It *IS* That Serious: Notes on a Fibro Attack

Note: This is my first post since one of my dogs, Frank, died last week, so if I seem less articulate (or possibly angrier) than usual, that is why. RIP, Frank.

Right now, I am weighing the pros and cons of a.) going back to bed; or, b.) attempting to take a bath, which may make me more exhausted than I already am, though it may also bring a few minutes of relief from physical pain.

Most people do not have to make this sort of choice. Some, when confronted with the fact that a friend, or acquaintance, or relative has an "invisible" disease or disability, may think or say something to the effect of, "Oh, it can't be *that* serious. All she/he has to do is get out of bed/think positively/lose weight/stop consuming dairy products/et cetera." To someone who has never experienced having a chronic health condition, it sometimes doesn't look that bad. The average person may think, Well, if I had that, I would do x, y and z differently, and then I would get better. Why Jane or John isn't doing x, y or z is beyond me! The average person may think they know the key to "getting better."

What I am about to say is harsh, but, as noted scholar Robert Jensen says, the truth can be very painful.

If you think you know how to "beat" chronic illness and you do not have a chronic illness or medical training in the field, you do not know shit.

I had great plans for today. I was planning to wake up early, take my little Yorkshire Terrier for a nice long walk so that he could spread individual droplets of pee on as many trees as possible, and then I would spend the rest of the day writing, but only one of those things happened. I took Winston on an abridged walk and then returned to my apartment, exhausted.

I then slept for most of the day. This was not what I had planned. I was feeling bad yesterday--fatigue and back spasms--so I had a bit of warning, but I was completely unprepared for the backache-that-somehow-got-worse-and-turned-into-a-sinus-headache extravaganza. Some of the time, I have "warning" signs that come before an attack: intense joint and muscle pain, fatigue that affects nearly everything I do, pain in odd places such as my temples, foot arches, or heels. Some of the time, I do not have these signs and, as a result, am promptly knocked upon my startled ass for yet another round.

So today, here is where I am: I cannot finish anything--be it a cartoon drawing about having an attack, lunch, or making an iTunes playlist. Indeed, writing this post has taken over an hour and a half (I can usually crank one out in less than 45 minutes). My head feels like it's been stuffed with that material used to make copper dish-scrubbing sponges, and Sudafed has yet to make a pill with codeine in it, so I'm stuck. My feet are both sore and restless, and I don't know whether I should soak them to get rid of the first symptom, or dance around like a maniac to get rid of the second.

To employ additional metaphor at this point in order to describe the fatigue, hand, arm and back pain would be a good strategy, but how does one describe incredible pain?

I suppose, then, that it would be best to draw a comparison by invoking one of the great classics of modern film, and that film is Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. The final twenty or so minutes of that film are what I think of whenever I say the words "Fibro attack." In the film, the astronaut, Bowman, travels across time and space, where, finally, he witnesses his own process of aging and eventual death. Though the final frames of the film (where he is reborn) seem full of hope, there are certain words that come to my mind when I think of this sequence. Alienation. Loneliness. Bowman is literally trapped--he must go through the process of wandering time and space alone, until he witnesses his own pain and decay. Someone who has a chronic illness must go through something similar; while we may not transcend the boundaries and rules of space and time, illness is a solitary thing. Unless you have a parasitic twin attached, it is unlikely that anyone will be able to intimately know what your experience is like--both in the physical and emotional sense.

That is precisely what can be so frustrating about illness: it is solitary, it is painful, and there is no polite way to explain to well-meaning, non-ill people that it really can be that serious.

The Dreaded Co-Mingling of LJ and This Blog

MY THOUGHTS ON FAT, LET ME SHOW YOU THEM.

And if you feel the need to apologize for your not-that-clever post title in order to save your own ass, chances are that you perhaps shouldn't title your post "Listen up lardbutts" (sic).

I thought part of the purpose of higher education was to help people develop critical thinking skills so that they could, in addition to other things, question their own assumptions [including all those assumptions about fat people!], but maybe not. Also: Fat March is not exactly representative of the health state of, like, every single fat person in America [and yes, I have watched the show].

