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