The Eeyore and the Piglet

Content Warning: I open up about my own mental illnesses, including suicidal ideation 

Introduction

My main vessel for libations (of the non-adult variety) at home has been a really great Eeyore mug I got in I want to say high school or college from the Disney Store. It's yellow-orange, and features a cute picture of Eeyore smiling, surrounded by white flowers. I had two of them, and as far as I'm aware, my mom still has the purple one, in the same shape, with the same gloss, but a different picture of Eeyore, at her house, and I use it when I visit. I'm using said yellow-orange mug as I write this, having just snacked on a bunch of Cheez-Its (extra toasty, of course) and in need of some hydration.

Eeyore and Piglet were always tied for first place in my heart in the Winnie the Pooh Pantheon when I was a kid. And while I know it's been proven that A.A. Milne didn't intentionally write these characters (and all the others) as having mental illnesses, as I got older, I realized I liked, no, cared for these two specific ones so much because I would see them struggle- watch Eeyore try so hard to be happy, watch Piglet worry and obsess over the multitude of possibilities due to a single decision or occurrence; I would see this, and think, to put it in modern terms,

"It me."

Seeing what looked like depression in Eeyore and anxiety in Piglet was sometimes hard, sometimes cathartic, but always real for me. I didn't know what these things were until I was older, and it wasn't until three years ago I was officially diagnosed with either, but I think I've felt this way my whole life, or at least once I was past the bobbing toddler phase.

(And before I stray too far from Winnie the Pooh, I want to reiterate that yes, I get that Milne didn't mean to depict a bunch of DSM-certified stuff in his characters. BUT. I also want to emphasize that if you ever want to find out how to be close to someone with any of the various disorders that can be seen in the characters, just read the books or watch any of the series or movies, because everyone is always supportive, accepting, understanding, and unquestioning of the others' worth in the world of Winnie the Pooh, in any incarnation. When I have kids someday, they're going to be one of the staples in our household in order to teach kindness and love.)

Part One: The Eeyore In Me, Otherwise Known As Depression

A friend of mine posted a link about chronic suicidal ideation yesterday, and it spoke to me, too. I don't think my feelings are quite as "strong" (in the sense as persistent) as that of the author, but I do remember when they were, not too long ago. For a long time, I would waffle around from actively wishing it would end to thinking it would be easier to quit to wondering what the point was to thinking everyone around me would be better off if I was out of the way. Thinking of this last one in the opposite direction, much like the author in that piece above, was what always brought me back from the darkest times, the times I came closest to acting on anything.

I haven't felt that way consistently in a few years. But I see myself falling closer to where I was when it started, sometimes feeling the lesser extent of all of it for a little, and it frightens me somewhat. I have a plan, but can't act on it because of work stuff  (therapy requires, y'know, time in an office, and I have no way to consistently have that, but I have a PCP that can prescribe meds, at the very least). But before I continue here, if you're someone that knows me personally, know I'm okay and not in any danger, just like that author. I have a good support network, both near and far, and it isn't my person I'm frightened for, but rather my heart and habits, my general emotional well-being and overall state of mind. I'm frightened because I thought I had moved past those feelings, and I see myself getting closer to them on a consistent basis again.

Right now, I have a lot to be grateful for, reasons to be "happy." I have a roof over my head, an amazing boyfriend that loves me better than I ever thought I deserved, two awesome cats, tons of board games, internet, food, transportation, the aforementioned support network, a stable job (and another one that while it's retail and the schedule changes, I feel as loved and supported by everyone there as if I was family, and I'm not exaggerating- I genuinely tell my boss, "I love you," as we hug goodbye every time (if she doesn't say it first)), and I'm in a program that will get me into the disability field in one of the most on-the-ground ways, as a special ed teacher.

That doesn't mean it's easy. Honestly, I don't think my life is more stressful than average. But I struggle. I can't play a friggin' card game without bursting into tears on a bad day (true story; in response, that great boyfriend checked in with me and when I said, "I'm just having a hard time just being happy," he didn't miss a beat. He's good like that, and I'm lucky like that). I have to actively fight against crying every waking moment some days, because it hurts so much.

Some days, I can hold it in, keep it together, and if I'm lucky, I'll feel a little better the next day- enough that it isn't so hard, at least. But others, it goes more like this:

Thank you, Nathan Pile, for making such
delightful comics. 

Seriously, raise your hand if ever you've been on the struggle bus all day and keeping your cool, when something as innocuous as your gorram pen falls out of your hand and rolls under the fridge and you start ugly-crying so hard someone would think your cat died. I have days like that. Lots.

But that's not the whole of it. See, what I think gets missed a lot in talks about depression is also just that straight inability to enjoy things, especially things that normally would bring joy. It isn't always feelings of sadness or pain, but more like a lack of feeling that goes beyond neutrality. An active hole inside, a vortex you can on some level perceive sucking your emotions out. It can lead to a sort of indifference, a "whatever" feeling, inability to give a damn about anything. A weird, not-quite-passive indifference to everything. (And I think what happens to some of us is this indifference to the things around us can lead to indifference to life itself, and the aforementioned suicidal thoughts.)

There are days where I feel like a ghost, like I'm made of air and mist and could walk through the wall or float through the floor downstairs to the parking lot of my second-story apartment. And not in some fancy, magical, "I'm lighter than aaaaaair!" way. No, as in I feel insubstantial, and that's about as much as I can "feel" at all. I go through whatever motions need going through, if there are any, but those are the days I'm most likely to binge a whole season of something on Netflix if I don't have to work; if there's anything else I should be doing (laundry, grocery shopping, calling my mom or a friend I've been playing phone tag with), it ain't happenin'. 

And let me reiterate: It isn't like it actively hurts on days like this. I'm not on the verge of tears at all- the opposite, really. In fact, even though I'm pretty prone to crying on the regular, days like this, stuff that would normally get the waterworks going (like a poignant moment in the show I'm binging) don't do more than maybe make my eyes get a little hot. And dude, I'm The Gal That Cries. I am. But on days like these (I've come to call them, aptly, my "ghost days," in my headcanon about my life), I pretty much can't. 

This is my reality.

Part Two: The Piglet In Me, Otherwise Known as Anxiety

Misconception: "Having anxiety means you worry about literally everything." While it's true, some people can have anxiety that is severe enough that yes, it fits this description and thus becomes debilitating, not every case looks like that. Let me explain, with an example.

I always have to have at least six tubes of Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm in my possession, while not necessarily on my person, at a given time. I keep one in my car, one in my purse, one beside the bed, one in the living room by my usual seat on the couch/somewhere easily accessed in the living room, one for sticking in my pocket for during work, and a "spare" I keep on my dresser for "emergencies" (I honestly call it my "emergency" tube). That way, no matter where I am, I will always, always be able to whip out a tube of B'sBs and soothe my aching lips. Just the thought of needing one and not having access to one makes my heartbeat go up, it genuinely makes me nervous. While I recently switched to B'sBs about two years ago, before that it was mint Chapstick; and before that it was C.O. Bigelow's Rose Salve; and before that it was Carmex; and before that it was REGULAR Chapstick... It's something I did my best to hide from my parents, and granted, when I was a kid and didn't own my living space, I had fewer visible at a given time, but there was always something in my backpack, on my headboard, in the duffel bag I kept my Barbies in, in my desk at school (when I had a desk), and a floater I would put in my lunchbox (when I had one). I'd steal them from my dad, save change from when I was given money to do something with friends, even use birthday or Christmas money from relatives to buy them for myself without my parents knowing. I knew it was weird all along, but I was in Las Vegas, where it was reeeeeeeeeally dry, and so I needed something, right? 

