Living Extremophile: Life with Invisible Disability

There is a sunlit staircase I can see vividly in my mind, made of the light-colored stone that so much University architecture uses. To this day, I can’t remember if it was Watson or Anschutz (probably Anschutz after a Psychology class), but I remember the warmth of the sun spreading between my shoulder blades. I remember how my energy that day felt like the ground was nudging me up with every step. I jogged up the steps to the top and blew through the door of the library to study something clinical and science-like that really interests me but probably would bore most readers (really admittedly, I am pretty dull unless you somehow break through my shell, which can be difficult!). It was one of those few perfect days without pain or fatigue enough to really break consciousness. It was a day I felt so free and untethered that it felt like if I just jumped a small way in the air, maybe for a second, I could fly. Or maybe for me, being able to run up some steps was being able to...

In class the other day, one of our guest panel speakers asked four questions, and asked us to raise our hands if the answer was yes. These questions often are part of measures of inclusion and can be used to reveal barriers to access.

In the fall of 2017, I took a class in Disability Studies. I took this class, in part, to find ideas and tips for how, "they" managed. They. They managed. How people with disabiltiies--who weren't me, because I wasn't disabled (feel free to insert eye-roll here, because when looking back on myself at this time, I totally do!). Not me. Them.

So I know that I haven't written for several weeks now. I have been busy with starting graduate school while sick. As I am still fighting the bronchitis two days away from a full month since I first came down with it, I also have another infection from the Prednisone to treat the bronchitis. I want to revisit this issue of systemic violence in ableism.

It is extremely typical of me to dive right in to discussion and completely neglect important things like introductions for those who might not know me personally, and answers to basic questions they might have like: "Who are you", "Why should I be reading this?", "Why should I care?" and "Good Lord your grammar is atrocious, when are you going to do something about that?"

Ableism is violence. Sit with that a minute. Give it fair contemplation before dismissing it.