Two people are late but the bus is fine

Even though the San Francisco public transit system is very extensive compared to other cities, I'm having a lot of trouble using it. When I lived in Cincinnati, I was rarely late, but since moving to San Francisco I have been chronically late to work. I almost was fired from one of my early jobs here, and the only reason it hasn't been a bigger problem in the Dream Job is that we're on a very loose schedule. I am nearly always late.

Aside from the problems wheelchair users face on SF buses and trains (which I'm obviously pretty familiar with), the transit system is inaccessible to me as someone with cognitive disabilities, not only because buses and trains don't come at predictable times, but because they don't even have a goal of coming at predictable times. The Muni schedule isn't an actual schedule with times, but just a promise that the 24 Divisadero bus will come every 10 minutes in the afternoon, every 15 minutes in the evening, and so on.

The biggest problem with this is making connections. If my other bus drops me off to catch the 24, I could catch the 24 right away, or I could have 10 minutes to wait. It's hard to plan my commute when I don't know if my transfer will take 0 or 10 minutes. Obvously, in real life the bus doesn't always adhere to the schedule--I could be pleasantly surprised by two 24 buses arriving only minutes apart, or stuck waiting for 15 or 20 or 25 minutes.

This is a huge problem for me as an Autistic person. I can't respond quickly to surprises and changes, or make snap decisions. I mean it's theoretically possible and I try really hard to be more flexible, but there's only so much I can do about the way my brain is. It would be so great to be able to leave for work at the same time every day and know when I would arrive, or to be able to rely on a Google Maps estimate. Instead, after living and working in the same two neighborhoods for almost three years, I am still almost paralyzed by confusion on the way to work.

For example, what if I arrive at the 24 bus stop, and the LED sign says the bus isn't coming for 15 minutes? Now I'll probably be late. I consider walking to Castro Station and trying to catch the 35 bus, because it might happen to come sooner. But sometimes the LED sign is wrong, so as I'm walking along in between bus stops, I see the 24 bus coming by after all. I usually can't process this information fast enough to start running after the bus or trying to get the driver's attention, so I miss the bus and feel stupid because if I had just stayed where I was, I would have caught it and I wouldn't be late.

Or, I am waiting at the 24 bus stop and the sign says 7 minutes, but it suddenly changes to 14 minutes. I'm wondering if the sign is malfunctioning, if the bus is briefly delayed and the sign will go back to 7 minutes when the bus starts again, or if I should try to walk to Castro Station to catch the 35. I sit and wait for a minute because I'm overwhelmed, and the sign goes up to 20 minutes. I decide to walk to Castro Station and when I am just a block away, I see the 35 going by. If I had just made my decision faster instead of sitting at the bus stop, I would have arrived in time to catch the 35.

Or, I have written down the ID number of the Castro Station stop, so I call the transit information number on my phone, and it tells me when the 35 is supposedly coming--a long time from now. I frantically study the bus map for another option, and decide to walk a few blocks and catch the J train, since I see it on the map. When I get there, there aren't even any train tracks and I realize that in my anxiety, I forgot that the J is an underground train in this part of the city.

I feel bad because if I was a little smarter or tried a little harder these things wouldn't happen, but I think we have to admit that our ratio of supercrippery to exhausted hopelessness is maybe set in stone by the mid-twenties. I don't know how much better I'm going to get at handling constant surprises and setbacks; and even though it's usually not a problem at work, I know every time I arrive late, and I feel stupid that I can't succeed at such a simple goal.

The public transit in Cincinnati is pretty spare and slow. If I could have driven to my job, it would have taken a half hour; instead, it took almost two hours because I rode two 35-minute buses with a 30-minute wait between them, and had to walk a little bit to get to work. People I knew acted like this was a shocking and awful commute, but I was almost always on time, and I seriously miss having control over this. It's so frustrating that in San Francisco, I can't just choose to be on time, and nothing seems to work.

The lack of a real schedule annoys me not just because it is inaccessible to me personally, but because it's such a transparent attempt to avoid being held accountable for not being on time. Yes, people who ride Muni know that it is late a lot, but we can't really be aware of how much. If a bus that's supposed to come at 8:00 comes at 8:10, everyone will know the bus is 10 minutes late. But if there's no set time for the bus to arrive, then people won't notice it's late unless they either know when the previous bus arrived, or if they got to the bus stop more than 10 minutes ago.

Last month Muni decided to change the names of a lot of buses, for God knows what reason. I guess it seemed cooler than fixing their actual problems. My favorite bus, the 71, was changed to the 7; the 71L, which has the same route but makes fewer stops, was renamed the 7R. The 16X, a bus with a totally different route, was renamed the 7X, and we can all guess whose dumb ass got on it by accident and ended up wandering around downtown in utter confusion, trying to figure out how to get where I was trying to go. Otherwise no improvements, but I hope they had fun painting the new names on the bus stops (covering up the stop ID numbers half the time and making it harder to call transit information when the LED sign is broken or absent).

We know I'm Autistic and will tolerate anything for public transit--the relaxing sight of a dog's urine slowly dripping along the bus floor and onto some beautiful Doc Martens; the excitement when an old man starts beating up five people because they made fun of his boombox; or the thrill of being offered whisky by a startup intern who looks like he's in third grade. Constant stress, and inconveniencing people who have done a lot for me, is no big deal compared to these treasured moments. But straight talk: if I had the motor skills to ride a bike or a skateboard, I'd be on it like white on rice.

Mushballing

Sometimes I try and come up with new frames to explain the decisions I make (or not-so-voluntary things that people think are decisions).  Sometimes this is for other people but more often it's just so that I can be okay with myself.

Today let's talk about being a mushball. I am a mushball.

If you want to know what a mushball looks like, take a piece of soft bread, squish it into a ball, and get it wet.  That is approximately me.

• droopy
• doesn't react to new situations
• doesn't like talking
• is not up for reading anything difficult or unfamiliar
• probably isn't good at writing, either
• likes to eat, read simple things, and watch TV, while propped up with pillows so it doesn't have to suffer the indignity of trying to sit up on its own

Actually, if you know me in person this might not be your impression of me! That's because I can usually corral myself if I have to be around people or do tasks that I need to focus on.  I'm glad about that because a full-time mushball life would be boring (I also would not be able to have a job or anything), but I still need to return to my natural mushball state or everything gets totally out of control.

Being a non-mushball (like if I am going outside or interacting with anyone in person) kind of feels like being in crisis.  It feels like have to tense every muscle in my body so I can be alert and anchored in time and try to respond to everything that is going on.  It's not really that bad, but trying to be tense and alert permanently would be the same as trying to stand up forever.

When I've been in situations where I can't mush out for really long periods of time (like when I was working 12-hour shifts with a 4-hour commute) what happens is just that the mushiness spills into everything.  Like, usually mushballing happens when I'm by myself in my room, and the rest of the time I'm more or less tensed up.  If I don't have any mush time, then I end up being mushy in situations where it's problematic and could even be a danger to me or other people.

So, mush is important is what I'm saying.  But not mush is important too.  It's depressing and not very satisfying if all I do is lie in bed, eat, and not talk to anyone, but if I stay at home that's probably what is going to happen.  It feels like my body hoards mush time and is pulled toward my bed like a magnet, although it probably has more to do with cueing.  If there are cues making me feel like this is mush time, then my body/brain aren't going to be ready to tense up.

• dressed = non-mush
• pajamas = mush
• in my room = mush
• outside = non-mush
• speaking = non-mush
• makeup = non-mush
• contacts = non-mush
• glasses = mush

This explains why certain things upset me and make it hard to focus, like talking on the phone in my bedroom or going outside without makeup on.  I had a lot of trouble a few years ago because my eyes were being irritated by my contacts and I was supposed to wear glasses all the time, but I just couldn't do anything very well when I was wearing glasses instead of contacts and started having mental health issues because I was so frustrated by my inability to do things.

I feel like a lot of people must feel this way to some extent, because they go to coffee shops to work on the computer or to study.  I think it's more extreme for me, because people don't seem to understand some of the aspects of my mush situation, but I like to use coffee shops for the same thing.  Something that I'm trying to address these days is how to keep as much mush time as I need, while making sure that I have free time that isn't mush time.  I want to have free time when I am alert and can really devote myself to things I'm interested in, instead of just floating.  I'm trying to spend some time alone at coffee shops and diners whenever I have a day off.

