I have Muscular Dystrophy. Specifically the Becker variant. I was diagnosed at the age of four and being a degenerative, muscle-wasting disease my body got progressively worse until seven years ago, at the age of 21, I ended up in a wheelchair. There were years of tears and anger and frustration and bullying in between. I didn't realize this at the time, but it also quite likely that I had depression.
When I joined Twitter in August of 2009 (!!) I decided to keep this a secret. "Decided" isn't right - I convinced myself I didn't need to mention it. That it didn't matter. It was a choice. And one made of fear. Fear of not being taken seriously. Fear of being talked over; of having my opinions discounted. Fear of being bullied; of being called a retard; of being excluded; of being ignored; of being alone. I couldn't hide in real life no matter how desperately I tried. But on Twitter, and online in general, I could and like a coward, I did. And it was easy. For a while.
Had I been a different person this mightn't have weighed on me as it has. I lied - and secrets are lies - because I was scared. But I was also ashamed of being afraid. And of being dishonest. It was a lie told to keep from feeling alone and one that had the opposite effect. The more online interactions, the more friends - and they are friends - the lonelier I felt. Keeping part of myself hidden from view made friendships seem false. I felt worthless. Trying to be not me hadn't worked offline and, obviously (now), nor does it online.
Six months ago I seriously considered deleting my account. Rather than own up to (or worse be found out) a lie that's making me lonely, I'd disengage from everyone and be completely, properly alone. It seemed only fair. To me, these relationships were attained feloniously, I didn't deserve them; I was willing to cut off my nose to spite my face. I don't what changed my mind. Maybe it was that people in my Twitter periphery were speaking up even though they were afraid (#1reasonwhy and others). Maybe I was just tired of it. I spasmodically sent out a few vague tweets here and there in a craven attempt at testing the waters, hoping someone would ask me and I could be open. But mostly this is for selfish reasons. I don't want to feel like a liar anymore. I don't want to be a liar anymore. I'm fucking tired.
* * * * *
A vegetarian is vegetarian. A feminist is a feminist. A Greek is a Greek. They are not “People with Mediterranean Needs” -try saying that at the local bouzouki disco and you're likely to get a face full of moussaka and not in a good way. How good is moussaka by the way? I don't know, never had it. But then, I'm an incredible racist. That is a joke. Some of my best friends are sweaty Greeks.
Some time in the last fifteen years or so the tweedy boffins at the political correctness lobby decided “disabled” was exceedingly offensive and the suffix “with disabilities: was preferable. Personhood First became the mantra. People apparently had to be reminded that the disabled were people as opposed to, say, umbrellas or marmosets. Excuse me. My personhood was never in question -My manhood, on the other hand, is questioned with impunity, particularly when I'm watching Bunheads. To imply my personhood is anything other than obvious is downright offensive.
You only have to look at Monday night's QandA Education Special to see what a cack-handed approach "personhood first" is in practice. A question was asked about disabled students. Both men, but particularly Garrett, though that's probably because he spoke more, struggled with what descriptor to use to refer to the students. Disabled fits -the students are not only disabled by their disabilities but are also disabled by an under-funded, under-resourced education system. Personhood First lays the responsibility at the feet of the disabled - "with disabilities" implies ownership - instead of at the feet of society.
I'm sure this sounds incongruous given the above but I'm nothing if not a hypocrite. What I would say is "Disabled" is not, to my mind, offensive. The stigma associated with it is. You don't fight stigma by locking words away. And you definitely don't fight it by throwing a minority's humanity out with the political incorrect bath water.
When I joined Twitter in August of 2009 (!!) I decided to keep this a secret. "Decided" isn't right - I convinced myself I didn't need to mention it. That it didn't matter. It was a choice. And one made of fear. Fear of not being taken seriously. Fear of being talked over; of having my opinions discounted. Fear of being bullied; of being called a retard; of being excluded; of being ignored; of being alone. I couldn't hide in real life no matter how desperately I tried. But on Twitter, and online in general, I could and like a coward, I did. And it was easy. For a while.
Had I been a different person this mightn't have weighed on me as it has. I lied - and secrets are lies - because I was scared. But I was also ashamed of being afraid. And of being dishonest. It was a lie told to keep from feeling alone and one that had the opposite effect. The more online interactions, the more friends - and they are friends - the lonelier I felt. Keeping part of myself hidden from view made friendships seem false. I felt worthless. Trying to be not me hadn't worked offline and, obviously (now), nor does it online.
Six months ago I seriously considered deleting my account. Rather than own up to (or worse be found out) a lie that's making me lonely, I'd disengage from everyone and be completely, properly alone. It seemed only fair. To me, these relationships were attained feloniously, I didn't deserve them; I was willing to cut off my nose to spite my face. I don't what changed my mind. Maybe it was that people in my Twitter periphery were speaking up even though they were afraid (#1reasonwhy and others). Maybe I was just tired of it. I spasmodically sent out a few vague tweets here and there in a craven attempt at testing the waters, hoping someone would ask me and I could be open. But mostly this is for selfish reasons. I don't want to feel like a liar anymore. I don't want to be a liar anymore. I'm fucking tired.
* * * * *
A vegetarian is vegetarian. A feminist is a feminist. A Greek is a Greek. They are not “People with Mediterranean Needs” -try saying that at the local bouzouki disco and you're likely to get a face full of moussaka and not in a good way. How good is moussaka by the way? I don't know, never had it. But then, I'm an incredible racist. That is a joke. Some of my best friends are sweaty Greeks.
Some time in the last fifteen years or so the tweedy boffins at the political correctness lobby decided “disabled” was exceedingly offensive and the suffix “with disabilities: was preferable. Personhood First became the mantra. People apparently had to be reminded that the disabled were people as opposed to, say, umbrellas or marmosets. Excuse me. My personhood was never in question -My manhood, on the other hand, is questioned with impunity, particularly when I'm watching Bunheads. To imply my personhood is anything other than obvious is downright offensive.
You only have to look at Monday night's QandA Education Special to see what a cack-handed approach "personhood first" is in practice. A question was asked about disabled students. Both men, but particularly Garrett, though that's probably because he spoke more, struggled with what descriptor to use to refer to the students. Disabled fits -the students are not only disabled by their disabilities but are also disabled by an under-funded, under-resourced education system. Personhood First lays the responsibility at the feet of the disabled - "with disabilities" implies ownership - instead of at the feet of society.
I'm sure this sounds incongruous given the above but I'm nothing if not a hypocrite. What I would say is "Disabled" is not, to my mind, offensive. The stigma associated with it is. You don't fight stigma by locking words away. And you definitely don't fight it by throwing a minority's humanity out with the political incorrect bath water.
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