Arramel Syn

thinking is terrible: rotting: I decided to make this post because the things that I see on...

Thu, 16 May 2013 23:38:27 -0400

thinking is terrible: rotting: I decided to make this post because the things that I see on...:

I decided to make this post because the things that I see on tumblr that deal with ableism don’t mention the things that I want to be talked about, and I wanted to give an insight into what its like for me personally. I get a lot of asks, mainly anonymous ones, about my disability and how it affects me, and whether or not I approve of these questions I wanted to make something that would address some things.

Living with a disability (at least in Europe and I would hazard to guess in the US its mostly similar), you feel like the embodiment of something people don’t want. People are conditioned to prioritise ‘health’, or what they percieve as healthy i.e. able bodied and thin, over everything else. And because of this skewed idea of health, no matter how healthy I really am, I am never going to appear healthy. To society at large that makes me inferior, and I’m made to feel that way.

A lot of people believe that by treating me as a human being like anyone else they’re somehow doing me a favour. People say things like “I just talk to them like everyone else”, firstly as if I weren’t ‘like everyone else’, as if I’m somehow deficient and this person is stooping down to show me kindness, secondly as if it’s ‘us’ and ‘them’? And some even seem to think that when they joke about disability means they’re being somehow inclusive. Making a joke about a minority doesnt make you inclusive, it makes you a prick. And comments like “you’re lucky sitting down all day! rolling about hahaha” are not funny, treating me like everyone else is not the same as saying insensitive things about something that I’m treated like shit for most of the time.

I’m constantly talked down to when someone’s with me, as though the person pushing me is my carer. They direct their questions at the person with me instead of me as if there must be someone else in my life who looks after me and keeps records on how I live my life. And it’s always assumed that I need help. Like anyone else if I need help with something, I ask, but people think that I’m obviously incapable of everything because I’m in a wheelchair.

People feel like they’re owed an answer from me when they ask a question about my disabilty, and if I dont feel like answering then I’m just ‘being sensitive’. Or they think that because they’re ‘comfortable with it’ (it being my being in a wheelchair), they are entiteled to know everything about my life. I’ve had questions on how I have sex, if I dress myself, how I go to the bathroom, I’ve even been asked things that implied MY OWN choices in style (such as my piercings) were the result of someone else doing something TO me, rather than a choice I made myself.

This is the overarching theme, its like constant infantilisation. Because some people with disabilities are cared for, and children are cared for, people treat them the same way. People underestimate the things that I know because of how I appear, they presume that I know less than the person standing next to me. They assume that everything in my life is the product of someone else’s choice.

Even with romantic relationships, as an unspoken thing that reflects through actions and the way they talk about me, at some point in the relationship most of my partners will play up the idea that they’re somehow doing something kind by loving me and being with me. And then they’ll say something like “well don’t you think this is hard for me too?”, which is basically blackmailing me for having a disability.

Nobody WANTS sympathy, nobody wants a different set of rules just for them. Some people perceive the benefits I get and the things the government gives me means I’m treated ‘better’ than able bodied people. but if society was equal for everyone, it wouldn’t be neccessary! I wouldn’t NEED these things to get by! I can’t even get on a bus or a train without it being a spectacle, the default system of transport, of everything really, isn’t built with me in mind. My ability to function and get around like everyone else is an afterthought, this is not a level playing field.

I had a friend in the past who applied to university who also happened to be in a wheelchair. A friend of hers was applying for the same university, and although she had better qualifications, they accepted this girl’s able bodied friend over her, because they didnt know how to deal with a disabled student. because you have to have some kind of ‘training’, because its not part of the regular mold of teaching, again, it’s an afterthought.

On another note, the only person I can even think of in the media (bearing in mind I live in the UK) with a disability who isn’t an athlete is a childrens tv presenter named Cerrie Burnell who was born with one arm. It was never a big deal, it was very rarely mentioned and she just got on with her job as usual. When she started on the job multiple people complained that their children were afraid of her due to the way she looks, the BBC defended her and she’s still presenting now. She never did anything for or because of her disability, she was good at presenting so she did that. I just wish there were more people in the media like that. I admire and commend disabled atheletes, but they’re always doing ‘disabled sports’, its always connected to their disability. Cerrie Burnell is the only person I can think of other than disabled athletes, and thats sad.