This brings me to the original subject for my post, which is that I've made a 2014 resolution to never prepare food for myself in my house.  If I'm eating with my housemates that's an exception, and so is if I'm not doing well and need to have a full mush day.  But otherwise, preparing food at home just leads to me lying in bed, eating super slowly and spacing out, sometimes eating way more than I intended to because I don't want to get up to put the food away, and finally surrounded by a bunch of dishes that I'm too mushy to take care of.  It's gross and depresses me.

I wanted to write about my resolution because I always get the message that going out to eat and not preparing your own food is lazy and a waste of money.  To me, it isn't laziness because it prevents mushy eating.  In the short term, it definitely costs more money--I can't afford to spend more than $14 a day on food and it's hard to keep to this eating out, whereas I could easily spend much less if I was only eating at home.  But I feel like it's worth feeling better, and it also has meant that I never get food delivered anymore, which was even more expensive than going out to eat.

Anyway that's all I have to tell you, and now it's time to return to that of which I speak.

Time gets scarier

I watch a lot of TV and by the standards of TV I have a really good life.  I have perfect friends and a job I love, and I even have someone I’m in love with.  These are supposed to be the important things.  Fiction doesn’t concern itself with getting dressed, eating regular meals, and showering, except incidentally.  These things are supposed to be so boring that they blend into the background but these supposedly boring and insignificant things are making my life suck.

When I was growing up all I wanted was to be grown up and live on my own.  Mostly I wanted to be out of school so I could be in places I chose and do things I chose, and especially so that I could meet people I could actually date and be friends with.  When I was 17 I would struggle to make a list of anyone I considered a friend even slightly.  Now I can’t imagine worrying about that, but I’m constantly nostalgic for being 17 because I didn’t have to pay attention to where I was, what I was going to eat, or what I was going to do.  When I was 13 I couldn’t make it through the day without being told I was an ugly freak who should kill myself, but I had unlimited mental freedom to read books, write stories and songs, and experience everything as intensely as I wanted.  Now that I get to have friends and not be bullied, I spend half my time wondering if it's worth it.

For one thing, I don’t read or write much anymore and I read much slower than I used to.  I think it’s because I have to keep myself a little detached from everything.  If I do anything too much, I might forget to sleep, eat, wake up, go to work, etc.

My relaxation activity (which takes up more or less of the day depending on how stressed I am, but always takes up a lot of the day) is to sit propped up with pillows, reading multiple things on the Internet at the same time, sometimes gchatting with people, sometimes making short tumblr posts, and sometimes watching TV in 2- or 3- minute intervals.  I usually do this with an online timer open so I know how much time is passing (even if I’m not planning on stopping in an hour it’s still good to know that an hour has passed).  I eat a lot of my meals during this and in the morning I usually get dressed and put on makeup without getting off the computer.

It might seem like it would be more relaxing to sit and read a book but it actually would be stressful because I could lose track of time.  Once when I was little I remember crying because I accidentally read all day and it scared me that so much time could pass without me knowing it.  But at least back then someone would find me if this happened.  My housemates are nice but keeping track of me isn’t their job.  Anna’s parents would call me if I didn’t come to work but by then I would already have done something wrong.

When I clean, do dishes, or do anything that can’t be done while sitting at the computer, I watch TV or listen to a podcast.  Otherwise I won’t be able to focus because I’ll be afraid of spacing out.  If I watch TV or movies with other people, I get stressed if I don’t do something else at the same time.  But it makes everyone feel weird if I’m on the Internet so I try to eat, drink, or play handheld video games.

I stopped driving because I was a bad driver and I was suicidal then, which was a bad combination.  But I’d be hard pressed to start again even if I could learn to be an okay driver, which I admit is possible.  Riding the bus or train is the only time I can actually read a book or write something important or just experience what's going on around me or in my head.  The bus always goes the same places and I don’t need to work hard to know when the ride is over because I ride it every day.

(Cross country Greyhound trips are a spiritual level experience for me because the ride doesn’t end and I don’t have to focus on anything practical for days.  Even if I arrive dirty, hungry, sick, and tired, I’ve still gotten to space completely, for long enough that I stop even feeling nervous about it.  Sometimes during the Greyhound ride I end up figuring out something or writing something I've been wanting to do forever.)

But I’m not intending to say it’s hard to work, do laundry, eat regular meals, sleep, shower, get dressed, and put on makeup.  A lot of people can’t do those things without parents or staff and here I am doing them consistently, so by definition it’s not that hard for me.  It happens.

What doesn’t happen is all the less immediate things.  For example, to cash my paychecks I can either get up early on a work day or go to the bank on one of my one or two days off a week.  I mean to do this almost every day but it usually takes at least a few weeks.  Since I don’t cash my paychecks very often, I lose them sometimes.  In theory I can get them sent to me again if I talk to someone and explain I lost them, but this isn’t something I even put on a to-do list because it’s not likely that I’ll do it and it’s a lot less immediate than other things on the list.  Right now there is at least $100-300 that I should have been paid and could get but it’s not realistic.

Anna’s dad Richard coached me through getting about $800 when the agency that manages Anna’s services sent my paychecks to the wrong address several times.  $800 is enough money that I can’t pretend it just isn’t important, but there’s no way I would have been able to get it without help so I guess I would have ended up trying to pretend that I have more important things to do than get an entire month's rent.

Richard is also helping me sign up for the San Francisco healthcare program.  Even though it is available to everyone in San Francisco, I wouldn’t have signed up on my own.  (Wouldn’t have been able to?  Just didn’t want to becaue healthcare is stupid anyway?)  It isn’t hard but it took several months because he had to walk me through everything and he is a human who has to keep track of his problems and 50% of Anna's problems, and is also the kind of person who helps multiple unrelated people with their problems.  If I could just take care of my entire self, I could have signed up months ago.

Except it’s just a waste of time because when I lived in Cincinnati I had really good benefits but I never went to the doctor or even learned how to use my benefits card.  Six months ago when I was visiting my parents, my mom decided to organize and pay for me to go the dentist.  The dentist found 7 cavities (all hidden on the inside of my teeth, which is a great metaphor for my toxic personality.)

The dentist also noticed that I have a skin condition covering most of my face and ears.  I tried to get her to stop touching my face by saying, "It's okay, I just have messed up skin."

"Don't say that!" she admonished me.  "It looks like contact dermatitis."  (It doesn't, because it's not.)  "You should go to a dermatologist.  You're a beautiful young girl, you shouldn't just be saying you have messed up skin."

So let’s pretend I have a health plan that covers this and I get myself together enough to make an appointment with a dermatologist and I get myself together to go to the appointment and I don’t cry when I have to talk about the fact that my face looks like a mask, and I can afford all the medicine and it’s going to work if I use it.  Am I going to be able to deal with adding a bunch more things I need to do every day?  Am I going to use it if it has side effects that require me to put drinking huge amounts of water at the top of my list of immediate needs? What if it makes my face feel weird and I have to spend time getting used to it several times a day? Fuck that.  Then I cannot go to work, get dressed, shower, do laundry, eat, etc.

The agency that manages Anna’s services has yelled at me and made me cry for not being able to talk on the phone by myself.  Richard had some plans for me to not be involved with them anymore, and he recently found out that the regional center could pay me directly and I’d make more money, but I’d have to deal with all the taxes that your employer usually figures out for you.

As soon as he unveiled the new information, I started thinking too hard to talk.  Eventually I said: “I wonder if I would make enough to quit my second job and then I could use the extra day in the week to figure out the taxes."

“You wouldn't have to do that.  It’s simple,” he said and continued basically being kind and suggesting how I could find someone to help me with taxes.  “This could be really good.  You could make more money and you could quit your second job and have the day off to play with dogs.”  I'm trying to start volunteering at a dog shelter.  Did I mention he is being super nice and has no reason to help me with the 400 things he's helped me with?

But the whole idea of the taxes made me get wary because it seemed like too much work, and then I got sort of shaky-sad, which is a feeling I usually only have when I look at my skin.  Be careful, be careful, it's not realistic, it's not realistic, be careful.

//

(1)

People are well-intentioned when they say that anyone can do ___ regardless of their disability, but it actually just makes them look ignorant. I understand the idea that a lot of people with disabilities who would want to do something and could do it are not receiving the support they need, and too many young PWDs are told they'll never be able to do the things they aspire to do.

If someone wants to do something you shouldn't tell them they can't do it, but that's different from making generalizations about everyone. My personal least favorite is "everyone can work." Well, for example, how is someone going to work if they can't move anything except their eyes and aren't suited for a job that they could perform just with their eyes? How is someone going to work if they're so depressed they can't get out of bed in the morning or make basic decisions? How is someone going to work if they're consumed by a desire to physically injure themselves all the time and it takes every bit of energy not to do that?

