Content/trigger warning: abuse mention, disordered eating, money, death mention, reclaimed slur, cursing
I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired.
For personal reasons I can’t go into right now, my CPTSD has been having a motherfucking field day. So much hypervigilance, so many nightmares, and even flashbacks, which my antipsychotic has failed to keep at bay. (Fortunately I’m going to see my prescriber in a few weeks and I’m going to ask him for a higher dose.) I have been feeling unsafe for about a week and my dissociative disorder was protecting me by presenting only particular facets of my identity. Now I’m coming back to myself and I really should be job-hunting and doing other productive things, but I need to take some time to re-integrate my personality. I’m still feeling kind of fractured. I have also slid down the slippery slope from purging after eating normal amounts to eating…I’m guessing something like 700 calories a day.
I also feel pathetic enough to ask for help.
I’m unemployed and living in an abusive situation. I’m trying to get a job that will pay for me to move out, but my mental health is really suffering, and it’s interfering with my job search. (Thank fuck for anxiolytics, which will probably get through me with an interview I have this week.) These entries often take a lot of emotional labor. If my work has helped you, or you are able and willing to help a Disabled writer a little, I’m adding a PayPal donate button to this blog. Well, actually, to this entry.
Also, here are some topics I’m planning on covering soon:
-changing language regarding disability (person-first language vs. identity-first language, why we–including me–should use the suffix “-misia” instead of “-phobia”)
-how to be a good ally to mentally ill people
-ableism in academia
-models of disability
-the ableism inherent in the idea of “the opioid epidemic” and how it’s really a war on chronic pain sufferers
-ableism and eugenics
-ableism in comedy
That’s it for now. No quote today because I don’t want to end up bawling because I had to look up something related to Carrie Fisher and be reminded that she’s gone. Yeah, I know, it’s fucked up to be so upset about the death of someone I never even met, but if you’re reading this, you should know I’m fucking crazy.
Mentally ill activist and angry Disabled loudmouth. Neuroqueer as hell.