the entire fucking disability advocacy/liberaton/whatever scene is an endless shitfire. a constant pissing match between who should be accommodated and who should accommodate. a desperate, pathetic squabble to see who gets lucky enough to go fuck you got mine first. i didn't think i'd find petty infighting more useless and destructive than the one that keeps happening between different trans/gq genders or whatever but here we fucking are
i'm trying not to panic. i'm fucking frightened of everything. everything is a nightmare. i have to constantly second guess my problems. are they the right ones? do i present my traumas in a nice palatable way? do i make sure not to overburden people who treat me like a free 24/7 crisis hotline? am i just not trying hard enough to take care of myself? is everything really my fault? am i just a pathetic loser while everyone else has the real problems that need me to drop everything for them?
i don't fucking know. i'm tired. i'm scared. nothing makes sense and that only makes me more upset at myself. i can't be a good ally, or a good accomplice, or whatever magic word you want to use for me, because i'm dealing with the wrong disabilities. i should be your sibling but somehow i am not. the rules for me and you and different and i don't know why.
i may have lost a friend for not reacting to the past 24 hours sooner, because i decided in the moment i couldn't handle it and decided to give my mind space to let go, and hopefully enable myself to be more thoughtful. but no. i focused on myself and things may have gone bad again. i'm trapped on that bed, barely able to sleep as i have to keep myself from falling off because there's maybe eight inches of mattress between my girlfriend and the endge of the bed. i'm trapped under her arm she's draped over my head. i'm squirming under the pressure of her elbow digging into her back, and if i try to gently move it away she digs harder. i'm trapped in the moment where she wakes up in the morning and gets out of bed and i spend twenty minutes wondering if it's safe for me to lie on my back or if she'll get mad. i'm trapped in her discovering that she didn't sleep well because i took up too much of the bed, since she saw me lying there when she was out of the bed and therefore that's how i must have laid when she was in the bed. and i'm trapped in the guilt of daring to care about myself, the fear of not accommodating someone who will never be satisfied, the fear that saying this at all means that i am attacking all autistic people for things outside my control and my own neuroses and traumas deserve to be tossed in the trash
i have to be responsible for the mental health of people who tell me they are not responsible for my mental health when i dare to try and tell them how i feel about the way they treat me. it's my fault for thinking i matter at all. it's my fault for thinking that my disabilities are the disabilities that count.
i have been meaning to write about this for months, it's something i've felt has been true for a while, but i feel so distant from a lot of these communities that i wanted to make sure i was talking about this in a fair and useful way. but no. after the last 24 hours and all the panic it's induced in me, you all get the rambling, subposty, angry bullshit. enjoy.