I wish this wasn't the case, but I hear people using the phrase "everyone can work" in almost an aggressive way, as if it's ignorant for a non-disabled person to say some disabled people can't work, or cynical or lazy of a disabled person to say that they themselves can't work. I think this shows a fundamental lack of empathy and if you don't understand why some disabled people can't work, then you shouldn't even be talking about disability and work because you are really uneducated.

Sometimes it seems like providers, family members, and even self-advocates have a homogenous idea of "disabled people" and they don't make room in their head for the large percentage of disabled people who don't fit their image.

(1) Actually I think Ratatouille does a good job addressing this issue, by acknowledging the difference between "everyone can be a great artist" and "a great artist can come from anywhere."

2.

My client cannot talk and often doesn't respond to things quickly. Her volition is pretty confusing to me when it comes to movement so all I can say is that her movement can be pretty telling, but I sure don't expect her to move on schedule or on command.

I feel like all this is implied with the vague label of "profound disabilities" and presumably we all know about people with "profound disabilities," so why is everyone so confused? I don't know what to say when people ask me why she doesn't look at them or answer them. I don't mean people with no experience, but people who are at programs with their disabled family member or client, or are even running the programs.

Also the eternal question, "Does she understand everything I'm saying?" to which the answer is a resounding, "I don't know."

Maybe I'm just a crappy person and I can tell you the idea has occurred to me before, but I get extremely impatient. It feels like a lot of people either demand responses from her due to their wholly unfounded assumptions that she can give one, or they just don't think about her at all. The idea that someone without obvious communication might enjoy some attention is just as baffling as the idea of someone without obvious communication existing in the first place.

I've sometimes gotten the impression that stuff that's "for developmentally disabled people" does not try to be inclusive of developmentally disabled people with certain support needs or that people who are "interested in working with developmentally disabled people" do not find it interesting to work with developmentally disabled people with certain support needs. I'm glad to say I haven't seen any extreme examples of this in the 5 months I've been working at this job--just impressions--but Single Dad Disabled Daughter writes about some infuriating stuff.

3.

On the other hand, I have a disability and I do have a job and answer people when they talk to me. So people who like disabled people who do those things should like me, right?

Well, not really.

I'm not sure why it is that a lot of people who claim to like and enjoy people with developmental disabilities, or even work with them, have a problem with people who are slower than they are, can't do things that they can do, or just look or act different. When they meet someone who they don't immediately recognize as disabled or who they aren't meeting in a context where they would expect to meet a disabled person, the friendliness they would show to an Actual Disabled Person is not there at all, and they are just as contemptuous as anyone else would be about the person's impairment.

The only thing I can think of is that when these people relate positively to disabled people who fit their idea of disabled people, they're not doing so because they actually like people regardless of disability, or even because they like personality traits that sometimes come from living with certain mental disabilities. It's because they've created a new category, "developmentally disabled people," that they see as different from other people and relate to differently from the way they relate to other people.  If a developmentally disabled person is too much of a peer, or looks or acts too similar to non-disabled people, they can't put them in the "developmentally disabled people" category, so they can't accept their disability.

Maybe it's an Uncanny Valley thing but I don't really care because I am coming out of the following situation.

I had a friend who spent a lot of time working with a group of people with developmental disabilities who are quite different from most people I know, and I knew that she liked that group of people a lot. Technically, she knew that I had a disability, and even professed to support disability rights. That sounds like a pretty good deal on a friend right? It was a long time before I admitted to myself that this person made me feel scared and uncomfortable about nearly everything related to my disability. When we met someone who I suspected might have a disability, I cringed inwardly because I knew she would criticize the person later for being too slow or too weird. I was afraid for her to meet my closest friends, who are all Autistic or crazy, because I didn't know if they would be able to hide their disabilities well enough to avoid being criticized by her.

There are some people who you know are friends with you because you're just barely good enough for them. And actually, there are people who are friends with you because you're bad enough for them, too--you're a "special needs" person to them, not an equal. Maybe I'm becoming an asshole but I have no interest in either type of friend anymore.

Also if you don't understand about timers

Something that I find tough is that I don't really know how to describe the daily effects of my disability to people and the only way I feel like I can do it is by just showing people or telling people about things that I need to do to function.

The problem is, it seems like a lot of people can't extrapolate what's going on from what I show them, and some people's only reaction to me saying, "See, I have to do this to do this" is to encourage me to do something that is a more common way of dealing with things. I wish people could try to understand what I'm like by seeing that I have to write things on my hands and my computer so I can always see them, but it seems like most people just look at this strategy and see a problem and try to tell me that I should write stuff in a special book (which it would be harder for me to use because it would take more memory and energy to check what it says).

Writing on myself particularly is something that people have always been kind of distressed about and the only reason I can see for this is a bunch of negative associations that are clearly associated with disability. People usually see it as something that looks bad because it clearly indicates that someone has thinking and memory problems, but when I was growing up I was also told that I shouldn't do it because it would imply that I'm the kind of person who would self injure.

It's not really an issue for me that someone might think I have problems with my memory or self-injury because those things are true and I don't think that indicates anything bad about me.

But anyway, I just really wish that people could understand what's wrong with me just by looking at things I have to do, but if I can't even explain to other people what's wrong with me then I guess it's not really fair to expect them to figure it out when I can't.

Timer Corner

Beep beep beep, it's time for...

TIMER CORNER!



So, if you have a disability, you might find that you need to use a timer. If you're wondering why a timer would help someone function better, congratulations! You don't have to think about some things that are a big part of my life.

(Yeah I should chill out and be nicer but sometimes I get tired of feeling like I can't talk about things like timers because they are too weird.)

I liked to use timers when I was little just because I would time myself while I was singing. My family had a classy timer with three different displays--one would count the time something was taking, one was a typical timer that counts down, and one was a clock. There wasn't really any reason for me to time myself singing but I guess even at that age I could tell that I was going to have a long love affair with timers and I liked being around them.

When I was in fifth grade I spent about half a year being pretty organized and independent about getting ready in the morning. Until then, I would always have trouble getting ready because I would start thinking, spacing out, or reading books in the middle of doing things. But in fifth grade, I decided to start getting up at a certain time and turned my morning routine into a race where I was supposed to take a certain amount of minutes to do every piece of the routine. There was a natural reward in that if I finished everything fast enough, I'd have a bunch of time to watch TV and eat before school. I did pretty well with this for the rest of fifth grade, but in middle school I had to catch the bus earlier so the motivation to work that hard wasn't there.

In the last two years of high school I started getting a bit better at these things again because I would use music and timers to do all kinds of things like getting ready for school, taking showers, and studying. At that point in my life I really didn't like to think of myself as Autistic or disabled so I didn't really think about what I was doing, and I didn't know that other disabled people used timers. When I went to college and started living in a dorm with a roommate, I stopped using timers and music as much, because I had to do so many activities of daily living with someone else in the room, and I felt self conscious about it. Obviously, I wasn't able to do things as well or quickly once I decreased my use of timers. But I never totally stopped using timers and when I would play guitar, I really enjoyed timing myself and playing my songs in 5- or 10-minute intervals.

About the time I started writing this blog, when I was 20, I started using TV shows in a similar way to the way I use timers and music. In the last two years of college, I used timers and timer equivalents more than in the first two years, and the year after college I probably used them more than I ever had since I was in high school. I wouldn't say I use any of my timers or timer equivalents as effectively as I should, but I'm continuing to develop new ways to use them and learning more about them, and so I'm going to write some timer reviews, which will take into account what something is good for and how well it fits into my life. These are the things on my list so far:

1. West Bend timers
2. Update International timers
3. online-stopwatch.com
4. alarms on my phone
5. listening to CDs
6. YouTube videos
7. TV shows
8. singing
9. trains and buses
10. people

3. Real Life Facts

(Three)

This is just sort of a combination of part two. But I want to tell you some things you might not know (I guess).

In college, a person with a disability needs documentation in order to get accommodations. Even if the person comes in with severe CP and is like, "I need a notetaker," they still need a professional to have signed off on the fact that they can't take notes.

Usually the documentation has to be from the past three years, in case someone who has dyslexia might have stopped having dyslexia and lied about it just to be an asshole.

