Some rando: You should think about stopping your prescription
Me: My pills make me not want to die tho
They: You shouldn’t want to die, that’s not normal
Me: Yeah that’s why I’m taking my pills
Again: But you aren’t the *real* you when you’re on your pills
Me: I’m the alive version of me
An actual doctor, once: “Relying On A Chemical Crutch For A Hormonal Imbalance Denies The Fortitude Of The Human Soul”
Me: Cool so like I’m agnostic
They: “But you might be on pills the rest of your life!”
Me: “So?”
Good! That means that I have a “rest of” my life to continue living!
Thanks to the pills.
Meanwhile, no person ever: “You should think about giving up your insulin/antiretrovirals/beta blockers/anti-rejection drugs/prosthetic legs/daily multivitamin, because using those your whole life is bad for some reason”
Oh no, they do that too.
I have a kidney transplant. A woman once told me she didn’t believe in organ transplants and that people should just die when they’re meant to.
Sounds like a great set-up for a murder
People who are fully healthy, fit and neurotypical seem to think they are that way because they’re doing something right that the rest of us haven’t thought of, and not just because they got lucky
Speaking of the luck of the non-disabled…I once terrorized a Karen who was using me to teach her entitled kid that disabled people are Other and should not be treated with respect. I told her (truthfully) that until I was twenty-eight, I wasn’t visibly disabled. Then a defective chromosome that I hadn’t known about kicked in. So my luck ran out. But until then, I had been normal–just…like…her.
The sheer terror on her face as the concept of “You mean I’ve just been lucky so far?” seeped into her brain was a thing of beauty.
People who are fully healthy, fit and neurotypical seem to think they are that way because they’re doing something right that the rest of us haven’t thought of, and not just because they got lucky
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“You are one stroke of bad luck, common viral illness, or traumatic event away from being just like me” is honestly the most terrifying thing you can tell an abled person - and you should. I was healthy and fit and doing everything ‘right’ too - right up until some inner switch flipped and my body crumbled right out from under me.
just remembered a night out at a poetry slam thing when we’d switched up from a cane to an elbow crutch (because we hadn’t yet realised we needed a wheelchair) and some rando at the thing asked us about our crutch (as abled people will) so we said “some neurological bs” and they said “hope you get better soon” and we said to them levelly “oh this isn’t getting better” and the look on their face
This is a very hard thing for many people to grasp, because… it challenges so many of the things that, for them, make life worth living.
the idea that there’s an inherent justice to the world, and those who consistently do right will eventually see some good results from it, something that makes it all worthwhile.
the idea that you are safe.
the idea that you deserve whatever good things you have. (and that you don’t have any reason to give up your own happiness to feel bad for others who lack those things, or give up your own good fortune to share with them)
and that lacking good things happens for comprehensible reasons– so if you do the right things, you don’t have to fear ever being one of those who lack. (And that you actually have any real way of knowing what “the right things” even are.)
the idea that we, individually, have any power over what happens to us.
the idea that free will is actually meaningful, and that the few meager things about our lives that we can (somewhat) control are actually capable of making a difference against the vast enormity of what we can’t control.
…
…the fact that none of these comforting thoughts are true, feels awfully bleak and hopeless.
To the point that, if your own life hasn’t yet forced you to give up those beliefs, you might find yourself unable to let go of them, because the alternative is too terrifying
As someone with mental and (increasingly) physical disabilities, my own mental health fights a battle against this hopelessness every. single. day
…
and, like.
I believe there IS actually some hope for something better…
if enough people can come to the agreement that a lot of people’s good fortune (including good health) IS really just luck… and that the bad things in their lives (often even including bad behaviors!) can get at least somewhat better with help from others…
if enough of us could someday let go of the concept of deserving and not-deserving… this focus on blame and punitive justice, and this obsession on bad circumstances being deserved punishments
and if enough of the more fortunate people could contribute from their own lucky circumstances to help others… with no thought of who deserves what, and no other goal except making a world that will, in general, overall, be better for pretty much everyone
then…
Well, I’m not saying this will make everyone’s life live up to the current unrealistic ideal of perfect health.
(It won’t! there will still be people with severe problems, both mental and physical! And if people’s current expectations don’t change a whole lot to go along with it, there are gonna be a lot of people who think this whole societal improvement was a failure, even if it does succeed!)
But. if humanity can find itself capable of this big, big shift in worldview? then… there is hope. For something better. Not great, not perfect, but… better.
And it’s hard enough to believe this is possible sometimes. Because, again– even if I do all of what I think are the “right” things, in order to work toward this better world? That doesn’t necessarily mean anything will come from all my hard work.
Like everything else, it’ll depend on luck. And on the combined actions of lots and lots and LOTS of other people, none of whom I can control at all.
But it’s all the hope we’ve got, so… I still try.
A little addition to this part:
It’s a tricky thing to find any balance between the bleakness of “nothing I do can make any difference”
and the small hope (but also, the danger of victim-blaming) that comes from “sometimes, what I do can make a difference.”
because, yes…
the things we have some small control over in our lives?
they can change things.
But only in a probabilistic way
that is:
There are things I can do in my personal life, to increase the chance of my being healthy.
there are things I can do in my interactions with others, to increase the chance of the world getting better
And this is meaningful, on some level.
and yet.
if I try to think about those things in any way that’s comforting?
then it becomes dangerous.
Because to be comforted by it, is to conclude that doing the right things will make me (and the world) safe.
It would mean believing that these choices can move my risk of bad health, or the world’s risk of disaster, into negligibly small probabilities.
And the reality is that it won’t.
There’s nothing I, as an individual, can do to make those probabilities negligibly small.
I can make them smaller than otherwise, but I cannot make anyone safe.
Not safe enough for the thought to be comforting.
and the moment I convince myself that I can? That’s when, logically, I will have also convinced myself that others can too, and that others are therefore at fault if they’re not safe.
Which is not a mindset I ever want to be in.
so. Basically… Doing the right things is worthwhile, for the increased probability of good outcomes.
And yet… “increased probability of good outcomes” isn’t a soundbite that brings the same emotional catharsis as “be safe” or “get what you deserve.”
It’s not satisfying, it’s not comforting.
But it’s still worth it.
Just sometimes hard to keep believing that.