And while this may sound a little obsessive-compulsive, it's the closest I've ever been, so it's not that. I keep so many tubes/pots/whatever around because I'm afraid of my lips hurting too much. I don't have a bunch of tubes because I need a specific one for a specific place or something, it's purely for the "preparedness" angle. I want to be prepared so I can avoid my lips getting too dry. I have a high tolerance for pain, usually, but my lips are the one part of my body I don't tolerate it and actively try to prevent it by having such a huge arsenal. I pretty much always have a headache, and I don't take anything for it until I reach a certain threshold; but the moment my lips start to tingle, I'm all about that lip balm.

This is the most extreme-on-paper example I have. Writing about it, I feel kind of nuts. But I've figured out how to not worry about my lips: just have a shit-ton of lip balm lying around and fuggedduboudit. 

I have my own social anxieties, but I wouldn't say I have "social anxiety" in the way you're thinking. I'm fine meeting new people, provided I have some context or reason to; I freak out over things, with people I already know, like, "What if I picked the wrong restaurant?" "What if he doesn't really think I'm beautiful?" "What if she's only laughing because she feels sorry for me?" "Does he/she hate me?" I worry about upsetting people, being misunderstood, seeming clingy, seeming aloof, sounding dumb, sounding elitist...

A lot of it comes down to "I just want errbody to like me." With the people I'm closest to, like aforementioned Awesome Boyfriend, I'm terrified of doing something to change how they feel about me. On our first date, over two years ago now, I was more at ease talking to him than I am some nights in our apartment. It's almost like a reverse-typical-social-anxiety thing: The more I know you/you know me, the more worried I am about what you think of me, how I come across, etc. 

And of course, I worry about things, too. From how shitty other drivers are (somewhat reasonable) to how evenly I chop an onion (pretty unreasonable), I can get caught up in fretting and stressing over things that are part of a regular person's life. 

Like right now, Awesome Boyfriend has confirmation a package was delivered to the leasing office like ten minutes after I left it, and we have a package slip from our mailbox from earlier that day saying said leasing office should have it (it didn't when I went). He's not worried about it, but who has two thumbs and is terrified the board games he ordered are lost/stolen/etc?

And there's a part of me that knows it's probably fine, that it's safe in the leasing office and it'll be there in the morning when Awesome Boyfriend goes to retrieve it. But I. Can't. Help. It.

But I'm sitting here now, writing this thing. I made dinner (frozen burritos, but still, I fuckin' ate, aight?), I'll go to bed soon, and I probably won't have any more problems sleeping than usual. So it's not debilitating, and so no, I wouldn't say I have severe anxiety, but I have enough of it that ridiculous stuff like if the super old Forever stamps I have are still good, nevermind the whole "Forever" part, makes my stomach plummet to my ankles.

This is also my life.

Part Three: So What?

This doesn't mean I'm "miserable" in the sense that I don't ever experience happiness or joy. I've ruminated on what "happiness" means to me before. I still believe it, that happiness isn't a constant, and sometimes we have to make our own joy, seek out and find ways to experience happiness, since it won't last on its own. So I try. So fucking hard sometimes. And there are days where I've tried hard enough that it worked, I sort of made myself believe it, if you will.

I'm not saying I think depression can be "overcome" with the "right state of mind" or some ableist bullshit like that. Fuck your walks through the woods and your yoga.

What I mean is that, sometimes, I can find some light in the dark, and that's worth living for, too. 

As uncomfortable as my life may be sometimes, it's still my life, and I'm going to keep on living it, to the best of my ability.

"The things that make me different are the things that make me me." Quoth Piglet.

Fin.

On Bravery

If you haven't read it yet, at least skim my last post, otherwise a lot of this will make  zero sense to you. 

I want to address something important. While I keep hearing that I'm "brave" and "strong" for leaving my ex, I want to speak as a victim about what all of this bravery is, and where it started.

I started out brave. Like I said last time, I knew abuse at an early age. And I came out on top, stayed a good person, even make efforts every day to be that way. Even when it's hard, I try to do the right thing, do right by others, and help decrease Worldsuck, as some* would say. And despite seeing some of the worst of people, even having that aimed at me directly, I continue, to this day, to usually by default expect and see the best from them. 

So I was brave for trying. I've been hurt every time I attempted at even a chance at love before. When I first met  the person I discussed in my last post, I had no intention of letting him in. I had big, thick walls up, with trebuchets and a moat with a big goddamn dragon. I've talked about this before. Obviously, that post was before I met him.

I took a leap of faith, like what I talked about there, when I let him in. I was scared as Hell, but I did it. Because I was brave enough to try again. And you know what? It felt good, at least for a while. I'm reminded of a line from The Nightmare Before Christmas, "Well what the heck, I went and did my best, and my God I really tasted something swell. And for a moment, why I even touched the sky..." There were moments where I was flying, where I thought I'd die I was filled with such joy. I did feel safe, and loved, and beautiful. And I was happy. With myself for having taken a chance, with my situation, with him. And as I said in that last post, at least I was actually loved- I never doubted he loved me, which just made the bad parts hurt more. But I kept on, and hid it from the world, because of that love.

So I was brave in staying. It isn't just that I kept telling myself it (i.e. the abuse**) would never happen to me. I also cared for him, even in the middle of his worst outbursts. That Joan of Ark aspect of me... I know a part of me  wanted to help and save him. He didn't want to be saved, of course, but that didn't matter to me, not until I found my line again. I kept loving him, even though it was often hard. I hoped and prayed that maybe  my love for him would be enough, that he would see the damage he was doing to himself and us and me, and that he would then turn a new leaf, and we'd be happy more, I wouldn't be walking on eggshells.

But my love wasn't enough. I was a saint, but it wasn't enough. I comforted and forgave, but it wasn't enough. Belle was brave when she tamed the Beast; I was brave in trying, in holding him when he fell, in picking him up when he had finished crashing. I was brave for wiping his tears before my own. 

I was brave to start getting my own help. Therapy and mental health issues (not to mention medications for "head stuff") are so stigmatized, it's easy to feel like you're less of a person for going in and seeing a professional. I had known I needed help for a long time. I kept making excuses, but I eventually ran out of them when I was promoted to full time and thus had corporate benefits (as opposed to state). So I started going. And it was (and still is- my counselor is amazing) hard. It was brave for me to open up in that office. About the things that have been haunting me for years, say nothing of the relationship of focus, here. And as I said before, I was hoping I would eventually feel ready to get back in touch with my dad. I think a part of me also hoped that if my ex saw how much I was improving because I had and maintained a self-care plan that was working, he would want that  for himself, too. Naive, I know. 

And no, I wasn't stupid. I just hoped, because I believed in him. I wanted to, I needed to, otherwise what was the point of letting down those walls in the first place? I didn't want that risk I had taken to be for nothing.

I was brave to be as honest as I was with  the friend I talked about in the last post. I kept as much as I could hidden for a long time, but I know most, if not all, of my friends knew things weren't good with my partner and I. I was afraid to tell my friend what was going on, but I did it, trembling and crying. That's bravery. It's strength.

