I can’t even begin to pretend to properly understand and appreciate this piece the way I think it was intended. But I can tell you what it meant to me, as someone who reads social justice blogs but so rarely participates outside of one tiny realm, as someone with various cognitive dis/abilities who is often shut out of feminist and social justice discourse (even FWD/Forward) because I can’t get my words to match up with my intent, can’t object correctly, can’t stay “on-topic”, or whatever other words get used for “you’re doing it wrong”.

I wrote a while ago “what I’m saying is I’m not radical enough to be a part of the Very Special Very Angry Social Justice Club. And I don’t fucking want to be.” And this was a reaction to watching the pile-ups and calling-outs over things I didn’t understand. Was a reaction to watching people get hurt by internet strangers for saying the wrong things. Was a reaction to seeing bullying, rampant abuse, in a place that was supposed to be (I thought) SAFE and constructed deliberately against that sort of bullshit. Was a reaction to seeing the things which sustained me through some of my darkest periods ripped apart because they were “troped”–and as someone who used to communicate primarily through echolalia, the use of “trope” as a dirty word makes me want to cry–or Said The Wrong Things. Was a reaction to never finding any point on which I could be sure of, because it could always be deconstructed further and if everything I believe in is evil, the hell am I supposed to do?

I think this is gonna turn into an essay of it’s own. I’d like you to read it, maybe? When it’s done? If I link to this in it, if that’s ok?

I dunno. Your writing, and this in particular, the vulnerability and honesty means a lot to me as an internet stranger.

“I think to myself, hey I have time tomorrow, this weekend, next month. And by that time, my mind has lost connection with whatever it is I was wanting to do, read, think about, write about.” I feel like this all the time…

“I flit about from day to day, trying to keep my brain awake, taking in information, revving and whirring and trying to do something with it.” A very apt description of how I’ve been feeling. Flitting.

And finally “If I am writing, I can either write the words that spill out of my brain or write nothing.” I struggle with this. Should I write if all I’m going to say is “I’m tired” or just not write?

Thank you for posting this very personal and raw post… I will try to make it all the way through it today. I hope you get things figured out. :)

Love, respect and best wishes to you.

The truth is that getting deeply (and I don’t think I was anywhere near as deep as some) involved in these communities was poisoning me in a very profound way and affecting my attitudes and behaviors offline. My partner pointed this out, and at first I didn’t want to believe it (scary thing is that I even had readymade language to resist seeing that). The truth is that I pretty much had a complete breakdown in early July. Suicidal, and the person who stayed out with me all night and talked me out of it was someone whom a very large percentage of these communities would see as unenlightened and needing a lot of “101″, and some of what he said to me was according to ideological strictures I had accepted the *wrong* thing, but fuck it, it *worked*, I’m here.

There were other things involved leading up to my breakdown, but the stress of all the drama and of never knowing what was *right* and what was in accord with *the rules* and how the two fit with each other was part of it, and so much of the other stuff you talk about, along with guilt for feeling like I wasn’t involved *enough* in the fighting.

Good post. I have gone years without people in my life knowing about my headaches to any real extent. Really, it isn’t worth the bother of dealing with them. Started being more open recently…mixed bag.

My mother, on the other hand, has a sensitivity to certain chemicals that is aggravated by auto-immune problems. She developed pleuritic pneumonia from the cart of cleaning agents that was stored in her office. Her doctor wrote to her employer saying that she needed to have a desk far away from the cleaning agents. The employer resisted, insisting that “no one could be allergic to these cleaning products.” It was another epic battle that ended not when the employer moved my mother’s desk (which would have been easy) but when the office switched to a different cleaning company – for unrelated reasons.

I never “got” why that wall you describe exists, before reading this post. Now I do. I also have “invisible” disabilities (not severe enoughfor SSDI or anyting else, yet), and now I see that I’d put up a wall of my own for many years. Tnank you for writing this. I think my therapist and I will have an interesting conversation next week. Peace and prayers for a better life to you.

I really appreciate how beautifully and poignantly you articulated the non-choice “choice” between revealing or concealing invisible disabilities. I know that devil’s bargain well, and it was very moving to hear it put into words so well.

The egocentrism can be amazing! Or, horrifying. Or, leave one aghast and sputtering at the sheer WhatTheFuckitude of it all.

I like Andrea S’s idea of the head-whacking machine!

With the old employer it was a harder. Resources were more limited there & I didn’t have a chair I could adjust to my height & it hurt to sit on for a long time. It made my back hurt but worse, I think, is that I was having some kind of muscular tension flare or problem or something I don’t even know what in my pelvis. So sitting down for a long time would hurt. I brought in a pillow to work with me to sit on & I had to carry it with me, in public, even when we were going out to lunch… I almost left it at a restaurant once. It was embarrassing.
This boss was not so willing to change things in the office to make it more comfortable for any of the employees.
At least now I can move my chair up & down & it has some padding. I don’t need the pillow now but I still leave it in my trunk just in case it happens again.