Fictional characters in the media with disabilities are incredibly rare too, the only film I can think of with a disabled protagonist is Avatar. In Avatar, the lead character Jake Sully is a wheelchair user, but he’s played by an able bodied actor. In some scenes they actually used special effects to meld and actual wheelchair users legs with the actor’s upper half, all that rather than hire a disabled actor. Another point in this film is that for the most part Jake Sully ISN’T in a wheelchair, he’s using his ‘avatar’, so it’s minimal representation at best. And at the end of the film, he chooses to live the rest of his life in this avatar body, they made his wheelchair user status seem like such a horrible hardship that any chance he had to be rid of it was portrayed as some sort of wonderful second chance. and of course there are disadvantages to being a wheelchair, as I’ve talked about above MAINLY in the way people treat you, other than that you just get on with life. but its so shitty to see one of the few disabled characters in popular culture just be magically able-bodied by the end of the film.
This is just a collection of my thoughts that I wanted to get out, obviously I don’t believe everyone has these negative thoughts and feelings towards disabled people, but this is how I’m made to feel. If you’ve liked what I’ve said on the matter I’d really appreciate you reblogging this because I think it’s important for other people to see.

This is beautiful in its honesty.

It is heartbreaking for the same reason.

I wish better for us as a species than the way we treat each other. I hope that the future will bring great things in our collective maturity and understanding of one another.

Video

Sun, 12 May 2013 16:53:22 -0400

I wonder if there are parts of us, frozen within ourselves. We change, everyone does. As time goes...

Fri, 03 May 2013 19:48:00 -0400

I wonder if there are parts of us, frozen within ourselves.

We change, everyone does. As time goes on we inevitably get older and become more mature or more broken, or we heal. However, no matter how much changing we’ve done, sometimes you spend time with someone from your past and slip straight back into old habits, old personalities.

It doesn’t seem to matter how much growing or changing you’ve done in the interim. And when they say ‘you’ve changed’, its not because they actually see the change, but because they see the person you’re struggling to remember - the one you were mere minutes before seeing them.

How do we retain these snap-shot versions of ourselves? It seems as though if someone is not there to watch you change, you never did. And why is it that certain people can bring these traits back, no matter how long buried?

I’m worried that in order for us to move forward, we need to meet new people and say farewell to the familiar. To just keep taking step after step without looking back. For the familiar clings to us and begs us not to change, and we won’t. The foreign gives us an opportunity to sculpt ourselves into something new.

How do you heal when everyone around you expects you to be broken? How do you move on when you just backslide to whoever you were any time someone from your past shows up?

But would it be healing, or running away?

Two Things

Fri, 03 May 2013 19:15:20 -0400

There are two things I’d like to write about at this moment.

1. The Idea

2. The Reality

I wonder if I’ll ever get another chance to reconcile the two.

Breathing deeply won’t spare me from crying, and it won’t bring you back. All it does is...

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 18:39:20 -0400

Breathing deeply won’t spare me from crying, and it won’t bring you back. All it does is press against this ache in my chest and expand it, like it’s trying to fill a hole that it doesn’t fit.

Trials (Short Story)

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 23:40:00 -0400

“Here’s the thing, I could just walk away from this you know” my voice sounded snarky and bitter even to my own ears, but I didn’t know how to stop it, “I mean, I’m not the one invested in this.”

She glanced over at me and sighed, a huge breath that left her looking tiny and hollow after the air had been expelled from her lungs. “I know, I just..”

“Seriously, you’re the only who even wanted to try. I said we’d be horrible at this, we’d mess it all up. It’d be better to not even have let it get this far, just got rid of it and pretend like nothing happened.”

Now her eyes were fully focused on me and her bottom lip trembled slightly. “I really want to do this. We’ll get better at it, I promise. Not everyone’s perfect on the first try. I mean, look at your mother! I bet she went through moments just like this, and she’s the best I know!”

“Ugh. Fine. Pass me another bead”

You

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 23:48:17 -0400

You are not…

are you?