I was brave in telling the ex not to come home. In all of the time we had been together, during all of his tantrums, I had stood up to him maybe half a dozen times before, most of them being on behalf of my dog (because, as said, he would get unnecessarily and unwarentedly*** mean with her when he was grumpy). But I did it, I found my line, set it, and told him exactly what it was. It wasn't a request, I didn't downplay it (with something like, "I know this is going to be  hard/ I'm sorry but..." etc.). And it was so hard to do. My hands were trembling as I sent the text. And my chosen method being text may seem cowardly, but that I did it at all was huge. IS huge. And I knew that if I heard his voice, I would be weak and give in, lose that line, so I texted him. So sue me. That I told him an any way at all I didn't want to see him again that day was a HUGE act of bravery, yes. That's the main one everyone thinks about. But there's more.

I was brave somewhere in the middle there, when he was at the house the second night to get more stuff. At that point, I was still thinking it would be a break. And I was brave in two big ways then. First, when he was saying goodbye to my dog. It was like my heart was breaking again, as if it was possible, watching him kneel there as she gingerly licked his chin. She knew something was wrong, and the way his voice cracked... She's my kid, and he was her Daddy. It was as if I was getting a divorce, and my child was saying goodbye. Involuntarily, I jerked a little bit toward them. In a flash, I saw myself throwing my arms around both and having that be the end of the episode. But I didn't. I grabbed the counter, squeezed it so tight that my hands and forearms were sore the next day, and I didn't move. That was brave.

And then, as he hugged me goodbye, he said, "I've fucked up big time," I said, "Yep, you did. Now fix  it." I was brave for saying that. SO fucking brave. The older me would have taken some of the blame off of him, "No, honey, it's my fault, too, it's not just you." But it WAS all just him. And I knew he wanted that, wanted me to absolve him, at least partially, right there, because that's what I always did. But the difference this time was I saw it for what it was: manipulation. And I was brave for standing my ground in the face of it. It was hard, it hurt like Hell, but he left. No matter how badly I wanted to say it was okay, I didn't, and that's bravery. 

I was brave in finally saying the word "abuse" out loud. I didn't even mean to say it, it just came out, flowed naturally with where I was going when I was on the phone with him. And it clicked. It made sense. It gave me the momentum to be firmer. I was brave in standing by that, too, because of course, while he didn't say much to it then (it was the first day that happeend), he had all sorts of nasty comebacks  later about how I was overdramatizing it, how that wasn't what he was doing, he says  and does those things in anger, that's not abuse. But it is, it was, so I didn't back down, and that was brave. He was yelling at me while I was on the phone with him in my counselor's office (I really wouldn't have survived this without her, too), and I was brave for not letting him gaslight me, change the topic, change the goal posts during that conversation shouting match. 

And I've been brave for not asking his mom (whom I've needed to have some contact with for logistical reasons) or brother (still good friends with him and his girlfriend) where he is, if he's okay. Do I worry for and about him still? Absolutely. But I can't let myself go down that path. And the braver, stronger part of me is protecting the other side of me while she heals. 

But I want to clarify something, too.

I didn't stay out of weakness. I don't think anyone has even remotely implied that, except possibly me, maybe, here and in person. Because while in the middle of being emotionally and psychologically beaten down by my significant other, I became a better version of myself. I improved, against those odds. I do owe a lot of that to getting professional help, but as she told me, she's only helping me tap the resources I already have within me. So little did he know, even as he was wearing me down, I was building up. If that isn't strength, I don't know what is.

Also, it wasn't weakness, the falling for him, falling into his net. Like I said, it was brave to try. Letting someone in, even if that person does end up hurting you (like all the rest, in my case) is brave.

Bravery can mean trying to save something because you thought it was worth it. And yes, it's admitting that thing isn't worth it anymore, giving it its proper name, and letting it go.
Love always comes with a risk. I took it. It got me down, but...

I'm getting better each day, like I said, but I'm not  brave enough to try again yet. I will, sooner or later. I still want a family of my own. I mean, my dog is great and all, but I want a husband and kids and the whole nine yards. Call me a traditionalist, but, well, there it is. 

And it's already brave for me to think about that future. I know I'm not ready to try for it again, no, but even being able to consider it again, in the face of what just happened to me, is brave. And someday, I still want to believe, that bravery will pay off, and I'll get what I want. I know I'm worth it, I know I deserve it, and for fuck's sake, I HAVE EARNED THE SHIT OUT OF A GOOD LIFE. Amirite?

You, right now.

So it'll happen. I'm still swimming through all of the emotions. But I'll take that brave step and open those gates again. 




*Nerdfighters, aw yeah!

**And again, let me say, I was never deliberately physically harmed. Sometimes intimidated, but he never hit me, pulled my hair, nothing like that.

***Totally just made that word up, yo.

"Not Your Typical Campus Shooting"

That's a quote from the head of the Purdue University Police Department during their final press conference the day of my campus's shooting, Tuesday, December 21, 2014. By this, he meant that it wasn't a case of a person going in and randomly firing at people- the perpetrator went in, sought out the target, fired, then surrendered. This officer and the other people answering questions never said it out-right, but they danced around "pre-meditated" whenever talking about the shooter's actions.

This piece comes in two parts. The first, being my direct response to the university itself. Keep in mind, I wasn't on the campus- I was literally locking up my apartment to leave for my office when the first alert went out. The second will be my more general thoughts on these acts of violence and  what they say about us  as a society and culture, and what I think we can do to fix it, or at least make it less bad.

PART I: Poo-Poo Purdue

I’m sure anyone reading this from Purdue itself is aware of the timeline of events, so let me just break down my thoughts, here. When it comes to the on-the-ground response, the emergency teams did a superb job of handling the situation. They were on the scene within minutes, had apprehended the suspect even before the university had finished sending out its initial wave of alerts, and expediently evacuated the EE building, as well as helped get anyone unaware of what was transpiring indoors and out of harm’s way. My hat goes off to Purdue’s police and fire departments, as well as those of West Lafayette. And my thanks to all of the first-responders on the scene. Heart-felt and  sincerely.  

Now, the bad news. I find it… disconcerting, at best, that I, as a member of the Purdue community, was given conflicting information on my safety during the day: I was told in a text it was okay to move around as normal at about 1:30, and then again at 1:45, but the website referenced in those texts told me the opposite, that campus  was  still on lockdown- and  the  website remained as such until nearly 3pm. More than one person confused about what to do texted me, asking for my advice. (And that advice was, of course, stay inside- better  safe than sorry.) The text came pretty quickly, at 12:12, but what little info we got didn't add up very well. And on that note...

There was really just so little information sent to me directly, too- what’s up with that? I would have felt better getting the info from Purdue, not from checking out news websites because I happened to have access to the Internet, a circumstance not everyone else would have been in. My mom had more up-to-date info from watching CNN than I had from Purdue. That’s just wrong- I and every other member of Purdue’s community should have had been given real-time updates from Purdue. Our safety and emotional/mental well-being were on the line. 

Also, why take the surrounding buildings off lockdown if police are still searching and patrolling? Friends of mine on campus said there were still choppers circling after the all-clear was given at 1:30, and I finally got antsy and had to turn off the computer after over an hour of  listening  to police continue to search new campus locations and dig deeper into suspicious activities via their radio streaming site. If the police weren’t done checking the campus out, why let people wander around? What would have happened if  this shooter had not, in fact, been acting alone and someone else was hurt before the police finished their checking all the other buildings? What if they had all-cleared it too soon and there were more casualties?

