Blogging with Alex - your everyday dose of angry screaming!
Okay, I wanna start with thanks to everyone who messages me about this blog. You guys keep this angry lesbian going, I wouldn't have any motivation without you. You're great. Kisses to you.
And shoutout to my dad’s girlfriend who’s stalking me on social media! I wonder of you found me here as well?
Today is one of the shittiest days of my life. And considering my past that is a huge thing. You see, there are days when I’m happily and patiently enduring abled people's antics.
Today is not that day.
Sure, every time I go out with my dad it's An Adventure, so I shouldn't really expect anything else, but apparently life can still surprise me.
Today my dear father told a person helping me with opening door..not to help me. Which proves further he still doesn't believe me that I'm actually, you know, slowly dying.
But hey, it's not like we spoonies have to prove our disability over and over again! It's not like I carry my geneticist opinion with me everywhere! And my disability ID! Not at all!
Except we totally do and I totally am.
We have to prove ourselves all the fucking time. Everyone around thinks we’re faking for social benefits.
Ask any disabled person and you’ll learn that those so called benefits are literally nonexistent (I just learned it's actually nonexistent and not “unexistent”. Huh. The joys of foreign speaker.).
Abled people want our things. They want our bathroom, our ramps, our accessibility devices. Everyone around me keeps saying I only have my iPad cause I wanted a new toy.
Since i got it along with my stylus, I relearned how to draw, I started writing my novel and new fics again, I actually am able to take notes on lectures and I, reading books again cause I finally can hold it. All in less than two weeks.
But the thing is people don't want to see. They don't want to see my progress and be happy with me, they choose to be jealous over accessibility devices I have.
I've got people saying that I'm lucky I cant take care of myself cause I don't have to worry about future. They don't understand that I do. I have to. More than them. I have to deal with fact I'll be dead before 50. You will never understand how that feels unless you're dealing with that. I dread everyday, cause I'm on a countdown.
Not to mention I have no one to take care of me in case something happened to my mum. I literally will be left to die.
But hey, I don't have to worry about finding a job!
You see, you all want our stuff without taking actual disability, you don't want wheelchair, shitty hands, pain, dying. You just wanna nice stuff.
And I know I've written about this before and I'm repeating myself. But maybe, just maybe, it'll stick with someone. It'll change someone. So I'll keep saying that.
On the other news, uni started today and I still have no idea what I should do. On Wednesday I'm supposed to try to meet some of my teachers..and beg them to let me work from home?
The thing is, begging…well. It's not my style. I'm more of a “you won't get me accessible classroom, I will see ya in court” person.
So. Await updates on my hopeless case.
And if you're religious could you maybe pray for my gran? She's having a major surgery and I'm really scared she won't make it.
Thank you for all your support.
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.
--------------------------------------------------------------
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.
You know,
if usually I’m a mess, then since these last two weeks I am A Mess. I would
look for an excuse why I wasn’t writing any posts, but the truth is I’m ill and
it’s the best excuse you can have. Chronic fatigue and pain kicked my ass and I
caught costochondritis (google it, honestly, it’s an awful illness we EDS folks
catch like a common cold. It’s my second one in last three months.) which tied
me to bed running on aspirin and oxycodone, so I was in no shape to write. I
still am, to be completely honest, but I had to share my thoughts on this
lovely topic. Lovely being high sarcasm.
Blowing my
college fund completely, I got a Smart Wheels-like wheelchair. I ordered it in
February, but it was ready just this Monday. It enabled me to go out much more
than I used to, taking the strain of wheeling, which was becoming unbearable on
my hands, from me. And I am now seeing the “casual world” (in opposition to the
world I saw on rental chair, only hospitals and clinics, and once a park) from
the perspective of a person on wheelchair. And oh do I see things.
Month ago I
took part in wonderful interview, the one I mentioned before, on topic of
disability in queer women. Among other things, my interviewer said one things,
that I now tested very painfully in reality.
Women [whether cis or trans] on wheelchairs [I’d add that with visible disability
in general] are perceived as a
completely different, new gender. Gender that is robbed of any sexuality, is
completely non-sexual. They’re no longer women, they’re a different species
that is seen as unable to be understand. [paraphrasing, obviously, as I do
not possess any transcript of the session]
And we are.
We totally are. I saw it before, to less extend, but now I see it in full
light.
It can be
small – like total lack of male gaze on us ( meaning sexually objectifying gaze),
sudden lack of romantic proposals at all, no dates, no interest in us. I’m a
fairly attractive young woman. Hell, I’m gorgeous. I’m also fairly intelligent,
charming, cute, funny. Before my disability became visible, I had people “in
real life” crushing on me, asking me out and so on. Now, as a wheelchair girl,
the only people interested in me are people I met online, who got to know my
personality first, before meeting me and seeing my body. Men do not stare at me
as they did before – which for me as a gay woman is genuinely nice, but still
proves the point. I can both feel it, and had people say that they noticed it
too.
It can be a
bit worse – as people treating our bodies as a public property, touching the
way they wouldn’t touch an abled person, asking inappropriate questions. As
doctors seeing out bodies as sexless. As health providers suddenly forgetting
we have sex lives. As people being confused we are sexually active or even
not-asexual at all.
You
probably wouldn’t grop a stranger woman’s body in public, would you? I had
people, regardless of gender, who did, who even went as far as casually
touching my boobs. But I shouldn’t mind, should I? After all I’m not a sexual
being at all so why would I mind someone touching my private places. (I wanna
specify: I do not think breasts are sexual organs, they’re for babies. But in
general, they’re perceived as a rather intimate part of the body.)
When at the
first time I applied for disability, I got a doctor who had no idea what EDS
was, and from just looking at me told me I’m a nice girl and should go marry
and have babies and not “want to” be disabled. The second time, the same
doctor, I had a card from my usual doctor providing all the details on my
illness and how it stops me from various aspects of life, as studying, working,
driving a car etc. This time? I was not a nice girl anymore, I was just a broken
body. The difference was literally so palpable my dad thought we both went
crazy suddenly cause it cannot be real.
It can also
be my favorite type of ableism aka “I could never date a girl on a wheelchair”.
Or even better, followed by “you’re cool tho, no offence”.
No offence
taken, obviously you cannot see me as a sexual being, as a hypothetical
girlfriend, as I am made of metal pieces and wheel gears and I do not possess a
sexual body at all.
You see, I
was only out a couple of times and I have more than a dozen of these stories to
tell. I am literally the other gender now, I am invisible at best and outward
hated at worst. I am not seen as a woman, as a future mother, future teacher,
future lover, no, I am sexless, I am
completely washed of any sexuality.
You see, I’m
a rape survivor with severe PTSD, I am also accidentally a person on asexual
spectrum, whether those two things are connected I’m trying to find out by
therapy. But even I, not being terribly enthusiastic about sex, do actually
mind this. Very much.
I am a woman. And I want to be seen as one. I
want to be seen as a sexual being cause I am a sexual being. I am not fond of
being treated as a little child.
So to y’all
who could never date a girl on a wheelchair. Look at your reasons why so. We’re
people just like you. Girls, I am just a girl, just like you. I am sexual like
you. I wanna have sex like you – with you. I’m not a different gender.
I’m just a human being. Extremely tired, bitter
human being.
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On 28th of July I turned 22. I can't believe I'm 22 and still have to blog about this shit. Two decades of my life and we still have ableism. Yikes.
Anyway, happy birthday to me.
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.
***
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.