To Rise and Fall (Short Story)

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 15:43:00 -0400

“Which do you like better?” he licked the dripping ice cream off his fingers and twirled the cone to catch any errant melting before it hit his skin again.

“Ah,” I nibbled my lip under the cover of the plastic spoon that was trafficking delicious fudge into my mouth as I surgically dissected my sundae. “I think, neither.”

“What?” he laughed, “That’s such a cop out. You can’t say both are better. Pick one!”

“That’s not what I meant!” I flushed at his teasing, “My favourite part isn’t either, it’s the moment in between. That instant right before the drop where you hang weightless, and your stomach clenches with fear and excitement. Because, in that moment before you’re ripped back down to earth, you’re flying.”

The Matter of Emotions

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 20:37:13 -0400

It provides life with substance and colour, turns a moment into a memory.

Emotions make things matter.

Dearest,

Sat, 06 Apr 2013 00:13:00 -0400

This is a goodbye.

I cannot promise that it will last, or even that its a good idea. What I can promise, is that it is now.

Until then.

Storms (Short Story)

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 20:40:00 -0400

Her eyes were the ocean as broiling storm clouds rolled over its surface, electrified and promising pain to any who entered. Deep, unrelenting waves surged through her, and though her body shook with the force of it, her eyes remained steady with rage. I did what any reasonable person would do at that point.

I kissed her.

Why do we force our bodies to suffer our minds' problems?

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 19:32:00 -0400

Answers (Musing)

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 22:38:17 -0400

Its the first and the last thing anyone wants.

An answer is closure. It is rejection. It is the end of hope. Every possibility ends, except the one that lies within whatever form the answer comes in. It is what everyone fears when they ask a question.

An answer may end all of those things, but it is also a beginning. All the anxiety, questions and thoughts surrounding that question are culminated, set free. You can take action, move on, follow the path that the answer has shown you IS possible. This is what everyone hopes for.

Answers are the only things that keep life moving - and the only things that hold us back.

We all want answers, and you never will have all the answers. No one ever does.

But maybe, if you take a deep breath and just ask that one question that’s been burning on your tongue, maybe you’ll have one.

And something new will begin. I promise.

Perception (Short Story)

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 22:46:28 -0400

Her eyes were dead as she asked for our order.

She was almost manic with despair, the way her fingers twitched and her voice exploded out all pitchy and rushed. She wrote her name on the paper that covered the table, practiced motions hesitating before scribbling the traditional smiley face.

Just before she left, she pressed her hand to the table as if for support, a mere instant before heavy steps carried her away.

“What a nice girl. I wonder what her secret to happiness is?”

Its one thing to think, another to know…

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 22:58:17 -0500

Its one thing to think, another to know…

Video

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 20:55:33 -0500

I bet if I closed my eyes, I'd see only darkness too

Mon, 18 Feb 2013 18:09:53 -0500

eddplant: ravenzoe: theyouthdieyoung: onthewing: [tw:...

Thu, 07 Feb 2013 21:25:24 -0500

eddplant:

ravenzoe:

theyouthdieyoung:

onthewing:

[tw: cissexism, sexual harassment, implied rape]

You wanna be Peter Pan.
You wanna be that fairy-dusted disaster that conquers Hook and slays pirates because that’s what strong boys do.
But they gave you a dress, and a name to match, and a lot of pink stuff you’d never play with.

You loved action figures just as much as dolls (yeah, you love dolls, don’t lie).

You don’t walk like a lady though.

You flunked ballet class.

“You can’t go, it’s boys only.”
“Don’t wear swimming trunks, wear a bathing suit.”
“You’re too old to be a tomboy! GROW UP.”

You can’t fly. You never will.

Even days when you’re wearing the perfect clothes
people will stare and say, “Is that a girl or a boy?”
And you smile to yourself because today,
maybe you might just pass,
but then you see their eyes register no facial hair,
no knot in your throat, no bulge in your pants, they say it again.

Louder.

Tauntingly.

“IS THAT A GIRL OR A BOY?”

This time they know and they just wanna see you squirm
and you do and they snicker and give you that look that says, “You aren’t human here.”