The afforementioned post demonstrates exactly why I agree with Kate Harding when she points out that "shaming teh fatties for being “unhealthy” doesn’t fucking help" [source]. That is what this person, though they may have good intentions, is doing in the afforementioned Livejournal post.

Don't Forget: We Still Haven't Found Osama!

Here is a list of 9/11-related things that I would prefer to never see again:

--People insisting that 9/11 affected all Americans "equally"
--Miniature American flags being waved by "patriotic" Americans
--Right-wingers politicizing 9/11, while accusing the left of doing the same
--Any speech that contains the phrase, "September 11th was a day that united us all as Americans..."
--George W. Bush grandstanding and pulling yet another rationale out of his ass for why we need to remain in Iraq
--Loose Change or whatever that damn conspiracy theory documentary was called
--9/11-related t-shirts, commemorative plates, or tattoos. Because wearing a "patriotic reminder" of a national tragedy and/or displaying such a thing in your home or on your skin is fucking tacky, especially if you're from some podunk town somewhere and did not lose a friend or family member on 9/11, and is pretty insulting to, y'know, people who actually lost someone or were actually there.

More Recommended Reading!

Magniloquence at Feline Formal Shorts has a fantastic series of posts entitled Race Relations 101. Go read 'em, seriously, especially if you, like myself, fall under the "somewhat clueless white person" category**.

**NOT reverse racism. I don't even want to hear that shit, so any comments that accuse me of being racist or whatever will be deleted, or posted here and mercilessly mocked.

Compulsory Sexxayness, Plus Recommended Reading

Oh my God, clothing post. Run for the mountains, y'all. This is a response, of sorts, to The Rotund's post on showing off one's shape and the cultural pressure to do so.

I was out shopping with my mom the other day--normally, shopping is something I detest, unless I am in the right mood. For reasons unknown, on this particular day, I was in a shopping mood. My mom spotted this dress (in burgundy), and suggested that I try it on, and at first, I protested heartily: "This is one of those dresses that's designed to make thin gals look heavier! It's going to look horrible on me. It's bag-like."

And lo, bag-like it was. But it was also incredibly, strangely comfortable. My fear, though, was that it didn't "show off" my "assets" enough. This is horrendous reasoning, for I have no imperative to "look sexy" by automatically discounting baggy dresses once and for all. My stupid fear of having people see me clomping around in this dress--complete with my unshaven legs and awesome orthopedic shoes--nearly stopped me from actually buying it.Try as I might to be a super-feminist 110% of the time, part of me still feels obligated to try to look "sexy". Part of me is afraid of "public" scrutiny, because although I am not a celebrity, some particularly dense people in this world still feel like it is their job to comment on the appearances of others if it does not please them. While I feel mildly embarassed at having such an odd paranoia, I feel that my fear may not be so uncommon after all among certain segments of the U.S. population.
The public scrutinizing of the outward appearance(s) of traditionally maligned/marginalized groups is nothing new--people of color, fat people, women, those in the queer community, and the disabled are probably all familiar, on some level, with public scrutiny of the way they look. For the most part, Western beauty "standards" are something that all of us are expected (implicity or explicitly--it's different for everyone, of course) to measure up to. It's rather simplistic to blame all of this on a monolithic "media," when, in fact, these standards are built and maintained by several different webs and various knots of culture, social expectations, prejudices, external and internal(ized) messages, and other things for which I currently cannot find the words.

I personally believe that beauty and appearance standards in the United States function as a Panopticon-esque set of expectations, values, behaviors and messages--that is, no one has to police us when we do the work for them. Women's magazines, for example, are by and large crammed with "helpful" tips on how to look sexy in bed, or get sexy hair in just 15 minutes, or a myriad of other instructions on how to let your inner sex(y) goddess come out. Women, it seems, function as just that: sexy things. Looking sexy is important. You cannot look sexy in ways that are not prescribed for you by magazine editors, fashion critics, or other "helpful" allies in culture. If you are not sexy, you must subscribe to a strict regimen of trying to look like you are. Wearing tight clothes (except if you're fat) that "show off your assets" is an important step to take. Hating yourself is also a key part of this process (ie: "I wish I could be sexy! I hate the way I look"). Because, you see, if we devote enough time to hating ourselves and comparing ourselves to various ambassadors of teh sexxay, we'll be too busy doing that to make any actual changes to the very culture that promotes self-hatred, narcissistic focus on appearance, and consumerism.