Here’s another problem: I heard from a few people stuck in classes that their professors kept trying to teach during the whole thing, and I know of fellow grad students with  TA positions for classes that take place during the 3 and 4 hours that had to go to said classes- and, surprise surprise, more students stayed behind than  went. What compels a prof to go ahead with class on a day like that? I don’t think this demonstrates heroism or dedication- I think it’s short-sighted, narcissistic, and dangerous. If you think what you’re teaching is so important that it’s worth risking the lives of your students, you don’t deserve to be a professor (or instructor) in front of those students. And if some of these professors kept at it because  they  genuinely  don’t know what “shelter-in-place” means, then Purdue has some serious training it needs to do for its faculty- because even if the students somehow avoided it in school (which maybe international students, okay, but kids that grew up in the States have no excuse, really, unless maybe homeschooled…?), the people in charge of the classrooms should know that “shelter in place” means close and (if possible) lock the doors, close any blinds, keep quiet, etc. In drills, sure, keep the lights on, but for crying out loud  there was an actual shooter on campus on Tuesday. They should have closed the doors and blinds, turned the lights off, and awaited further instructions from the university. This was NOT a drill. A Boilermaker DIED, and you kept lecturing. Think about that. And be grateful for the tenure system and that I'm not in charge of Purdue, because if I was Purdue's president and I heard you had tried to keep jabbering at your students (and were probably befuddled or put-off by them, gasp, not paying attention to you), I would do everything I could to fire your ass.

I think the worst is that classes weren’t immediately cancelled for the rest of the day. If “they” knew someone was even just injured in a shooting, let alone lost their life, it would be “respectful” to cancel classes as soon as the info came out, not four-and-a-half hours later. Plus, they wouldn't then have had to go back and tell faculty to pretend classes the day of the shooting never took place the next day in an email ("Of course, we will all need to make adjustments to ensure that no faculty and students are penalized because they were unable to teach or attend class in the aftermath of yesterday’s terrible events. You will need to inform students of your plan to address this unforeseen circumstance. In particular, you should inform your class that you will not be counting the results of any quiz or attendance given for yesterday’s session, and that they will not be held accountable for any material covered."). Purdue ret-conning, back-peddaling, whatever you want to call it- Purdue cancelling classes over four hours later is deplorable and tactless, and the reminder to faculty not to hold students accountable for the  day of the shooting shouldn't be necessary (on its own and  also in conjunction with what I said about profs insisting on holding class between 2 and 4:30). This was no false alarm- someone died, and we knew that hours before the “discussion” (what the provost said they started having once they knew someone was hurt) amongst administrators led to canceling class. So why does it need “discussion” to cancel classes the rest of the day when someone is killed on campus? Discussion? I’m not remotely the only person at least surprised by this, if not flat-out appalled. This is an opinion piece, and my opinion is that canceling class for the rest of the day when there’s a shooter on the campus should be protocol, not the result of a “discussion.” Sure, maybe what happens the next day can be something the old boys’ network can debate, but expecting students to go to class when they’ve just been on lockdown and oh yeah, someone was shot and killed- and then expecting them to be top-notch is also narcissistic, or at least short-sighted- and the  latter is why  those same people had to send an email excusing anyone that, understandably, didn't go to class or didn't do all that well while there. It's just... Ugh. It was tactless for them to wait that long to cancel, and fumbling and pathetic that they had to excuse it after-the-fact. Disgusting. I can't wrap my head around why the first move wouldn't be  to cancel classes, I honestly can't. All I can think of is it's the bureaucracy wanking off again and taking itself too gorram seriously- which puts a bad taste in my mouth, because  that'd mean the fat-cats cared more about their own authority and "channels" or whatever than the well-being of their students. And even practically speaking, the utility in holding class an hour after a shooting would be small enough to render it nonexistent, or  even negative (because, no doubt, without the reminder not to, profs would hold students accountable for the material from that day because they "held class" as "normal," never mind  that  no "normal" student would be  able to function "normally" in class right after a shooting). 

I hope to God there isn't a next time. But in preparation, protocols need to be changed: 

1) The text alerts need to be in-sync with website and email updates. Conflicting information could get someone hurt.

2) DO NOT  give  an all-clear until police  are done searching buildings. The nearby  area may  have been clear, but how could they be certain there wasn't another  shooter? They wouldn't be  able to report that until they had finished their larger sweep, so let that happen before letting people go about their way. 

3) Cancel classes for the rest of that day the moment a legit report of a shooting is confirmed. I am still trying to comprehend why this  is even necessary to say. 

4) Make sure all faculty and staff have been through their own  shelter-in-place drills, or at least told what to do if  it happened for real, even if only during  an orientation  training of some sort for newbies. That way, even if  their students don't know what it means, they will.

5) Figure out a way  to penalize faculty that end up not doing the whole  "shelter-in-place" thing properly in the case of a real threat, once the threat is over. Again, drills are one thing, but actual, genuine threats are another, and they need to be taken seriously. So whether it's making them pay fines or do university or community service, or I dunno, mess with their sabbatical or something... I don't care. Just make it clear that they're in deep doo-doo for endangering their  students- because that's what that behavior means: Endangerment.

6) Send more updates, via text and/or email. Sure, some stuff needs to be kept private for a while, but letting the Purdue community know what kind of progress the police are making, what the suspects are up to, etc., and as immediately as possible, needs to happen. Again, I should have heard from Purdue, not CNN, that the suspect had been apprehended. 

PART II: Gun Control, Mental Health, and the Intersection of Ableism with Capitalist Individualism

So here's where it'll get rather controversial. Every time we have a shooting, the focus is always on the guns. Guns, guns, guns. And sometimes, the "crazy" bogeyman myth creeps up,  too, wherein the shooter is painted as a psychopathic freakjob that finally loses it and that's that. As if it's a random, one-time, isolated incident.

And while sure, the Newtown guy wasn't in cahoots with the Virginia Tech guy, who had nothing to do with the Columbine kids... There is a tie binding all of these shootings, and any other time when a person has walked into a building and shot anybody, whether it's one targeted person like what happened at Purdue, or a whole butt-load of random victims, like Virginia Tech. 

It's mental illness. Improperly cared for mental illness, I should say.

And let me say right now, I'm not saying it's the "crazy peoples'" fault. There's a sad, painful note of truth to the, "I couldn't take it anymore!" line that's supposed  to be funny or offhand (like when Carmine Falcone uses it after faking a suicide attempt in Batman Begins)- for whatever reason, these people reach a tipping point, and their moral compass gets broken, and they either don't remember that hurting other people isn't okay, or they cease to care. 

What I see going on is people who would benefit from quality mental health services don't get them, and without the proper coping mechanisms and lifeskills needed to function without hurting people, they snap. See, here's the rub: Western, and especially American society, has this weird, counter-productive stigma on mental health services. And I attribute this, at least in part, to our rugged individualistic, pull-yourself-up-by-your-boostraps wet dream we can't, on the whole, let go of. Because if we admit we have depression or mental health issues, let alone seek help for it, we're admitting we  aren't good enough to make it on our own - and the whole point of the American Dream is to make it on your  own, without help from anyone. Depression, anxiety, mental health problems, they're seen and treated as weakness. We blame the people who have them for not taking care of themselves, for being  too sensitive; we tell them to "get it together," to "keep it to themselves," to try harder. I love this image from the blog Robot Hugs: 

There are myriad others like it on the interwebs, but the point is the sorts of things that get said to people with mental health issues are being said to people with entirely physical ailments (if you can't tell, by the way, the one in the orange shirt is  shooting insulin or something, not  stabbing their hip with a nail- it took me a few seconds to see it, too, don't worry)- and the point is  to see that those statements are ridiculous in those contexts, and, really, ridiculous in the context of mental or emotional fragility, too. 