A lot of the time, if you are supposed to get an accommodation on tests, you have to get signatures allowing you to do this every time you have a test. Not everyone really has the brains to get signatures every time, but oh well. Not everyone has the brains to go and talk to a professor about their accommodations on the first day of class, which is also something you're supposed to do. But PWD don't get any support in doing that stuff.

If you don't mind me saying, this strikes me as a situation where people with disabilities are assumed to be con artists who are just trying to get sweet deals like enlarged handouts in class or their own special room to take a test in because they think they're too awesome to be in the same room as other people. It seems like PWD basically are supposed to get punished for being disabled and thinking that it might be their right to have school be as accessible to them as it is to everyone else.

I don't have experience with this, but my impression is that a lot of this stuff also happens when a person is on (or trying to get on) Medicaid or SSDI, or when a person is on disability leave from a job. They are assumed to be lying. Pretty much anything will prove it. I remember reading about a woman who was fired because she appeared smiling in a picture on Facebook, while she was on leave for depression. I think we have all seen people (including politicians) Tweet about how anyone who gets any kind of disability benefits, and also socializes on the Internet or in a bar, must not be really disabled. Doing anything fun or political or emotionally important to you means you are not disabled. If you can get yourself together to go to a bar for one hour, you clearly can get yourself together to work full-time. Even if you were in bed for 20 hours that day?

I saw a person Tweet during the TPGA dialogues about how self-identified disabled people writing TPGA posts and participating in comments could not possibly be struggling that much, which brings me around to what I was saying. These snap judgments of ability (and automatic attempt to discredit people who claim to be disabled) are exactly like real-life snap judgments that can have a significant effect on a disabled person's REAL LIFE.

So when you say, "You obviously can live on your own,"

and the person actually can't, and it is really scary because she can't live with her parents anymore, but she also knows that most people would assume she can live on her own and she won't be able to qualify for any kind of help, or even ask people she knows for help because they won't believe that she actually needs help,

her response to you is likely to be:


(Realistic Haunter.)

2. Unevenness and inexplicability

(Two)

One of the reasons I don't write primarily about my disability (if you were wondering), and also a reason I am balls at self-advocacy, is because I'm a person with--DUN DUN DUN!--uneven skills.

I actually don't believe in uneven skills! It's a social construct and this is obvious in the fact that--while people sometimes make practical blunders like assuming someone with a physical disability has a mental disability, or talking to someone who is blind the way you might talk to someone who is hard of hearing--most people would admit if they were asked that there is no logical reason someone who is blind must also be deaf, or someone who is physically disabled must also be mentally disabled. And no one feels the need to say someone has "uneven skills" because they can hear but not see.

But within categories of disability, especially the mental disability category, there's this expectation of evenness. If someone's abilities aren't exactly at the same "level," whatever that means, they're possibly an amazing curiosity, but probs lying.

A person can write but not talk? A person scores high on IQ tests but can't do well in school? A person does well in school but can't figure out how to go grocery shopping or make a meal? A person can cook but not clean? A person can make some kinds of phone calls but not others?

No way guys, all these people are just liars! Check it out, this person claims she can't talk, but I found a video of her SINGING! Oh hey, you said you can't make phone calls, but I know that you made a phone call one time. Caught in the act!

As a person who can't make certain kinds of phone calls, like phone calls to follow up on jobs for example, I would never be stupid enough to tell anyone this. When someone tries to give me advice on finding a job and the advice includes phone calls, I just stop listening to what they're saying and start smiling really big to show them that they're helping me LOTS.

"Why can't you make those phone calls?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I don't know? I just don't? I guess probably you could locate it in something about phone calls feeling insincere, and worrying about bothering people, and not knowing what I would say in the phone call, all of which are kind of horrible things, multiplied by like a hundred because I applied for a hundred jobs so there isn't even an end in sight."

"Oh so you could make one phone call."

"I mean, theoretically, probably? I'd sort of deal with it all day. I'd write myself a letter about it. Maybe someone could sit with me. But it isn't one phone call, it's a hundred phone calls."

"Why can't you make a hundred phone calls if you can make one?"

"Because it would take a hundred days."

"So you can make phone calls!"

"You're totally right, if I took a hundred days and used them to only make phone calls and felt calm about everything else. I could probably do it in less than a hundred days if I had my own personal phone call aide to support me in all the phone call problems and keep me from running away from the phone. Maybe I could even do it in a few days, with a phone call aide. You win. Great job. Are you going to hire one?"

"No, that's stupid."

"I know, so why did we have this conversation?"

No one knows!

One time my dad tried to have a conversation with me because I said something about it taking me a lot longer to do certain things than it took other people. He kept asking me why. I was like, "I don't know, but towards the end of college I started having to pull one or two all-nighters every week, because I could only get work done if I had that much time to do it in." My dad kept asking me why I didn't do things like "sleep for a few hours, and then wake up and work." I was like, "I don't know, because I know that wouldn't make any sense for the problems the all-nighters were supposed to correct?"

We had started having this conversation because I didn't think I could write letters that night if I also wanted to go to bed at a normal time. My dad said, "What about you bring your letters downstairs and I sit with you and make sure you write them right now?" This sounds nice, but I already knew what kind of conversation it was! For some reason I agreed anyway just to see what happened.

When I went upstairs, I said, "If I don't come downstairs in ten minutes, will you remind me to come downstairs?"

My dad was basically like, haha! Caught in the act!

Because--you saw this coming if you have "uneven skills"--the fact that I asked my dad to remind me to come downstairs showed that I actually was just lazy and didn't want to take responsibility for my own actions. Asking for this was the final straw that pushed him over into thinking that the whole problem I was describing (which he'd obviously made it clear he had his doubts about) was too ridiculous to be true.

I don't know if it seems weird that my dad wouldn't believe I was telling the truth, since I have been diagnosed with some disability or other since I was a little kid. In my family, whether I'm disabled is not a controversy. But when I try to tell my parents a fact about my disability, it is always assumed to be not true.

Uneven skills can also be called inexplicable impairments and they are basically anything someone thinks is ridiculous or impossible. I guess you might be wondering why I am just writing about myself, when I am supposed to be writing about Internet arguments. The reason is that, first of all, random Internet judgments of someone's ability tend to be made out of the same mindset that assumes someone is lying because their disability seems too "uneven" or unlikely.

Someone with a developmental disability is typing? Someone with a developmental disability is writing a blog? I saw on their Facebook that they're in college! My bullshit detector is going off--this combination of facts is simply too ridiculous to be true.

So first of all these judgments often come from the fact that most people have a poor understanding of uneven abilities (especially when those abilities are stated by a disabled person and not a parent or best of all a professional). But second of all, it's because so many disabled people are really used to having people (at best) smirkingly accept our stated impairments, if not outright challenge them, that it is so upsetting and frustrating to have some random person on the Internet imply we are not disabled because we have a blog. At least my parents tell me to my face that they think I'm trying to get away with something.

what not existing means to me

Thinking of trying to post here more.

So I'll just say the social skills conversation makes me CRAZY*? It's become yet another of the things I can't even stand to talk about kind of like when someone tries to tell me I'm high-functioning and can self-advocate.

(*I don't EVER think it is a problem to talk about and examine language use but I'm not necessarily for having rules about it, so please don't comment and tell me why you don't think I should use the word crazy, I know why you think that and I think about it all the time.)

and today I flipped out at my friend just because he happened to say something about having social problems, in a kind of "well, you know, you and I are different this way" sort of tone. I think I said something like, "NO! I'm so fucking sick of people like you getting everything and being THE ONLY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD" which after I said that I was kind of like, shit, what am I talking about? what does that mean? why am I mad?

I am not really mad at my friend, or another Autistic friend at whom I blew up similarly about two weeks ago.

I'm mad because before I got to know other people with autism and DD, I thought I was some kind of Super Minority, in fact I did not consider myself to be on the autism spectrum at all, because I was told that "Asperger's" or "HFA" (the type of autism I was supposed to have, being a college student who could talk) was primarily about "lacking social skills" which apparently in a classic form meant not reading facial expressions (which I'd been tested on so I knew I could do it), insulting people by mistake, making people listen to speeches about your interests, not being polite, not knowing what people were feeling, and so on.

So I wasn't like this so I usually didn't consider myself to have ASD. In fact sometimes I knew things about people that other people didn't know.

