ableism

On one minute friends

22:17

On one minute friends.



Oh how I love I just literally killed the first mosquito of 2017. In February.

But. To the point.
I want to formally apologize for the lack of posts lately. Who would know dying would be so exhausting. I crashed from maniacal episode (I'm a freshly diagnosed, still unmedicated, bipolar person) to depression and I just kinda…stare at the ceiling and wish I could cry.
But while I was hopelessly turning in my bed tonight, I remembered something that might have been a good idea for a blog post. Or bad. You decide.
I remembered when I was 18 I guess, I was writing a different blog, kind of my thoughts on different subjects. We need to estimate here that 18 y/o me was an undiagnosed, traumatized idiot, with the key word here being idiot. I was in pain everyone was saying was a psychological thing after rape, that was also in a huge part ignored by medical professionals around me. I suppose I wanted attention? Literally I have no idea why I did what I did. It's one of those things I can't remember actually doing, but I know I did. And maybe it was the attention thing, or the fact I was highly psychotic back then and couldn't differentiate between facts and reality if I tried, but the fact remains, I was a total disaster.
You see, I cannot lie. If I was a mythical being, I would be a faerie. It's not to say I don't lie, cause of course I do, don't we all? but I suck at it and it's super uncomfortable for me, i can't keep track and I just hate it. I'm this person who'll come out to you and tell you about all traumas 5 min after meeting you (ask Ki, I literally did that to her and we remain best friend). And when I lie, I almost always come clean, and usually try to escape the consequences if I'm to be honest, cause I'm a coward too.
Anyway, I have no idea why I lied on the blog then, or rather colored the reality as some will say. I'm highly suspicious it was the attention seeking thing, but I just…have no…idea?
I wrote a post about my ex high school, the one I was expelled from (or rather kindly asked to leave if I don't attend therapy, which for me is the same thing cause you cannot just blackmail someone with “stop being mentally ill or lose education” ya know?). I lied in the post about how I came out to my peers and that it was the reason I was expelled with a huge BOOM. Which didn't happen. I was asked to change schools cause yes, they minded me being an outed gay person very much (how I was outed is a whole another story, I didn't do it myself either) but they mostly minded my self destructive habits and was “worrying about me corrupting my classmates” I think was the quote? I have no idea why they'd think so, I was suicidal but not making some suicide pacts with friends! That came later? Anyway, I was half happy to leave and half mad they made me, my mum was pissed, and so I was taken from school and moved to another nearer my city, without a dorm so I lived at home, and put into a loving care of a psychiatrist who then sexually abused me, but hey you cannot have everything.
And so when I posted the Lie Post as I'll call it now, I got two comments - one from someone who recalled their days at boarding school, and one, anonymous, from who said was my former classmate.
And I remember two lines. One was “you're living in some kind of illusion” - which was true then just as is now so I cannot really say anything…
And the other “the saddest thing is, we liked you”.
You may think, as I did back then, and even couple of months ago still, that it's kinda cruel. To say thing thing to who turned out to be a terminally ill person. But the thing is, it was my fault, and they had right to be angry I suppose.
And I kept wondering who wrote it. Was it a girl I hated cause she was better than me at literally any conceivable thing? Something I would now admire as a person who is not disabled and has strength to do stuff, and is amazing at them. But that's post-dying-epiphany me. Cause one thing I learned this rainy cold November day was that life is unpredictable as fuck, and holding grudges will get you nowhere. But I think to forgive everyone and decide to learn to appreciate everyone you have to have this major life changing event happen to you. And it's not to say I'm in any way better, cause I'm not. In any way. I just had a fucked up thing happen to me and I see world differently after it.
Was it the perfect girl’s best friend who I always thought was looking down at me and was weirdly condescending- but she wasn't. It was my low self esteem and a victim complex speaking. She was kind. I wasn't.
Was it a girl who was perfect at English and we competed at it which was totally unfair cause as a bilingual person I shouldn't compete with someone still learning? And she was good. I was introduced to English at 4 y/o and listened to it a lot before that. She was just learning at school, and we were the same level. In which way that was fair? I didn't put effort into my English - she did.
Was it a girl who was so ethereally beautiful I couldn't speak a word to her cause I'd stutter? Who I'm still a bit in love with just cause I was then?
Or her best friend who made me realize I was a lesbian, and skip the whole major crisis connected to it, cause she was so fearless in her love to girls, so open, so beautiful. I owe her so much, she made me stop being afraid.
Or was it a girl I was crushing so hard at my abuser was jealous of her and would beat me over her. I think I still love her somehow, that amazing she was.