And don't those sound kind of like the individual liberty, ra-ra, capitalism rhetoric we can't seem to turn down in this country? Messages that we aren't tying hard enough when we're stuck in a minimum wage job, that our individual circumstances don't matter if we're unemployed... The way we treat (and don't treat, yup) mental illness is a part of that masturbatory obsession with personal responsibility. That it's somehow someone's own fault if they're depressed, just as how it's their own fault if they're in need of social assistance. Context? Psh. Factors  out of their own control? Nonexistant- every person is in charge of their own destiny! 

So then what? Well, just like how our pathetic excuse for a "welfare" system comes with all sorts of public  shame and stigmatization, so too does receiving  mental  health services. And, just as how the former is major hard to get, quality mental health services are hard to find, too. I think generally, our personal feelings are supposed  to be private, and it's not up to the government or society to help us out- because by golly, the government has NO RIGHT to tell me what I should be doing!

You: Wait, but providing the option for  mental health services isn't telling people what to do, it's just giving them somewhere to go, right?

Society: NO! If there were quality mental health facilities and services everywhere, free and available to the public, they'd just get backlogged with people taking advantage of it, and we'd create a culture of sissies that suck their thumbs and can't take the slightest setback in their lives!

It's basically  the same argument against a public healthcare system, and I'd say even against paid family leave and basically any form of financial assistance.

But what sets it apart is that during any "discussion" revolving around the question of the kinds of mental health services in the U.S., there's always this accompanying assumption that people with mental health issues are broken, under-par; that they don't measure up and thus aren't worth it, anyway. Why bother if they're already not good enough? And now, if you know me, you prolly see where I'm going and why it's ableist: There's an assumption that they'd be whole and Good if they didn't have their mental, emotional, etc. disabilities, see.  See? 

YES!

While it's hard to talk about the "Disability Community," since that doesn't really exist, I do believe, from my experience on the ground in services for the disabled in myriad ways, it's the invisible disabilities, the non-physical that get stigmatized in such a way that leads to the ailments going entirely untreated. It's a lot harder to ignore a physical disability or to blame someone with one for having it, but mental and/or emotional ones? Well what "causes" depression? What "causes" anxiety? People get blamed for "letting them happen," while nobody would really ever be accused of "letting" theirself get hit by a car or be born with CP.

Story time (sort of): Every  semester I've taught (so far- we'll see later), I've had at least one student come to me after their first quiz about disability accommodation. And the reasons they wait are always the same: They were "afraid" to tell me or that their peers would find out; they didn't want to seem like they were getting a handout; they were embarrassed that they'd need the help; they're ashamed that they have suchandsucha problem; etc. These signals come from the crap those people in the comic above are being told: People with disabilities are seen as "moochers," as in the same category as "welfare queens" and "bums" sucking the teet of Lady Liberty dry.

So no SHIT they're afraid to seek counseling, or to go to the professor to get the accommodation they're entitled to by the gorram law, nonetheless.

And even if it's not a consciously articulated thought, "I better not see a therapist, otherwise people will judge me," they subconsciously know it's bound to happen. And that negative view of mental health problems comes from a terrible intermingling of capitalist and ableist rhetorics.

So then this means, again, that services are lacking as it were, and that getting them is so hard, a lot of people don't.

And I'm not saying the stigmas on mental and emotional health issues are the only thing causing shootings like the one at Purdue- I'm not that bad. What I am saying is that gun policies aren't the only ones we should seriously revamp if we want violent incidents like this to stop. Sure, I'd be in favor of better gun controls (although I don't think they should be banned, no). But that wouldn't stop people from going on killing sprees when whatever mental health issues they have take control- there are tons of other ways to kill people other than guns, after all.

Our inability to address the mental health of our own citizens is, of course, more directly related to ableism. 

But really, when anyone says we're lacking quality mental health services, it shouldn't seem like a stretch for me or anyone else to say it's related to ableism. I mean, c'mon. Did you really need me to tell you that?

It's Not *for* You, You Don' t Need One, Stop Complaining

I work in a clothing store for full-figured women. But, well, let me be blunt for y'all, in case you think I mean something like  this.

I work in a store for fat chicks.

The gentler ways to say it sometimes get people confused...? Why? I mean, duh. I'm not into saying "plus sized" when describing my store, though, because I get really pissed that an average woman is between a size 12 and 16 (and yeah, you could just say 14, but standardizing of sizes is so nonexistant that you really do need to provide a range), but sizes 14 and up are called "plus" and sequestered off to some tiny corner with selections that are extremely shitty, more expensive, and miniscule in variety in comparison to the rest of the ladies section. And my store? It starts at 14. We get a lot of women that aren't remotely "fat" in the pejorative sense, that need larger sizes because curves, not because they're gorging on cheeseburgers every meal. Never mind that some women (myself included) have medial conditions (sometimes more than one- again, me) that prevent them from getting what these judgy people would consider okay. Myself and tons of other ladies may exercize and diet like mad, and still be "fat." The smallest I've ever been since I was a kid was a 12/14, during a period of time (just before grad school) where I went to the gym for almost two hours six days a week and ate about 1000 calories a day, and my doctor told me to chill the fuck out before I moved out here because if I lost any more weight, given all the other stuff I have going on, I'd prolly end up in the hospital. Being that size was nearly unhealthy for me, but I was still getting "what are you doing  here?" eyes from women at the store when I was hovering around the XLs or looking at the back of a rack of something for the largest size there.

Fucking fat shaming.

Anyway, so we get a lot of mother-daughter duos in the store. Sometimes they'd  both be customers, sometimes one is just along  for the ride as the other looks for things that  would, you know, fit her for a change. Usually the thinner ladies are quite  kind and supportive of the heavier ones, but I do every now and then see the  latter get passive-aggressively poked at by the former. Things I've heard from the thinner gals:

"Are you done yet?  There's  nothing in here for me."

"Are you seriously  going to look at every single shirt? Just grab something, I want to look for [insert specific outfit/clothing article] for me now!"

"Wow, that's huge, it's a good thing you aren't that big yet!"

My reaction when I overhear it is often akin to this:

I've also been personally fat-shamed by some of the less curvy women as they waited for their companions to pay, try things on, etc. 

"So... you shop here to?" (or similarly, "Oh, I see you shop here, too. You must get great benefits.")

"I'm only  in here for my mom, all of the stuff in here is so ugly and frumpy." [as I'm wearing the style of shirt I'm also holding or standing  next to]

"Don't you think it's kind of silly they  even have this place at all?"

After a few seconds of this...

...I give some excuse to walk away, and do so quite promptly.

I had a real doozy last night, though. This time, the daughter was the thinner one (not always the case, by the way), and the mom was there for jeans. We keep ours against one of the walls, folded, and above them are some mannequins, as well as a few shirts and our current  selection includes some casual velvetten blazers with a really cute pinstripe lining  (grey and maroon on the outside, and if you fold the cuffs to show that lining, oh my gosh- adorable, really). So I was helping the mom decide what cut in the jeans to get and explaining that while we don't sell her length in the store, we have this great service where she can order it and have it sent to her house with free shipping, then return it to the store if it didn't work out. Mom was a little uppity that we don't sell Tall lengths, but I've had worse, trust me. Once she had a stack of jeans to try*, I offered to get her a fitting room. Her daughter, also tall, kind of aggressively positioned herself in my way to block me and said, "What's the smallest that comes in?" pointing at the blazers hanging high enough for her to reach  and look for herself (but not me- I'm 5'1", remember...). She went on, "I only see sixteens, and I really like that, can you get me a smaller size?"