At the same time, it was pretty clear I was kind of batshit* (in terms of how I processed life and how I felt sometimes) and I also had trouble with things related to friends that no one I knew had trouble with. For example when I was a first-year in college I got really attached to a friend named Clayton and wanted to spend time with him every day, so I would go sit outside his door. He would be happy to see me when he was there but he usually wasn't there so I'd just be sitting there reading and doing my homework and I HATED myself. I liked him so much that I wanted to see him all the time but I got so I hated everyone who lived on the same floor as him because I thought they were watching me and thinking how I wasn't normal and I was some kind of creepy stalker, and the next year when Clayton started living with the guy who had lived next door to him it took me a long time to stop hating him because I believed that he judged me.

The next year I had a friend named Noah who was a good writer but wanted to quit writing because it made him depressed. Noah spent a lot of time listening to me talk because he was a quiet person and it made me miserable because I felt that Noah and I didn't have an "equal" friendship, so I snuck onto Noah's computer and read pieces of his writing that he had forbidden me to ever read. It caused a huge problem in our friendship that I sometimes think has never gotten better, and it happened because I was trying to do what I thought was the right thing. (For some reason not one but two people who read my blog and who I attempted to be friends with have used this story to illuminate something about me they don't like. Thanks guys. I actually already feel terrible about it and find it hard to write about because it was an awful experience, AND I'm not the kind of person who would ever do something like that anymore, so it's not even a good example of whatever you don't like about me now.)

In the last year of high school and the first few years of college, I considered a girl named Lisa my best friend. I stopped considering her my best friend after a fight we had on the phone until four in the morning, my senior year, about ten months ago. A lot of our fight had to do with her feeling that I was mean and overly strident about anti-ableism, something she told me she "just [didn't] care about, I guess I should, because you're disabled, but I just don't." I could be wrong but I wonder if she thinks that identifying as disabled is some new thing I just invented/discovered and isn't who I really am. It's something that makes me feel oddly guilty and start questioning myself--because if Lisa doesn't remember me being disabled, then how is it even real? She's my oldest friend and should be the best judge of things that are phases or poses.

But it was a really long fight, and towards the end Lisa started talking about how when we were first becoming good friends (I was about 16 and she was about 15), whenever we had a conversation I would talk for a while and say, "I've been talking too much, now you talk." Lisa can be quiet with people early on, and it made her feel bad like I was constantly criticizing her for not talking in the way I thought was correct. She was saying that early on things from our friendship still affected the way she felt about me and it was hard to get out of resenting me for them.

Obviously, "I've been talking too much, now you talk," looks to me very much like sneaking on Noah's computer because I thought our friendship was too one-sided, and being upset that with Clayton I always sought him out. Whatever you call that problem, it was the biggest problem I've ever had in relating to other people.

Anyway, before I got to know other people with autism and DD, it was obvious to me that I had some disabled type problems like moving a bit differently and loving things too much and getting so frightened that I couldn't sleep or recognize words, AND I also considered myself to have "social problems" because this stuff with Noah, Clayton, and Lisa wasn't something that most people seemed to worry about. My social problems were not textbook autism problems, so I figured my autism must be very mild, but at the same time they seemed to wreck my life so much more than just being rude or not reading facial expressions. When I would interact with people who I imagined might be "autistic"--people who monologued a lot and weren't very sensitive--they seemed SO much happier and less distressed than I was and they seemed to pretty much have friends and not be killing themselves over whether they were calling their friend on the phone first or their friend was calling them. So how could I be more "high-functioning" than these people? My social life occasionally exploded into these awful periods where I was convinced everyone hated me and I felt sick. Also, it was nearly impossible to make new friends, because I figured that all of my friends' friends would never want to be friends with me because I was such a fucking freak.

Where am I going with this? Well, when I got to know some more people with autism and DD, and I began to think critically about this, I came to some conclusions:

1. A lot of people with autism aren't at all like the textbooks.
2. Autism is a lot more than social stuff, even for people who can talk. (This came out of a long period of thinking of myself as "more like a severely disabled person, except I can talk" because severely disabled people were allowed to have a lot of emotional troubles and problems with transition and stuff.)
3. Eventually: social skills don't exist.
4. I am a human.

I know I am disabled, and accepting that has really changed my life, but so has believing that I'm not socially impaired. In February I went into the first class of my last semester and made an awkward comment/joke to the girl sitting next to me. She looked at me blankly and I started to feel about as low as a Yeerk squashed under an Animorphed elephant's foot. It almost ruined my whole day--then I thought, we have different senses of humor! Maybe she doesn't have much of a sense of humor at all! She isn't a representative of humanity, and I haven't lost a war. We're just NOT THE SAME.

Or, God forbid, someone doesn't understand something I said. This used to be something that I would actually LIE about and argue about to anyone who I perceived as trying to tell me that I wasn't normal and couldn't do everything I thought I could. "Of course they understood me! You're just being overprotective! Maybe there's something wrong with YOU!"

Hey, guess what: my speech is hard to understand. AND sometimes I say things in a way that is jumbled and not connected. Oh no I'm going to drop out of school and delete myself from the universe. No, actually, I'm fine and I'm just going to say it again more accessibly. Life is good.

The problem is

I am very political about disability because politics has saved my life.

I have never been able to finish writing about going to a doctor this winter. I sought out learning testing because I was really confused by how slow I felt and how hard it was for me to do schoolwork, Activities of Daily Living, and other things. I seriously thought some kind of huge mass was missing in my brain because I just was not happening. I considered suicide because my friend gave me the relatively simple, but unexpected, task of taking his car to the gas station when I was driving it. I started crying and begging myself to drive into every truck I passed on the road, because I COULDN'T GO TO THE GAS STATION, it was too hard.

So, the doctor diagnosed me with some learning disabilities which aren't very severe and which I'd already been diagnosed with before. And he kept telling me I was really smart, something I'd also heard before. This increased an already very suicidal winter and early spring to fever pitch. I cried every time I met with him. I wanted a brain hole. Sometimes I still do. What is with the gas station? Why can't I just go there?

I don't know.

So, the worst thing about meeting with the doctor was that he didn't believe I had autism. In addition to getting my learning testing, I was also hoping to get a re-diagnosis of ASD because I hadn't had one in 8 years and I figured I might need more recent documentation at some point. Unfortunately, the doctor was very well versed in learning disabilities, and didn't know very much else about bad brains. Every time I talked to him, I would make the mistake of referring to myself as having autism, and there would be this little record-scritching sound.

"Autism! I thought we agreed to throw that out!" (in the same tone of voice he used when telling me I am smart)

Then he would explain to me that if anything he might be convinced I had Asperger's, not autism, because it is strongly associated with one of the learning disabilities I had (even though I had very good eye contact, he said). Every time he said this, I would explain that Asperger's, PDD-NOS, and Autistic Disorder are all on the autism spectrum, and when I referred to myself as having autism, I was just using the word that my disabled friends and I used about ourselves, which was in fact consistent with how the psychiatric community was coming to classify people, since the DSM 5 would have only the autism spectrum and not three separate diagnoses. He and I had this conversation probably six times, every time I met with him. The final time, I actually started yelling. "THERE ARE THREE DIAGNOSES THAT ARE CONSIDERED AUTISM SPECTRUM DISABILITIES. WHEN I SAY I HAVE AUTISM, I JUST MEAN THAT I HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH TWO OF THOSE DIAGNOSES IN THE PAST, AND I BELIEVE THOSE WERE CORRECT DIAGNOSES. I AM NOT THE ONLY PERSON TO REFER TO THESE THREE DIAGNOSES AS 'AUTISM.'"

"So that's the new thinking?" he said.

I began crying (again).

Now I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I just say Asperger's because that was a label he obviously would have been more likely to accept, understand, and associate with someone as "smart" as he thought I was? Why did I need to have this fight every time I talked to him?

I don't really know. I can't send letters if I think even one word is arrogant, shifty, dishonest, or undeserved (you can imagine this makes it difficult to apply for jobs, as I usually become really unhappy and take on some less urgent project to distract myself). I can't stop saying I have autism if that's what I think I have, and if having it has helped me define myself in a way that has radically changed for the better how I live my life.

I was not diagnosed by him IIRC, and I am not seeking rediagnosis now. Diagnosis of autism would require social impairment. Here's some stuff I could say:

I don't have a lot of friends.
I don't lose friends in fights more than anyone else, but I seem to grow apart from them really easily.
I have no romantic or sexual history to speak of.
I often don't fit in very well in the workplace.
I was bullied a lot when I was growing up.
I had few friends or no friends most of the time, from the time I was about twelve to when I started college.

These are actually true facts, but I don't consider myself socially impaired.