And you know, my predicted lifespan is 40, and I'm 22 now, so I'm not going anywhere yet. But I want to, in some way, say goodbye to those girls. Thank them. Cause I have a fast paced life ahead me, full of trying to fit a whole life in couple of years. And I think it's time to say goodbye to the past.
And I doubt they'll read it, they'll find a way to this blog. But maybe they will.
So here you go.
Thank you B (what was your real name? We always called you that) for being someone I still can look up to. Thank you Z for laughing with me when I was sad and wanted to die - I'm not sure did you know? Or was it just that you're always so nice? Thank you M for being a fair rival, someone I admire and wish best. Thank you Be for allowing me to learn to love someone unconditionally from afar and showing me beauty. Thank you O for making me who I am now, for being unafraid and teaching me to be so as well. Thank you C for everything, every smile and small talk, oh gods how I loved you.
Thank you P for being the loveliest roommate and caring about me even after I left, you're an amazing person, you're gonna be famous one day, I know it. I hope to see it. Thank you E for being my best friend back then. You saved my life and I love you still, even though we lost touch.
And to the rest, thank you too. For being for me when I needed you and laughing at me when I was sad. For just being friends in a class, you know?

And you may think this post is weird, and excessive, and unnecessary cause who thinks about high school like that? But it's not why I write it, I don't even write it cause I'm ill.
The year I was at this school I was every weekend at home beaten, raped repeatedly and psychologically abused and tortured, and it's not a hyperbolic speech. And when I came back to school for a week days, it turned out my school psychologist I couldn't trust. But the girls were always there and had my back. Even though I was a terrible, terrible person. And this is about that, cause I'm making my peace with the past.

But it's not only that.
This post is about friendship. About people who are important in your life journey even if they're there only for 5 months, or 2, or a day. About kind people who make me want to fight my uneven fight still.
Maybe my point comes across, but if not, I'll make it clear.
When I found out I'm incurably ill, my world kinda shifted? And I'm in some weird change moment now. And I'm trying to learn to be kind and good. To be nice to everyone. I learn how to say thank you.
Learn with me.

ableism

on acessibilities

04:24

Today, guys, I’m gonna keep it short. We have several stuff to talk about, thanks to people messaging me about this blog. And me? I am mad and I am bitter – so the usual.
Let me start with my fave one.

I hate abled people.

If you ever used the disabled parking spot, this post is for you specifically. Offended? Suck my dick.

It all started with my hands going bad. I used to use my laptop for everything, as writing by hand became impossible about a year ago. But hey, we live in the age of internet, so I’m gonna be fine. Right? Wrong.

About a month ago I started having trouble typing. On a good day, after twice the dose amount of oxy, it was…kinda…possible. Today, for example, I’m typing with my fingers taped and after what I think was 40mg of oxycodone, and later some blessed soul will beta my typos. Team work, guys.

The thing is, I’m starting uni soon, and while I’m gonna study most classes at home, there are two I’m gonna attend. And I cannot take notes.

Along with mum we decided to buy me an ipad. Ya know, I’ll be able to record stuff, notes are easier done typing on screen, this stuff. Also drawing on better days. But for me and my unemployed single mother of two it’s a HUGE thing to spend 2k on a tablet. Or anything, really. We had our gas almost cut last month and it didn’t happen only cause the guy was a good guy and saw me on wheelchair and took pity. Hashtag wheelchair privileges I suppose.
I have a rich dad. Maybe not insanely rich, but positively loaded. Said dad is abusive asshole too, and perpetual child support avoider. Also tax fraud. You get my vibe.
Yea, you guessed that, I gritted my teeth and begged dad for help. Hence my rant.

You see, when a disabled person gets accommodations, literally EVERYONE wants to use it, steal it, take it away. I got to uni and everyday have to wait cause someone with two working legs is going on my ramp. Someone abled is using my accessible toilet so I peed myself couple of times. People take places in my queue spots. Not to mention the usual, aka parking spots. You get my vibe.

They – you! – want my accessibility and “cool stuff” without actual disability.

So I have this to say to you: TAKE IT. Take my pain, my not working legs, take my loose joints and constant headache. Take my hands I cannot use anymore and my fucked future I dread. Take my inability to get to uni classes and a grocery shop. Take my hand ache from wheelchair. Take uneven pavements. Take it! It’s yours! And then you can also have my cool tablet, my cool chair, my toilets and spots.