I reached up, on my tiptoes to look and see if anything else was hanging there, as I started explaining, "Well, the smallest size we or any other Lane  Bryant is going to carry is going to be  a fourteen, and I was just in the back room, so I know for a fact that any blazers like this we have in this store are all out here right now. And it looks like the smallest left is a sixteen."

Let me just add, this gal was prolly about the same age as me, so nearly thirty. 

When I stood normally and turned to her, she was glaring, her nostrils flared a little. "Well that's not fair," she said sharply, then she turned on her heel and started stomping- literally, stomping, with her fists clenched at her sides- toward the fitting rooms.

I actually, and yes, to my shame, snortled a little.

You want to know what's not fair? The way heavy people are pre-judged as lazy, irresponsible, and a drag on society. The way we're forced to go out of our way  and then pay more for the same stuff, or for sub-par stuff, because society isn't universally designed, but rather structured to accommodate people not like us. It's unfair that I either can't buy stuff when out with friends, or have to go off by myself in order to do so, or that they have to wait for me to finish before looking for themselves again. It's unfair that someone saw the need to create a separate chain of stores like the one I work  at, amidst the countless other stores in existence, in the first place.

And now here's the kicker. I'm sure it's pretty easy  for you to understand why she's entirely clueless. Fuck, there are stores that deliberately do not sell clothes for women above a size 10/11. You've seen the signs that say "Women's Section" or "Plus Sizes" in stores. Maybe you even have a heavy friend that always has to walk away to look for clothes for herself, or that never buys anything when she goes clothing shopping with you, even offers to carry some of your bajillion bags for you because she's been unable to find anything (true story). And  hopefully, you at least understand why, and maybe it even gives you a twinge of moral outrage on behalf of your friend or any other woman like  her in that situation.

Well, let me blow your mind a little now, okay?

Just as how that gal complaining that it "wasn't fair" that my store doesn't carry sizes not considered "plus" was missing the point/misunderstanding the situation, the same  thing goes for men that demand a "Men's Center" in the face of a "Women's Center" on college campuses, or white people demanding a "White Cultural Center" in response to a Black/Native American/Hispanic/ etc. one. 

Just as how women like me get sequestered into our own sections in the stores we didn't design, and how non-heavy people often automatically draw negative conclusions about our characters because of our size, women and minorities in the larger societal context get marginalized and sequestered into places of lesser value, too. Women and people of color hold fewer executive positions, are lumped into lower-paying jobs in general, and are subject to every kind of violence- structural, physical, emotional- because of the fact that they are women and persons of color in the first place. 

Oh, Sir, you want a "Male Resource Center," eh? Go to the "Student Resource Center." Or the "Library." The strategies they'll teach you are catered to a male-dominant society and would be great for you, Sir, but oftentimes wouldn't help a woman. Women are taught how to deal with a society, field, etc. that is going to assume they're underskilled, their body isn't theirs, they don't belong there, etc. 

Oh, White Person, you want a "White Cultural Center," do you? Try the whole fucking campus. Or better yet, the whole fucking country. Your culture is the status quo, the norm, is so engrained in your everyday doings that you don't even see it there. Any resources a minority gets at their center are going to help them navigate through your culture, sometimes cope with how it devalues them as a person, simply because they're a minority.

I've also seen men get mad about places like Curves, and say that if the NAACP exists, there should be a NAAWP, too, so it's not like this only happens at college. Which makes sense- it's not like these issues fade away once college life is over. It's just easier to see on a college campus  because the power and room for grassroots organization is so much greater there than in society writ large; but that also means college kids are going to be uber reactionary and do shit like this or say stuff like the "Christina" in the comments  here without giving it a second thought. 

Now of course, there are caveats. Just as how some of my tall friends/ the tall ladies in my store from earlier, or reeeally short friends, sometimes have to look harder for clothes than my average height, thin friends, I realize there are axis of oppression that can make things hard for men and/or white people. Class, religion, sexual preference, gender, etc. But let's face it, intersectionality is a really complex issue, and to try and put it simplistically: Those tall/REALLY short friends of mine still have an easier time finding stuff in regular stores than I do. Period. Same difference with women/minorities in the broader societal context.

And, side note, "centers" for poor people, LGBTQ persons, atheists, etc., also exist. And they get the same reactions against them from rich people, straight people, religious people, etc. So what I'm saying here can really apply to any axis of oppression. I've just been focusing on sex and race because those are the most common ones with their own spaces.

"Centers" for  women and minorities (etc.) developed out of the fact that society is built in a way favoring men and white people (etc.). And no, I don't think  it's sexist or racist per se to think it's unfair for them to be created without a male/white equivalent, and a person demanding as such isn't inherently a bad person. I do think it means a person holding that viewpoint is missing the bigger picture. Be it willfully or genuinely, I don't know. But if they fail to see it's not about women/minority privilege, but rather the privilege of their (as in male/white) perspective, and that they aren't wronged by that center's/organization's existence, then they probably could use more education and better explanations. Hopefully, they'd be open-minded enough, receptive enough to understand how there's no need for a "Men's Center" or a "White Center." And hopefully they'd realize the centers they don't want around popped up because people saw a need for them- and that this need is itself kind of sad and something we should try to rectify. Hopefully they'd realize that by being male, being white, they are part of the hegemonic group(s), even if not in those exact terms.

And here is where I get into another complication. "Centers" often become places of exclusion. As in, sort of a, "Go be a woman/Black person/etc. there and get off my lawn," kind of thing from perrsons in the majority (men, white people). That is not okay, either. I think places like a Black Cultural Center are the most successful when they try to educate non-Blacks and promote inclusion in society. My store is great on body acceptance and showing that every woman is beautiful, no matter what her size; we may not sell stuff for thinner women, but we do promote solidarity among women in general in the face of a culture telling us we should be pretty in order to impress men- it's about women liking themselves for themselves, but yes, it is designed to help a particular type of woman that is told by  society even more than average that she's ugly. The various cultural centers on my campus seem to do alright- how well they do is directly correlated with their resources, though. Naturally, then, the center on our campus for Native Americans is the most isolated- they can barely afford to operate, so doing bigger campus out-reach is pretty difficult for them. But every now and then, they bring a speaker, show a movie, etc. They're trying their hardest, and that's what counts.

I don't want there to be a store like mine. Not because I want to run around naked, but because I want to be able to shop with my friends, stand right next to them and look at the same stuff. I don't want there to be a Black Cultural Center on my campus. Not because I don't care about Back people or POC in general, but because I wish they had the same opportunities and resources that white people do.

*Sidenore: She was also an example of the customer that asks for advice, takes something different from what's recommended first that ends up not working, then begrudgingly tries the recommendation and goes with that. For fuck's sake, you'd save a lot  of time  and me a lot of refolding and rehanging if you just went with what I tell you, ladies, UGH!