Why is "looking sexy" an imperative? Here's the thing: I am not against people looking sexy if it makes them feel good about themselves. I am saying that sexiness, or trying to fit into the restrictive mold of what is considered sexy, should not be a "must." My wardrobe is full of t-shirts, full-length skirts, and loose jeans. I do not wear high heels due to my problem feet. Are my t-shirts, jeans and orthopedic shoes "sexy"? Not according to, say, the editor of Elle magazine. Do I feel good when I wear these things? Yes. Quite frequently, I see young women who spend a great deal of time and energy trying to look sexy--lots of makeup, short-shorts paired with high heels and tube tops, UGG boots and minidresses in the dead of winter. Problem: 99% of the time, they do not look sexy--instead, they look merely uncomfortable. In my worst moments, I think about trying to emulate these uncomfortable fashion trends, but usually, my common sense wins in the end. Would emulating such a look make me feel better about myself? Hell no--it would probably make me feel like I'm in drag.

Besides constantly reminding myself that I have no imperative to hate myself for not "showing it off," I'm going to fight these feelings by stomping around and owning my sometimes bizarre fashion choices--burgundy sack dress included!

Recommended Reading 'Round the Blogosphere:

--Rio's Open Letter to FFP (Formerly Fat People)
--Twisty writes the only post about the iPhone worth reading, frankly
--Hugo's awesome takedown of some crazy tacky dude's contribution to the burgeoning field of re-starting the "war between the sexes"(which is totally fake, just like the goddamn War on Christmas)
--Sexist double standards, get your aggravating, sexist double standards here!

Signs of Fat Hatred, Part 4,062

While walking through Inexpensive MegaHuge Chain Store a few days ago, I spotted a variation of the following t-shirt:
Quick, see if you can list all of the assumptions that this otherwise okay (and lavender-y) shirt brings up!

Just having to look at it again makes me uneasy.

Invisible Illness Bingo!

ETA: New version is here.

Inspired by the now-classic Fat Hate Bingo and Anti-Feminist Bingo cards, I give you the Invisible Illness Bingo Card! All of these are things that have been said to me or people I know IRL. I know the design isn't too high-tech, but I'll save the super-fancy Photoshopped version for the next incarnation. Click to see a bigger version.


Also, I am now taking suggestions for Version 2, because there's more truly stunning vitriol and misguided "good intentions" out there, waiting to be assigned places upon an online bingo card. Leave suggestions and feedback in the comments, please.

"You're Just Not Trying Hard Enough": Notes on Disability and the Size-Acceptance Movement

Over the past week or so, I've been reading a ton (no pun intended) of posts on various blogs that are part of the size-acceptance movement. While I'm probably not what anyone could call "fat" [for the record, I'm 5'2 and weigh 142 pounds], something about these blogs has resonated with me personally. In recent months, I have done quite a bit of research on disability and its cultural meanings, and I can't help but notice the scary similarities of our culture's treatment of fat people and disabled people. An old post of Steve's, in particular, inspired this, so if you're going to blame anyone, blame him!

Before I go into this any further, I should bring y'all up to speed: I have a disability. Two, actually, if you count the cerebral palsy I was born with (the result of a premature birth), and the fibromyalgia that rather spontaneously developed last year. [Three if you count my experiences with major depressive disorder, but for this post, I'm going to focus on the physical.] Cerebral palsy and fibromyalgia can both affect an individual neurologically, and can vary from mild to very severe. I am fortunate in that my CP is mild; I can walk, albeit with a bit of a limp, and the muscles on the left side of my body "spaz out" on occassion and are a bit weaker than those on the right. In sum, I have an unequal body. Doing things with my left hand--the non-dexterous one--is difficult, possibly more so than most people think. Most of the time, I can manage just fine with my right, but the reality is that that the two will never be entirely equal. The fibro, of course, adds a great amount of pain and fatigue to my unequalized body, and I must say that it has been harder to deal with than the CP. While I sometimes get stares and occassional comments from random strangers asking about my limp, the fibro makes it worse, as it is difficult for me to even walk some days. I thought the stares from the CP-caused limp were bad--until the first day I walked with intense joint and muscular pain caused by the fibro, which made me move like a wingless stork on 'roids and attracted stares so intense that, by the end of the day, I collapsed onto my couch, feeling like someone had given me a colon-cleanse for my emotional state. Ouch.