Cause guess what? I need it! To live! To survive! Like you do every day without even thinking! To be on the same level as you! And yet I never am, am I? Cause you take everything and then leave me to literally die, refusing my disability level and welfare.
So. Wanna my stuff? Take my pain too.

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One thing done. Now the other.
I do not approve of people who sexualize me and this blog. I talk about sexuality and masturbation and sex FOR DISABLED PEOPLE WHO NEED TO HEAR IT. I write for people who need to be empowered. Not for you to jerk it! So stop messaging me how hot is it that I masturbate. I don’t wanna hear it and I don’t want you. I’m gay, always was and always will be. That means NO MEN. I’m a lesbian and I won’t sleep with you. It’s not the purpose of this blog. Come on guys, let’s behave like adults. I know I’m sexy, you know I’m sexy, we do not need to talk about something that is obvious and established.

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I’m pretty bad lately with my back going worse and since it’s hard to type lying flat in bed I’m not sure when the next update will be. Sorry. Hopefully tablet will let me write more often.

And also, if any if you are reading this and need to talk to me, to just rant, to address something I wrote or not at all, I am available at bitterlesbiangrandma.tumblr.com, hit me up at private messenger. I know some things are not to be said in comments here, so you can talk to me there.

And in the end, thank you for being so warm and positive about me writing this blog. I hope I managed to at least entertain someone, if not teach or empower. It means a lot you appreciate it.


ableism

on dating

09:15

After three years of avoiding anything even remotely related to love and romance, I decided to go back to dating scene.

And I did what every polish lesbian does when in need of meeting new people. I got Tinder account.

This post is not about my dating adventures though. It’s about how dating when you’re disabled looks from the inside.

And it’s not pretty.    
                         
After ditching so many possible candidates who, curiously enough, disappeared among finding out I’m on a wheelchair, I actually met couple of nice girls. In a mess of uni finals and me being constantly sick or in the ER, I managed to schedule a meeting.

And I got tachycardia syndrome linked to drop od potassium level, and landed in the ER for the whole day. Hospital Glam aside, I was pretty disappointed, especially that after that flop our conversations kinda ceased.

I kept talking to others, and liking one girl in particular (shhhh it’s not a crush!) I decided to meet. We’re meeting tomorrow. And here’s what I have to say.

Dating me, and even wanting to be my new friend, you have to realize one thing: you are also dating my disability. You’re dating my wheelchair. And my illness. It comes in the packet.

I’ll probably cancel couple of meeting due to pain being too bad, catching costochondritis for the 10th time this year, or sudden ER emergency.

If that sounds bad for you, if you’re gonna make me feel bad for that, here’s the news for you: you’re an ableist. Surprise!

But it’s not only that.

To get to the meeting, I have to beg. I, like lots of disabled folks, have abusive caretakers. My mum, who cares about me 24/7, is disabled herself, and due to that doesn’t drive. My dad, who drives, is abusive. Hence, being unable to take a bus myself, not having another caretaker, I have to beg my father for help. Cue him humiliating me, putting me down, and sometimes flat out refusing to help.

It happened today, and I still cringe from some stuff he said. And I’ll have to put up with him being the worst caretaker in the world.

You may be curious now, why do I, 21yrs old grown woman, need a caretaker. What does actually a caretaker do. I’m here to provide an answer: being on a wheelchair you need someone with you, to help you on pavements, push you up if the road is steep, handle you things that are too high (like in shops), and so on and so on. For me, with my hands being affected too, I need constant help because I can’t wheel myself for a lots of times. I also can’t just stand up when my chair won’t go through certain terrain. You got me? I need someone to help me with stuff my body will refuse to do.

But let’s say I got to the meeting. Caretaker is out, leaving me with my date. If we want to be actually alone, my date must take the role of caretaker. Even if she’s good at that, imagine how I feel, with an almost stranger taking care of me in this intimate fashion? Pretty fucking embarrassed is the word.

As a wlw (woman loving women) I also have to deal with homophobia that is sure to affect me, and pretty goddamn scary after last events.

And then starts the whole “do we match, do we have something to talk about, do we like each other” stuff.

As usually on this blog, I Am Bitter. I am already tired before I even went out. Instead of being excited about the meeting, I am embarrassed, tired, and scared.

Glamorous life on the wheelchair. Places are inaccessible, people are rude and ableist, I am in pain.

I usually have some ideas what to change so the situation would improve, but without whole societal change here, we can’t reach anything. People’s attitude needs to change, we need accessibility and more ways to get rid of abuse in families containing disabled people, because the ways we have aren’t working. Without that change, all disabled girls, and boys, and nonbinary people, will still have problems connecting, meeting new people, finding love.

I want to be that change.

But I also just want to be 21, love women, enjoy summer and be happy tomorrow.

And while losing my health, I also lost that.


And this is so fucking sad. 

abuse

on Orlando shooting.

01:33

 A/N: this post is not edited. I'm sorry for the mistakes but I am too shaken to do it now.

***
You see me here blogging about disability issues, and I susppose you have some image of me already, based on what I write. Whatever it’s good, or bad, I don’t really mind. I’m happy you’re here, I’m happy to make a difference.

And as you probably already know about me from my blogging I am Very Gay. I identify as a genderfluid woman, in a spectrum between female and agender. And I identify as a lesbian. I am an asexual lesbian, and I am proud to wear a label. I rock pinky-red flag, I love wlw aesthetics posts, I am all here for the rising movement of Sapphic girls.

And, being a queer woman, today at 4am I read about Orlando.

And I am scared.

I live in Poland, far, far away from where it happened. But situation here doesn’t make me feel any safer. It could happen here on a pride on Sunday. It could, and I am thankful to all the gods it didn’t. 
But it made me think about the past, and I want to tell you a story.

At age 16 I was in all-girls boarding school in another city, and I first time met an outed lesbian. I fell in love with the label, I finally felt I know who I am, I have a place in the world. I was deep, deep in the closet, but I was me. My friend dated girls, and I was proud of her. Proud of me.

I got a crush on a girl from my home town. We got together. Long story short, she was very abusive. 
She would hit me in places no one would see bruises and force me to have sex with her. She would tell me no one will ever love me cause I’m a lesbian, that I am dirty, that it’s unnatural and that she’s the only person who’ll ever love me. That I’ll go to hell. She would force me to walk kilometers to prove me my disability is not real. She wouldn’t let me sit down when we met. It’s possible some of my joint damage is caused by her.

And she would tell me she’ll kill herself and kill my family if I don’t sleep with her.

I didn’t know then that girl can rape another girl, that forcing someone to sex in relationship is rape too.

She would shame me for who I am, and she make me feel ashamed of myself. She made me hate myself and hate the label lesbian. Because it was wrong. And because she was a lesbian too and I didn’t want anything connected to her to stay with me.

When I broke off, with severe trauma and PTSD, all I felt was fear. I was out to my mum and sister, but to no one else. I hated being gay. I hated the community. I hated everything. I tried to force myself to like men. As you can imagine, it didn’t quite worked.

It took me over 3 years to heal. It took me over 3 years to love myself again. I don’t self-harm anymore, I’ve beaten eating disorder. I’m seeing a therapist every week. And, really, 

I’m okay. I wasn’t afraid.

Till today.

First time in three years, I felt fear that I felt with her. Fear of being a lesbian. Fear of loving women. Fear of being out.

And I DO NOT WANT TO FEEL THIS WAY.

All my love is with survivors and their families, with families and friends of those who didn’t survive. I pray for them, I send all good energy their way. The dead are safe and in better place, but we, who remain, have to deal with the loss. Families and friends with loss of loved ones. We, the queer community, with loss of being safe in our safe spaces.

I mourn for LGBTQIA+ youth, who will now be afraid to go to bars, to go to pride. Who will meet significant barriers in meeting ones alike them, to get into relationships, to find love.

I mourn for those of us who are now afraid to come out, or, like me, afraid to be out.

I mourn for those in bigoted families, who will have to listen or even agree to bullshit spawn by their relatives, just to be safe.

I am with all of you, sending energy and prayers your way.

My best friend once told me my posts here are empowering. I’m glad. But today’s post is not, I suppose. It’s my way to say how sorry I am this shit in the world ever happens. How I love all of you in our community. How we need to stand together.

But it’s also my way to say: cry. Mourn. Be sad. Don’t let them tell you to get over it. Don’t let them tell you “not to fight hate with more hate.” No. Be angry. Hate. Be furious.

Cause we have a right to cry, right to be mad, right to be furious. We will not be silenced.
To all my folks in queer community, disabled and abled alike, I stand with you, and I will not be silent.

And I will cry.


And I will scream till the world hears me.