The Myth of the Supercrip, Disease, Ableism, and 'Iron Man 3'

My favorite website to dick around on, Overthinkingit (link in the sidebar, mwahahaha), has been having some issues with trolls lately, and while they usually show up on posts related to gender, sexuality, sexism, etc. (basically, any time someone says women are still treated unequally in any context), they've decided to ease back from the identity politics biznass for a while, let the waters simmer, etc. I dig, but that means my Disability and Disney idea got passed over. Poop. Well, the chief editor was (genuinely) gracious enough to warn me a piece about Iron Man 3 and disability was about to be published- and I had already started this entry, having seen the movie myself and come out with some rather strong opinions (go figure- me? Strong opinions? Perish the thought, right?). So here's a link to the article there, by Jordon Stokes (a great problematizer, as you'll see if/when you read it), followed by my direct response to it; after that, I'll, uh, change fonts and add in what I had been thinking of posting myself that didn't get covered by said response to Mr. Stokes:

CLICK ME CLICK ME CLICK ME

Oh, and it prolly goes without saying, but...
SPOILERS FOR IRON MAN  3
In answer to your more specific call for comments: There isn’t a straight answer from the research and theories out there on disability that I’ve encountered in my research yet- but I’m only a Ph.D. student, and I know I’ve only dappled into the literature thus far. Everybody cites everybody else, though, so I’m guessing I can basically make a semi-informed assertion and it’s alright... Anyhoo, so there’s a large debate within the  disability studies community/literature, as well as in the community of disability advocacy organizations, about how much we should recognize/acknowledge disability, and what constitutes personhood. On the far side, the “critical disability theory” camp proclaims that disability needs to be considered no more of a big deal than a person’s hair or eye color. Groups like Disability is Natural exemplify this, from their promotion of PFL (person first language- nuances of verbage and sentence formation wherein connecting words like “has” and “with” are used, rather than the all-encompassing forms, such as “with autism” or “has a disability” as opposed to “autistic” or “is disabled”) to their rather vociferous claims for disability being  basically ignored because it’s nothing more than a social construct. Members of this camp, whether academic or advocate, are proponents of society complying to anomaly, sometimes to the point where even violent behavior as a result of a specific condition isn’t even frowned upon or prevented, for eample (or, rather, they claim it shouldn’t be, in the very normative , society needs to do X, kind of way). Then there’s the camp focused on a civil rights perspective- these academics and advocates see the disabled as a protected class that needs legal assistance in order to achieve full citizenship. The National Disabilities Rights Network is a perfect example, as they focus on court actions and legislatures; and while they, too, promote PFL, their approach is more from a perspective that disability needs to be recognized but not be-all-end-all, and, further, the government needs to make up for the institutional oppression persons with disabilities have experienced since forever. Finally, on the other end of the spectrum of the critical disability scholars, we have the camp that treats disability like a disease. These scholars and advocates promote knowledge about the causes and treatments of disability- academics focus on what constitutes disability and what genetic or environmental factors lead to it, while advocacy groups, such as the National Autism Association usually promote funding for research for causes and cures, as well as “awareness” campaigns to “alert” people of disability. Both academics and advocates alike in this camp tend to emphasize the role of the non-disabled in the lives of those around them or for which they're responsible (that have disabilities).

Group one criticizes two for its definitions of citizenship in the first place- legalistic definitions of “citizenship,” so the story goes, come from an ableist dialectic that claims disabled persons must be made or thought of exactly like non-disabled persons in order to be “citizens” in the first place. Both one and two criticize three for a dehumanizing and paternalistic perspective and treatment of disability and persons with disabilities- disability needs to be incorporated, not quarantined, they say, and eradicating it removes integral parts of the personhood of these people; also, they criticize three for removing autonomy from persons with disabilities. Group two criticizes one for being unrealistic and ignoring the fact that the “oughts” of society are often in direct contrasts with the “is,” and demanding immediate change would be too traumatic and basically impossible to achieve. Group three criticizes both for not taking  disability seriously enough, framing the issue as if one and two are heartless for desiring the disabled and their loved ones continue suffering.

My reading of the movie, then, is that it’s treating disability like group three. As I said on the notes for the podcast about the movie (here's a link to that), the serum is symbolic of the inherent desire within society to eradicate disability. Because while sure, groups one and two exist, they’re fighting against a much larger hegemonic structure that devalues disability/anomaly to the point where it’s feared. Like you said, though, the serum is more like a drug than a cure within the world of the movie, but taken in the broader cultural context that created the movie, it represents the desperate search for an end to disability through some outside or humanly manufactured force, rather than a societal shift that doesn’t construct disability as problematic in the first place. So it may not be called a "cure" directly, but that's what it's supposed to be- both in the movie and as a symbol for the culture in which the movie exists. 

I think groups one and two would see the “utopia” of the movie as one of ableism. The “true being” is one without disability- Tony and Pepper are, essentially, “cured” of their disabilities, and as they’re part of the group of protagonists, this is a Good thing. Ableism is more than just using “retarded” pejoratively- it’s a discourse in the muti-faceted sense of the word, one that establishes modes of behavior and moral hierarchical structures in society. It devalues disability and places lack of disability as morally superior. So a “true” person in the utopia of the movie is one without a disability, like Tony and Pepper in the end. Group three would be fine with this utopia, as it’s the one they strive for, while one and two would be displeased with this. 

But a point of compromise comes from Wrather’s comment on the podcast, too. He asked about surgeons reattaching limbs on the battle field, and why that should be morally okay, but retroactively regrowing limbs wouldn't. I actually think the surgery Tony has and the removal of the serum from Pepper represent this. In the middle of battle, the soldier’s life is in danger, after all, and while okay, you can live without your limb, preserving the person as close to what they were before being injured is the goal. And the shrapnel and serum were exogenous factors, themselves not natural to the internal development process, that then become not just inconvenient- they become life threatening. Pepper could have blown up; Tony’s heart would have been torn to shreds. There’s a fourth camp (uh oh!) that really focuses on the intersections of queer and gender theory with disability theory, and they go beyond saying disability is just a social construction (as group one does) and more than just a civil matter (group two); disability is more intrinsic to processes of becoming and identity formation, rather than societal or legal structure, per se. They assert that anomaly plays a role, whether present in the body or mind of the individual or not. They assert this as a direct result of ableism, and pound in the normative character of how disability is thus constructed (even deconstructing the word “disability” a lot, for example). But they’re also highly pragmatic- they recognize the social, political, and environmental factors contributing to processes of becoming, of assigning and internalizing stigma, etc., and they focus on individual well-being, rather than group consciousness. So this group would say, basically, take the approach that has the best outcome for the individual immediately affected. Since the shrapnel would friggn’ kill Tony, get rid of it. And that’s okay! And this group would ask questions like, “What societal structures led those veterans to be so desperate to get rid of their disabilities, they’d risk their lives and moral/ethical compasses in order to do so?” And the answer is the hegemonic discourse (DRINK!) and paradigms created and enabled (hah!) by ableism.  

As for the Cartesian self, groups one through three all fall implicitly into that paradigm (even when the disability is of the mind, for they view that as a brain malfunction, i.e. something physically wrong with the brain leading to the more corporeal abnormalities). That may sound wonky, but it’s a lot easier to do than one would think, and I actually believe it’s something we do in everyday discourse, whether about disability or not, and even if not on purpose. Group four explicitly rejects this, though, as their emphasis is on how the lived body interacts with other bodies as well as the environments in which it exists, and that bodily experience directly influences the metaphysical. I haven’t seen it in any literature from group four thus far, but I think a nuance they’d probably  be down with is saying “theirself” as opposed to “their self” to emphasize the inseparability of physical experience from corporeal epxerience. 

Lastly, I must respectfully disagree with the assertion that this movie isn’t about disability. So many of the messages in pop culture aren’t explicit, but rather heavily implied- so while nobody ever says “disability” or “cure” in this movie… well, it’s kind of hard not to see the corollaries. Further, the conflation of physical and corporeal disability as “the same thing” in this movie is exactly parallel to much of the ableist paradigm in the real world- actually, this conflation is quite essential to it. Ableism depends on that binary of with- and with-out disability, and it lumps anything that’s a “with” together. This is evidenced in lots of ways, for example in how legislation such as ADA addresses emotional, mental, mobile, visual, developmental, hearing, etc. impairments all the same. So the fact that the movie is reflecting the real world’s problematic distortion of the wide, porous range of disability doesn’t make it not about disability- if anything, I’d say that makes it more profoundly so, as it’s not even attempting to problematize how disability is perceived and presented, but instead regurgitating it flatly. The audience is expected to buy into these assertions that PTSD is the same as illness is the same as losing a hand is the same as addiction because that’s the operative discourse in the real world. I’m glad you could see how problematic that is, but seeing it as problematic in the movie doesn’t make the movie not about disability.

So here are my additions:

I want to talk about Aldrich and the vets a bit more, because they represent two pervasive, negative stereotypes of disability that are often shoved at the public through film, literature, and media coverage. First, as I spoke of on the podcast’s comments, is the “supercrip.” This is the person with a disability that “overcomes” their disability. They usually end up being practically superhuman or something- think Lance Armstrong or Christopher Reeve- by doing what even non-disabled people wouldn’t try to do. This stereotype sets up persons with disabilities negatively in two ways: 1) It sets incredibly high standards (the running, somewhat snarky remark among disability scholars is that people in wheelchairs may as well learn to pop wheelies when they see curbs without accessibility lips), and 2) implies any person with a disability that doesn't achieve such greatness is somehow inferior to the supercrip. It contains a moral superiority/high-horse-type message within it. 

Well, Aldrich definitely comes across as a supercrip when he breathes fire, and we see the veterans demonstrating superhuman strength and their regenerative capabilities willy nilly. And the guy Tony watches from the stock footage while in the van, the vet that says something about not letting the disability be the end of him or whatever, that exemplifies the rhetoric of the supercrip mythos (and yeah, I admit I don’t remember precisely what the dude says, but I remember thinking it sounded just like something a generic supercrip would spout). While "supercrip" isn't used, "supersoldier" certainly is myriad times in the movie. I realize I was probably hypersensitive to it, but I felt like I was being beaten of the head with a hammer of subtletly about this supercrip/soldier metaphor. 

What I’d like to add, here, is that the supercrips (except, of course, Tony and Pepper) in this movie are all presented as bad- which can be a good thing, sure, because that could tell us the myth of the supercrip is false; but it also leads to stereotype two, which is the disabled person as sinister, evil and criminal. Movies and media present serial killers and stalkers as “crazy,” and consistently emphasizing their “craziness” as the reason for the crimes committed. Discussions about shootings, murders, and even acts of terrorism become “regular” people being worried about mental stability and sanity backgrounds, rather than the socio- and geo-political structures contributing to whatever actions being covered. Persons with disabilities aren’t usually shown as regular characters in fiction, but when they do, and if it’s not a plot-point that they have a wheelchair or Downs or something, they’re usually someone with a mental disorder that attacks someone or does something traditional frameworks of morality would consider wrong. Disability isn’t just otherized neutrally, then, but rather otherized in a way that’s exacerbated by fear. Other is deadly and will murder you and not care about it. All the baddies in this movie (except the VP) are examples of this stereotype, because the negative effects of Extremis lead to them going “crazy” and being totally okay with killing people. Like you said, Stokes, their moral compasses are compromised when on Extremis, and whether we’re viewing them as inhuman  because they’re addicts (which yes, society absolutely constructs addicts as less-than-human), or if we’re just keeping the fact that they had limbs blown off in the back of our minds, either way, they’re disabled and doing Bad Things. 

Another thing I'd like to emphasize is the VP. It's brushed upon a bit by Stokes, but I think our expected reaction to his daughter's leg is highly important. The shot of that little girl are a Big Reveal- her leg is focused on for a few seconds, and danger music starts as the camera zooms in on the space that we'd expect to be occupied by a lower shin, ankle, and foot. We're supposed to feel shock, having not expected this (as we've been given no reason whatsoever to think there was an inside man at all up until that very moment) (which is actually kind of crappy writing, just saying). But we're also supposed to at least sympathize, if not empathize, with the VP and why he'd want to help someone with a serum that could regrow her leg. And in order to do that, we're supposed to believe disability is a bad thing- if it weren't, why would we be remotely understanding of a Vice President  that's willing to betray his President and Country? 

The image of the little girl is doubly-exploitative. It's a kid, and it's a kid in a wheelchair. Heartstrings: SNAPPED. Actually, the more I think about it, the more that whole subplot pisses me off. They could have done away with it and the abduction of the President would have worked just fine. Hell, it actually could have been kind of cool if they had been able to figure out it wasn't Rhodes in the suit, but at the last second or something, or if someone on Air Force One that figured it out/ had been told and was trying to warn others had been killed. Instead, two cheap, exploitative tropes were used to justify a minuscule plot-point. Ugh. 


WARNING: PRETENTIOUS DOUCHEBAGGERY ABOUT TO OCCUR


As a scholar of disability theory (see? I usually don't pull that shit, but this is my dissertation, for Pete's sake...), if I was to sum up my feelings about the movie's portrayal of disability succinctly (hah, me succinct, that's pretty hilarious, right?), I'd say that it's operating from the overarching abelist paradigms already in place in modern society- at least modern Western, 'Murican paradigms and discourses. It takes myriad assumptions for granted because that's how ableism itself operates, and its non-questioning of those assumptions implies reinforcement, not challenge, to them. Extremis symbolizes the drive to eradicate disability off of which ableism garners tacit- if not explicit- support. The veterans are nearly caricaturized versions of the myth of the supercrip and the murderous disabled person. But ultimately, the movie takes a stand that could help persons with or without disabilities live in this world with one another. 

I'd like to push things a little and say that maybe, since we see how the "cure" isn't really a cure, but rather becomes another addictive/harmful substance, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, the writers are trying to say we shouldn't strive for a cure for disability, and  that maybe we should live with conditions once they reach the point  where they're irreversible. I think this sort of falls apart with Tony (since he has found a way to live with the shrapnel), though. Still, I'd like to think there's at least a little merit to this, as I did like the movie so much.

On that note, I really, really enjoyed the movie. More than the second in the franchise; it has been so long since I've seen the first, I cant't quite say if that's still my favorite now. My love of critiquing things I love is something I've done for ages, even when I didn't realize that was what I was doing. Christ, when I was a little kid, I'd go from asking my mom why Ariel was such a bad girl (deliberately disobeying and getting into a shouting match with her dad? TOTALLY naughty!) to singing "Part of Your World" in the bathtub, acting out this scene entirely (and making a mess in the process). Skills and capabilities have grown, but the basic idea has remained the same.

I think that's probably why I fall into the fourth camp. I have my ideals and  aspirations, but I realize there  are a lot of real barriers to them.  So I can enjoy  Iron Man 3 but still recognize it has some serious flaws or problematics embedded within its scenes, characterizations, dialogue, visuals... etc.