On Thursday, I was talking in therapy about why I never want to ask for certain accommodations that I know I need. Regardless of any rational thought and blah blah I deserve whatever, the reality is that 1) I don't feel entitle to them. I don't fell disabled enough-basically because my live has been about people invalidating me as a trans queer crip migrant being 2) I want to prove people I am capable and brilliant enough to do whatever the fuck I want. I don't want to expose myself to people’s bullshit more than I already am. I'm scared because I'm starting to notice the physical consequences of my disabilities with more intensity, and I still don't know how to deal with this. For the first time (after four years working together) my therapist told me with all the kindness she holds in her soul: ”You know I do not believe in clear-cut psychiatric diagnosis. But you fit the institutionalized criteria of several ”psychiatric disorders”: Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, and Severe Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I do believe that there is a biochemical component in all these. But you need to acknowledge your trauma. You know this. You write about this. You are unapologetic about this. Why it is so hard to take what it is there to make your life less exhausting?”
Today I was with my service dog picking up my pills at the pharmacy. A white middle age woman asked me really loudly and in the most condescending way: Does she calms you? Does she helps you be a person? -----
People do not know what to do with me. My queerness, my browness, and my cripness turn me into an object of amusement, curiosity, pitty, fear, and suspiciousness.
People feel entitle to know my story. People feel entitle to demand details about my trauma. People fell sorry for my existence by default. People think I do not deserve their trust. People question my humanity and immediately assume I will fail. People invalidate my thoughts/feelings using my disabilities against me. People think I live in misery because of the way I experience the world. People do not know shit about me, or my disabilities, or the physical, emotional, and spiritual work that living with my disabilities entails.