Here are two things that piss me off when other Autistic people argue with me and tell me that social skills DO exist:

1. when they tell me (admittedly, because I'm very confrontational and force them to say it) that they think I do have social impairment. I guess that this is really just a huge trigger/mental block thing where to me it means something much worse than what they mean, but to me, when someone says this, it's like they're saying that I have a false view of the world, and that makes me very upset.

2. when they tell me that I need to acknowledge that some other Autistic people are very different from me and have really different impairments from mine, and that even though my impairments aren't related to socialization, some people's are.

Number 2 makes me start thinking, what the fuck is autism then? Can autism actually be THAT different? But I will bite. Let's say that a few different disabilities look similar enough to have all been categorized as autism, and let's say that while all of my isolation and conflict with people blah blah DOESN'T come from social impairment, but just comes from other parts of my disability and/or me as an individual, other people with autism who have similar experiences with people actually DO have those experiences because of social impairment. The books don't describe me, but they do describe them. In fact, the DSM definition of autism describes them, and it doesn't describe me. So, the DSM and mainstream professional thought about autism at least starts to describe one group of people with autism, but doesn't describe me at all, and if I went to a psychologist and started telling them about what I consider to be my disability--i.e. cognitive and emotional problems and the relationship between those two things--it would take a miracle for them to diagnose me with autism. Because I have the kind of autism that's less real than the other kind.

So, to me, when someone starts saying, okay, well YOU need to understand that other people do have REAL SOCIAL PROBLEMS and REAL SOCIAL SKILLS DEFICITS, even if YOU DON'T, I feel like they are saying I'm fundamentally different from a LOT of other people with autism, the REALLY REAL PEOPLE WITH AUTISM, probably. I feel like I'm being kicked out of my own disability. No wonder I tend to prefer to call myself bad brains and insane in the membrane and Magikarp zombie waste of space. It seems obvious I belong in the Autistic community, and I even have that treasured thing: a fairly early diagnosis (from 1998, when I was nine), but I know that I would be said to have "grown out of it" or been misdiagnosed, by any reasonable medical professional--I know it can be taken away any time, and sometimes I feel that by being inseparable from the theory and values that prove to me I have a right to exist, I am making it easier for people to erase me.

I am saying this because I want to apologize to you, and probably other people I've forgotten doing this to before. It isn't you, and it's probably not logical. I panic and start hitting out.

About Bad Brains

At one point, another person diagnosed with autism asked me why I would refer to myself as "bad brains" and if this was a joke. It's not a joke at all. The most obvious explanation I can think of for calling myself bad brains is that I'm committed to being as negative about disability as I care to be. I don't necessarily feel like people who talk about their disabilities positively are just characterizing themselves that way for political reasons, but that's not the way that I'm made. Maybe it's even part of my disability that nearly everything is the end of the world, and at the same time nothing is. It would be completely out of character for me to talk positively or even neutrally about being disabled, and I don't think I should have to do that to have my opinions about anti-ableism respected.

But this motivation--reclaiming negativity about disability--actually isn't even the major appeal of a bad brains identity. One of the big things I love about the phrase bad brains is that it can be used to indicate a lot of different things, and one of those things is a flaring up. It can be really hard to get respect from other people, or even feel that you deserve respect, if you don't have a disability that looks the same every day. When you are suddenly slow (or suddenly sad, and that makes you slow), or suddenly so angry that you can't tolerate doing anything slightly difficult or stressful, there isn't really anything to call this to try to explain why you're making what seem like very silly and strange decisions in an attempt to look after yourself, or why you can't do the things you can usually do. So I like to call it bad brains, as in, "I'm having bad brains today," or, "My brains are too bad to do that right now" or, "Sorry but my brains are about to go bad."

This isn't necessarily something that everyone understands, but some people pick up on it, some people in my life have learned what it means and, most importantly, it helps me explain and justify things to myself. It used to be completely unbearable because it felt unexplainable and overwhelming when things just went different for me and became much harder or more painful. I felt lazy and weak. At least now I can think of it as kind of like having a cold.

In addition to being really catchy and practical, bad brains is my identity of choice because it is so vague. I kind of hesitate to say this because I don't want to sound like I have some problem with having autism or that I don't identify with the Autistic community--obviously at any point when people with autism are being counted I will be specific and say that's what I am--but on a practical level and I guess a loyalty level, I don't really feel that AUTISM AUTISM AUTISM is the way to describe me or anyone. I'm just feebleminded, bad in the brain, slower than molasses going backwards, batshit, a lid-flipper, too stupid to live, NOS, awesome fuck-you surprise. Walking corpse. Magikarp refuses to evolve.

Autism is a big word, and I think if I attempted to say that what I experience is the definition of autism, that wouldn't be any more acceptable than people saying autism is a social disability. A lot of the people I feel really close to were diagnosed with autism--at the same time so were some people I couldn't feel less close to--so maybe let's just say that autism is a big word that describes what some disabled people look and act like, more or less, especially when they're young. I know this seems like a really aggressive rejection of the label, but I feel so extremely not represented by what professionals say about autism, while also being similar enough to a lot of other people who were diagnosed with autism that I don't think the classification is meaningless.

When I meet Autistic people who resemble the Asperger's stereotype (this is mostly visible in how they converse), I feel a certain sense of attachment and relief. But it's not any more than I would feel if I met someone with an intellectual or psychiatric disability, or even if I met someone who wasn't diagnosed with a disability but has a lot of similar stuff going on. In fact, in some cases I can feel a stronger sense of attachment and community (in terms of what we are like, and what our disability is practically like) with a person who belongs to one of the other groups than with a person who belongs to the group that's supposedly my group. It's true that all the people I'm close to online have autism, but that isn't the case with the disabled or disabled-ish people I'm friends with in real life.

I like to say bad brains because I think it is kind of a way of being more practical by addressing exactly what is going on. My early life doesn't really matter right now, what matters is what I have to manage and what I'm experiencing day to day, which is bad brains. It also matters what I have in common with other people because if we're dealing with similar things we can help each other. That "what" is bad brains, not autism.

Bad brains is not your medical history. Bad brains is just a fact.

small things

(This is kind of a messy post, because I started wanting to write it a few days ago and when I don't write things immediately they become disjointed. But I think I'm possibly hitting on some useful stuff.)

Recently Dave Hingsburger wrote a post (which I really liked) about riding a renovated elevator with his partner and a woman with an intellectual disability whom they both knew. The numbering system for the floors of the building had been changed in the renovation, and the woman was confused and scared that the floor she usually got out on had a different number. In his post, D.H. used the incident to discuss different kinds of accessibility--like, people are supposed to understand that, as a wheelchair user, he needs an elevator. But even if people can understand that, or at least accept it when they're told, they can still be unaware (and unsympathetic) when they're creating a barrier for someone with a developmental disability.

Something that I thought was interesting, though, is that D.H. put a disclaimer on the post, apologizing because he hadn't written it carefully and it might be offensive. I'm really unclear on how it could possibly be offensive--because he's calling out his readers who don't accommodate people with DDs when they should? I'm pretty sure that's not it. So I found myself wondering if he was worried that he was making people with intellectual disabilities look bad, or being patronizing, or something, because he was talking about the issue that this woman had.

And, you know, I get that. Being confused about things that other people don't get confused about is one of the most embarrassing things there is. Personally, I have often thought that one train station, or street, is a completely different one. I also misremember times; nothing falls into place for me, things always have to be completely thought through which is something I don't have time for, so: mistakes. And if some new option appears in the middle of a day that I had laid out for myself, I'll do anything to avoid it. It just feels miserable (which has kept me from getting jobs, and so on, because I didn't interview when they first contacted me).

I'd pretty much happily try to keep people in the dark, just because it's frustrating; the moment you realize, for example, that this isn't the train station you thought it was, so what you were saying doesn't make sense, and your friend is waiting for the rest of what you were going to say; everything becomes perfectly clear, so clear that you can't believe you didn't understand it before. So you want those other parts of you to disappear, the parts that existed a minute ago and had everything wrong. You just want the past to drop out of sight so you can move forward like you were never wrong.

The thing is, though, that my instinct feeds something dangerous. The problem with mistakes and slowness and confusion is that they can't necessarily be measured or felt as easily as blindness--and, for that matter, they can't be felt as easily as other aspects of intellectual disability or autism or other disabilities that result in these kinds of small problems. Because they are small problems, and looked at one by one they're not worth worrying about. They're funny. So you got confused about the new elevator. Just laugh at yourself and move on.

The problem is that we have to take stock of small things if we make regular mistakes or are very easily confused. Small things become impossible to laugh at, and even worse because other people don't understand the drain on your time and energy that it takes to recover from so many small things; because other people are just slightly annoyed with you every time.

The problem is that these things seem so embarrassing and stupid that you kind of want to forget they were ever there at all. If it's you, it makes you feel bad about yourself. If it's someone else, maybe you feel that you're airing their dirty laundry. D.H. makes a point of saying that the woman in his post is "bright and competent," as if the events of the post would cause his readers to assume otherwise. Which is probably a reasonable fear because the small things don't even exist in our conscious mind as disability, exactly; at least a lot of people try to understand that you respect someone even if they can't see, can't walk, can't talk--but the small things are still so invisible that they can just completely bias us against someone else or against ourselves, because we see them as an indicator of being inferior in some way.

One of my big issues with disability services at school is that they're completely ignorant of the small things. Accommodations are always about specific things that are agreed on beforehand. There are never accommodations for after you make a mistake (forgetting to show up for an exam, forgetting to turn in a paper that you actually finished). You just have to hope you'll be lucky, because the idea is that people (even disabled people) who work hard and concentrate don't make mistakes. There is no room for that.

I think it is easier, in terms of understanding and accommodation, to be unable to do a particular thing than it is to be able to do it some of the time, or to have it be a lot harder for you than it is for other people but to always be able to do it eventually if you put in the maximum amount of effort and time. Obviously, part of treating disabled people fairly has to be understanding complexities of disability and understanding that it absolutely isn't fair to expect someone to be at the top of their game all the time or working ten times as hard as everyone else--even if they technically can do the same things, with unlimited time, in a vacuum. And I think a really important part of talking about the complexity of mind disabilities is talking about times when people misunderstand things and make mistakes. This is such a timesuck and can make you miserable--and, yes, mistakes seem stupid after, but that doesn't stop the effect of making a ton of them.

But it's really difficult to talk about these kinds of incidents--confusion and fear and mistakes--because we think that they reflect badly on us, you know? Maybe we're immature. We should have done something different. But we really have to talk about them, or there will never be support for people who need it, because a lot of us will always keep making mistakes.

probably going to delete this because it makes me sound super unstable, so enjoy it while you can.

I'm going to a doctor tomorrow to hopefully get a lot of cognitive/learning testing, because even though I've been diagnosed with ASD a few times and stuff, a word like ASD isn't really useful when you are just really stupid at the things I'm stupid at. And I really want to know, and be able to tell people, exactly what's going on. My mom told me to write some stuff to talk to him about and I wrote this (but I won't say all of this obviously, but I thought you might think it was interesting):

Emotional Problems--which I understand are going to seem like the main thing, and it’s going to seem like, why am I going to a learning specialist for this stuff, but bear with me.

Anxiety, which sometimes feels like stereotypical anxiety but usually feels like a boring or distracting thing, like fatigue, or dissociation/derealization (I think this is interesting: I have a very strong sense of time and past, so sometimes people and things from a very specific time period will become unreal, while I, and people and things from other periods of my life, will still feel real), or a really strong desire for something to happen, or a desire to leave, when I’m waiting in a line or in class--like, a sudden sense of intense anger if for example someone cuts in front of me in line or my professor says, “well, let’s just stay a minute longer so we can all finish translating this”

Suicidal ideation, et. al. Mostly, I had a really strong interest in getting a traumatic brain injury by getting myself hit by a car, or jumping out a window headfirst. About the time I turned 22, it was all I could think about, since if you get a TBI before age 22, you’re classified legally as “developmentally disabled,” but if you get it after age 22, you’re classified as “elderly/physically disabled,” and you get worse services. Besides, I already have a DD since I have autism, and I’d rather get services with people like me. So I spent the days before I turned 22 thinking about how I should really probably get hit by a car. And then a few weeks later, after I’d missed the deadline to get my TBI, I started thinking maybe I should just actually kill myself. I know all this seems unreasonable, but I’m getting to the point. Just from knowing a bunch of other people with autism, I know that it’s not all that weird for me to have the kind of cognitive problems I have, but a lot of people don’t know that, even professionals. There’s no easy way to explain to people why stuff is so hard for me. I feel terrible. I feel stupid and lazy. I hate asking for extensions from professors, or help from disability services at school, and it’s really hard because I have to explain everything, and I usually feel like they resent me. I really hate the disability services person at my college, because in my brief dealings with her she’s made it really obvious that she doesn’t think I have any real problems--but I had to transfer my credits from study abroad, and I really needed help figuring out what to do, and if I didn’t do it I wouldn’t be able to graduate--so I arranged to meet with her. All I needed was for someone to sit with me while I made a list of everything I needed to do to complete the process; and she did that, but she was still really patronizing. (I’m actually not as paranoid as I sound; I know several people who have had bad experiences with her.)

Last summer, I worked at a sleepaway camp for disabled adults. I mostly really like working with other people with DDs, because it’s a more comfortable environment and I don’t have to worry whether anyone is noticing that I’m disabled, because I’m not the only disabled person there. I mostly enjoyed my job. But at one point, I had these campers who were older men with Down Syndrome and they would all get really confused when they were getting dressed and brushing their teeth and showering, and basically needed help staying on track for everything. Which is basically what I’m like, unless I try really hard and focus really hard. I wasn’t really able to shower easily, without getting off track, until I was probably 19 or 20.

So, it was really hard for me to remember everything I had to remember to help these guys get dressed, and stuff. I felt so incredibly incompetent and I felt like none of the other staff understood why it was so hard for me. I mean, most of them didn’t know I have autism, but even the people who I was more friendly with and had told--I mean, people just think autism means you’re socially awkward or something. So I was just getting so worn out, and I just couldn’t help feeling super jealous, and wishing I was more severely disabled like they were, so that it would be someone else’s responsibility to make me get dressed in the morning and take showers and stuff. And that if I couldn’t do something, people would just think that was understandable, and help me, instead of thinking I was an asshole, and I wouldn’t feel like I had to just hide it or lie about it because that’s the polite thing to do. So this is why I want a brain injury, or sometimes want to kill myself. Not exactly because of the cognitive problems, but because they’re not something I can prove, and I feel like a stupid person who’s probably just lying and being really lazy. I sort of hope that you’ll give me these tests and they’ll come back saying that I have the working memory of an 5-year-old, or something--like, I don’t even need to tell other people that, if I just knew that for sure, I’d be so happy.

But anyway.

Cognitive Problems--
shit for brains
i.e.:

it’s really hard to remember anything short-term. You can’t tell right now because I’m not in school, but usually I have a bunch of instructions written on my hand and on my computer keyboard so I can remember to do things. I try to keep assignment books or whatever, but it takes a lot of mental switching around to write down all the assignments, and it takes a lot to remember to look at the assignment book, so it doesn’t really work. So I put it on my computer and my hand because I don’t have to remember to look at them. As soon as I stop looking at something, it tends to disappear from my consciousness unless I try really hard to keep it there.

Also it’s hard to transition. Ever. It’s just really unpleasant to have to switch from doing one thing to doing something else, or to have my day go differently from the way I expected. For example, once I was really upset because a professor and the other people in a class told me that I would have to switch my work shifts to a different day, because the professor wanted to move the class to a different time. I didn’t know how to switch my shift because I don’t do things like that.

I just need someone to walk me through things, like, figuring out how to do stuff, but it’s almost impossible to ask someone to do that and that is why I sometimes want to kill myself--it’s not the fact that stuff is hard, it’s the fact that such stupid things are hard and it is so close to being easy. If it was just someone’s job to help me do stuff for an hour a week, my life would be completely different, but it’s not, so it’s not.

That is all I can remember right now, and it doesn’t really seem like a big deal--it even seems funny. And it is on the small scale. But if you’re actually in college and you can’t remember things and it’s hard to transition, and then you get to feeling anxious about all the things you’re trying to keep in your head, when the absolute most pleasant thing would be to forget them because you probably won’t be able to do them anyway, so you start cutting corners and dropping little things, because you don’t want to get upset; and you can’t stand to think about how things really are in terms of school, because you’re afraid you would get so upset you’d never come back from it; and you can’t really ask people for help because no one really gets or is trained for this stuff, and you don’t exactly understand yourself what is wrong...well, then, you just start thinking it would be better to die, not because you’re sad all the time or something, but just because it is the only easy answer to the question.