In our culture, there is a certain standard of the white, heterosexual, not fat, able-bodied, attractive and preferably male subject. The fat person and the disabled person both buck this norm, often to the point of it being noticeable. For some reason, "normal"-bodied people love to stare and perhaps point it out, if they are feeling especially saucy. And yet, most people say they'd "never" stare at make fun of a person with a disability, or call them out. Our cultural conception of "disabled" exists as: a.) Someone in a wheelchair; or, b.) Someone who is blind and/or has a seeing-eye-dog. Hilariously, it seems to me that it is still acceptable to stare at people like myself, who "walk funny," or to ask why I walk funny.

It is still culturally acceptable, even encouraged, to make fun of "fatties." I have heard people say, "Wow, look at that fatass!" upon seeing a fat person cross the street, or stare and giggle at a fat person who is ordering a cheeseburger at a restaurant. And, though I am ashamed of it, I have never said anything or thought of saying anything until now. I am too familiar with hearing people try to hold in their laughter as I have stumbled around with my weak foot and aching body. I am too familar with people asking, "What's wrong with your foot [or feet]?", perhaps out of good intentions--nonetheless, one can be well-intentioned but entirely misguided. I know that if I were fat, it would be much, much worse.

Then there is the uniquely American trope of "You're just not trying hard enough." Feminist theorist and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome-r Susan Wendell explains:

[T]he idea that the mind is controlling the body is employed even when physical causes of a patient’s symptoms are identified clearly…The thought that ‘she could be cured if only she wanted to get well’ is comforting…to those who feel the need to assign a cause and cannot find another, and to those who want to believe that they will avoid a similar disaster because they have healthier, or at least different, psyches. (The Rejected Body, 100)

She's talking about illness and disability here, but I think it applies to fat hatred as well. We've all heard it: If she could stop eating, she wouldn't be so fat. If only she'd diet, she'd look so much better. If only she'd lose the weight, her health problems would go away! If you're fat and don't lose the weight, you're just not trying hard enough. If you're ill and can't get better, you're just not trying hard enough. You must be getting something out of it if you're still fat/disabled/ill. This person got better, and so can you! [Don't believe me when I say that these sorts of comments are made? Here's proof.]

The message that we cripples and fatties get, overwhelmingly, is: Your chub/limp/whatever offends those of us who are normal. It disgusts us, so you'd better make up for it by hating yourself, saying, "Yes, I am too fat; I wish I could be thin," or "Yes, I hate having a disabled, non-normative body; I wish I could be like everyone else."

I propose the following: We STOP buying into this load of bull, starting today. We realize that whether you are rich, poor, fat, thin, able, unable, of color, female, male, neither, both, gay, straight, trans, in between, none of the above--judging based on outside appearances is a shitty thing to do. Give everyone who's ever stared or made rude comments the finger by refusing to go along with what they want to put you through. Stare back.

Other people to blame for this post include Rio, Kate and The Rotund. Thanks, ladies.

Dumbing it Down With HilDu

Hilary Duff would like you to know that she is not a feminist, no siree!

I'm not, like, a crazy feminist. I think women definitely need men. Like, I couldn't imagine having a girlfriend!

KIDS THESE DAYS. How many times do we have to tell 'em that "feminist" does not equal "man-hating-lesbian?" Also, I didn't know that having a girlfriend is a requirement for being a feminist now. How quickly the rules change!

If you are feeling particularly masochistic, go read the whole thing.

Saturday Doggie Blogging

Really, this is just an excuse for me to post a picture of Winston, one of my Yorkshire Terriers: