I condone its use, quite the opposite)

Ok so, obviously this is not a blog where all hold hands and talk about our day over tea. Neither is this a politically correct blog where I stick to my ‘southern belle’ roots and quietly keep to myself so if you are looking for either of those the ‘back’ button is up to your left. Feel free to comment!

Peace and biscuits y'all
Nest