You’re stuck with the body you’ve got and the gender you don’t
There’s no fairy dust
No flying away
No childhood dreams
So you’re doing the best you can.

You rock your indecisive parts proudly,
but there are days when you can be shattered by a quick tongue.
Days when men argue about the lines of your body, and then one says, “It’s got tits.”

IT

because you’re not worthy of any other title.

Days when girls will hate you for what you are
whatever you are
you aren’t human here.
But I’ve got tits.

So on that day when he said to me,
“I don’t care if you’re gay, I’d still fuck the shit out of you,”
I should’ve been willing, right?

But I wasn’t.

So I walked faster trying to escape his leering face,
the look of malice in his eyes that I’ve seen in so many other men
“I’ll fuck you straight, girl.”

I don’t know how much of a girl
I am but at that moment I wished I had the knuckle strength of men.

But I don’t, so I left my pride in this throat,
I would try to glue myself back together for tomorrow
because there are always gonna be days like this.

Days when you have to carry your somber heart like a coffin,
days when you pass until you slip and let your words fall from your mouth carried by a feminine voice and they know again.

Know that you’re not a him, or a her, but something in between, not human to them.

What an abomination. What a monster.

Why can’t you be normal with your dress, your boyfriend, your virginity?
They wanna paint you the color of smashed hymens.
They want you to know that naked, you will always be soft like a woman;
naked, you will always have the parts of a woman,
you, IT, your telltale breasts
you will NEVER be one of those strong boys.
you are far from Peter Pan but learn to hold your back like a flagpole,
it’s all you’ve got out there.
there’s no Neverland.

I’m happy I was born into a body I love. And its truly disgusting to see people get treated like this by other human beings. It’s awful to know that there is someone out there crying because they’re playing into a role society made up like a fairy tale and tells them they don’t belong in. How can you do that? How can you make something up and then say to a person, “This thing I invented is not for you”.

And maybe I’m wrong, for caring for people who hurt. For wanting to be there for every broken soul to wipe their tears and tell them that they are LOVED. By me, at the very least, implicitly. Regardless of choices, regardless of little boxes made by other people that they should NEVER feel obligated to fit into.

What makes art truly powerful, is the emotion behind it. So thank you, for enduring hell to make something beautiful.

Cut Off (Short Story)

Tue, 05 Feb 2013 22:45:00 -0500

What do you do when the thoughts permeate into every waking experience? When even your dreams become tainted with your memories, and there is no escape?

Who’s eyes do you look into to make it right again? Should you even try?

Do you throw yourself away, beg others to treat you carelessly just to get that shred of a moment where things hurt too much to remember?

Or when the shakes start, do you shiver under a stream of hot water, huddled up alone and pray that no one can hear you crying over the sound of the drumming tat tat tat of water against skin?

Its easy, when the weight starts to melt from your bones, to mouth condolences to those who ask about how you took ill recently, or last month, or six months ago. Anything to make the questions die on their lips, and them to utter the pitying ‘get better soon’, like its some disease you just have to kick. But that’s what you told them, so that’s what they believe, and your chest makes a dry cough that rattles through your body like sheet metal, echoing and reverberating through every limb.

The easy part is making everyone else believe you’re okay. They’re too quick to jump to any explanation you supply, as long as they don’t have to provide more than a pitying glance or a few platitudes.

Its easy, to stay alive, because that’s what the instincts tell you to do, and that’s what is expected. Its hard, to live.

What do you do when the thoughts permeate into every waking experience?

Blow a kiss goodbye, and smile.

Sleep, Or More Specifically, What Comes Before and After

Fri, 01 Feb 2013 23:52:15 -0500

And I crawl into bed and try to forget that it feels like a stranger, and when morning comes, it is a stranger that holds your hand too long and kisses you when they’re drunk and you let them not because you want it, but because you don’t see the point in resisting. And maybe in some way, it’ll give me comfort, but I wake up feeling ill, and hungover, and I’ll wonder why my body lies, and fakes the pains of revelries I never had, but mostly, I’ll just get up, and then come home to the same bed, feeling estranged and a stranger to it, and wake up in the same way and wonder as I do about why we can’t be lovers, or at least friends as we were.