10 January, 2012

Every few days I think about camp and it starts taking my head apart.

Not because of the stuff relating to ableism and me being disabled, but just because I am not going back there, and can't ever go back there.

This man is an amazing person, who I had the incredible luck of knowing for two weeks, and then for two weeks again.

an older white man with Down Syndrome, smiling

I will send him letters, because letters are important to him, but I know that he won't associate the name on the letter with me, even if someone tells him the name of the person it is from.

One time he made a drawing and when other staff asked if it was for Amanda, he said no like he was offended, and then he gave it to me and looked at them as if to explain. He's not necessarily an easy person. He is himself. A lot of things make him angry and it's easy for him to feel that people don't care about him if they don't talk to him or write him letters.

I don't understand his speech, so there's a lot I don't know about him. I did understand when he told me his mother was dead.

I used to have the idea of sending him letters with photos in them, but I feel like it's too late.


  1. It's awful to have something like that taken away from you suddenly.

    One of the longer times when I was institutionalized, I was told that I would be let out during the end of the day. However, my father came early without telling me beforehand and I suddenly had to leave.

    Even though I hated being there, there is something mildly traumatic about being wrenched out like that, but worse was that I had just wanted to say goodbye to a few people (and possibly offer to swap emails with a young anarchist when the overseers weren't looking, since I could tell she needed someone to talk about that kind of thing with). You might not understand this but when there is that particular kind of shared experience and you learn so much about what the other person is dealing with then there is a really deep connection, even if you don't like each other at all.

    l obviously never saw any of them again but I do still think of the people I met there and wonder what they're doing now or if they're even still alive.

  2. as a side note I want to point out the irony in that we were allowed to talk about the abolishment of the state but we were not allowed to talk about what medications we had used and what our experiences were with them.

    they definitely had their priorities straight

  3. Here's a possible idea:

    Interactive games, like mail-chess, mail-checkers, mail-backgammon.

    It carries a conversation with rules.

    Or even the dot/SOS game. You make squares with dots.

    Another idea could be a set of postcards