Disabled Staff Person

I think I've mostly written about being a DSP in terms of identity and also aspects of disability that aren't related to impairment, like movement--basically that it is disorienting to always be assumed to be non-disabled or be someone who moves/acts normally because you are staff, especially but not only when staff have an insulting or patronizing attitude toward the people they work for and expect you to share in that.

However, there's obviously something else that makes a DSP different from other staff people, and that is impairment. While I do think the assumption that staff people are non-disabled often comes from just general...um, ablenormativity? is there a word for that?...there's also a more solid reason for that assumption, and that is that staff are supposed to be helping people do things they can't do on their own. So, if you are a DSP (unless your disability is absolutely unrelated to your client's disability, like you have paraplegia and they have schizophrenia) you may sometimes be in the position of being expected to help someone do something that it's hard for you yourself to do without help.

Which kind of begs the question: are DSPs good staff people (assuming there is some impairment overlap between staff and client)? Should DSPs be staff people?

Well, let's try to think first of all what it means to be staff. Let's say there are two kinds of staff: staff and aides. I tend to think you should think of yourself as an aide (it's a word I prefer but I'm not sure if I deserve it). To me the relationship between staff and client is that the staff person has authority, usually because they work for someone else more powerful, and they try to get the client to follow rules. The relationship between aide and client is that the aide's job is to help the client do things that they need or want to do. Depending on the impairment, like if it involves memory problems, an aide might say something that sounds staff-y like, "Hey John, it's time to take a shower," but there will be a different motivation and the aide and John will have discussed when John wants to be reminded to take a shower.

I think impairment matters more if you are an aide. Since staff/client is mostly about staff making clients follow rules, a lot of the things the staff has to do are pretty random and have nothing to do with impairment. In some cases, you could actually switch the client with the staff and the client could perform the staff's job pretty well. For example, at the summer camp where I worked it was a rule that campers (who were mostly adults with intellectual disabilities) couldn't serve themselves at meals. Obviously some people actually did need help serving themselves, but mostly I was sitting at a table asking a bunch of people if they wanted carrots who, if not for the rule, could have just gotten some carrots themselves. And this completely artificial rule added all these dimensions to my relationship with the campers at my table, which was weird.

There's also the fact that having a good relationship with clients becomes more important if you are staff. If John and his aide Sarah don't particularly like each other, it's not any bigger a deal than someone not liking one of their coworkers. They can just be polite to each other because they're both getting what they want (Sarah is getting paid for doing her job, John is getting support he needs). But if Sarah is staff--i.e. she has to get John up at seven every morning to ride in a van to the sheltered workshop--you'd better hope the two of them are really close because John is likely to be pissed off at her a lot of the time.

No one does their job right all the time, so I feel like the measure of whether someone's good at their job is just whether they're good at the majority of the things they're required to do. Let's say I'm an aide for someone who constantly forgets what they're doing from one minute to the next. I've mentioned how extremely difficult this is for me because, well, that's what I'm like except I guess I'm slightly above the line where I get staff for it. I am going to suck at helping this person dress, shower, etc.--if I'm this person's aide I'm basically going to suck at my entire job. (I also know from past experience that I start resenting the fact that if the person doesn't get dressed etc., that is considered to be my fault not theirs, whereas in my own life if I don't get dressed etc., that is considered to be my fault too; and stuff like that.)

However! If I'm this person's staff person, I could be great at my job. I can do a bunch of random easy stuff that my employer inexplicably requires me to do instead of letting the client do it. I also--and yes I feel very creepy saying this--am very good at convincing "non-compliant" people to do stuff, and calming down people who are upset. So my success rate at doing the tasks required of me suddenly goes up from, say, 50% to 90%, in the change from aide to staff person. I become competent, for some very dumb reasons, and at the cost of someone else's freedom.

I think it's very important to explore these facts because there is not very much writing about being a disabled staff person (let's include any kind of figure who offers support and can abuse power--teacher, psychologist, etc.) for disabled people. I have to figure this out for myself. And I think just as non-disabled people assume all staff are non-disabled, it seems like disabled people kind of do too when setting up the staff/disabled relationship as simply oppressor/oppressed.

So let's be clean about this.

1. I don't know why non-disabled people choose to become staff. Maybe they think it will be easy because they have someone disabled in their family who they get along with. Maybe they do it out of charity. Maybe they just think it's fun. Maybe they couldn't find another job.

2. I decided to be staff because I am disabled and it seemed like the only safe option. If I work in environments where no one is disabled, then I end up feeling under a lot of pressure to pass and I feel depressed and isolated, and end up experiencing the whole dissociation and self-injury swarm of awesomeness. I'm also not good at a lot of normal jobs because I can be very slow and don't think about big systems very well. Being staff not only frees me from a lot of these problems, but often provides me with the experience of getting to be around other disabled people, which makes me calmer and happier. I don't feel that I have another choice but to do this kind of job.

3. But it's very, very important for me to think about the ways that my attempts to protect and look after myself can damage other people. I wrote a post addressing some semi-related issues a long time ago--mostly about how I prefer working in segregated environments. Now I find myself thinking about how I prefer (for myself, if I resolutely ignore how it affects other people, which I can't) being a staff person rather than an aide.

So where does all that leave me?

I think there are two directions I can go in. One is to practically accept that I could easily contribute to fucked-up situations (either contributing to oppression by being staff, or contributing to someone's life being a little worse by being a subpar aide), and to decide that I will always avoid those situations by:
    a. being an aide for someone whose support needs are primarily physical, emotional, and/or communicative, rather than cognitive
    b. being staff (i.e. an authority figure) in an environment where I don't think it's wrong for me to have authority--for example, working with kids instead of adults

The other direction is to argue that maybe I actually am a good aide for people who have my kind of impairments, even though I suck at some stuff, because I have more rapport with them and am good in emergencies or something, and that that should outweigh my drawbacks. But I don't know if those things do outweigh them. Emergencies don't happen enough to really become the kind of task that can change your success percentage from 50% to 90%. And like I said--although I wouldn't want to be an aide for someone I didn't click with, and wouldn't keep a job like that for long--I think that getting along with clients is awesome but it should not be part of the job because if you need to use your bond to get them to do something, then there's something wrong with the job. So I will go with the first option.

Next year I'm planning to work as a school aide for kids with disabilities (don't get confused by the terminology, this is a staff person job), and I may keep doing that for a while to get my head straight and figure out what else is okay for me to do. Before you ask, "But Amanda, why don't you just apply to a place that gives people aides, and tell them that you have a disability and you need these kinds of clients, or if you have clients who have certain kinds of impairments, you can only work with them on certain things?" I'd like to remind you that this blog is not a comedy club.

oh yeah so part two--on being vicious about yourself

So my former professor and advisor, Phyllis, has ADHD or something like that. She was a very nice person to have a professor partly because she would always do things like losing her coat when we moved to a different classroom, scheduling meetings and forgetting to keep them, sending emails saying "here's your assignment" but forgetting to include the attachment.

I feel so lucky to have met her because at the same time I was in her class, I was in another class with a professor who hated my guts. These are some explanations he gave to me and other students in the class:

I was "really weird"
I didn't use body language that made me look interested in class
I forgot to turn in a paper once (I had done it and brought it to class; I literally forgot to turn it in)
I was late to the first class because I misremembered when it started
I talked as if I hadn't done the reading (for the record I don't talk about reading I haven't done; I'm not...there I go again)

I would have ended up feeling like I deserved all this just because I had on two occasions forgotten to do things--not because I didn't care about class but simply because my working memory is super poor. But Phyllis's class was a place where I could feel safe. Phyllis cared a ton about her subject and her students, but she forgot to do things. Her class was a place where it was understood that a person can work hard and care, but sometimes not be able to do what's expected.

She is the only professor I've ever become friends with and I still see her sometimes even though she's retired.

Anyway, the last time I saw her she told me out of the blue, "One time you wrote me an email that said, 'I'm so stupid, I forgot to do this.' And I thought that was wonderful! It was so freeing! Now I started saying, 'I'm so stupid.'"

I was really interested that Phyllis said this because usually I feel under a lot of pressure from non-disabled people to avoid saying things like, "Sorry," and "I'm stupid." Like, I guess that people think they're being nice, but it just feels like they're trying to silence you. For someone like me who feels really required to check that I'm doing things properly, if someone just tells me something like what my boss told me this summer--"The only problem with you is that you keep thinking you're doing something wrong and it makes me sad!"--that makes me feel like the person would rather I handle any anxiety or guilt completely on my own, which makes it much worse, rather than making it visible to them by asking them if I'm doing something wrong or apologizing for real or perceived mistakes.