Author: justacreature

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Hidden disabilities tend to stay hidden (TW!! mental health, issues with healthcare, descriptions of dissociation, family issues, brief mention of fatphobia)

I’ve spent the majority of my life disabled, but no one would ever know it. Except, maybe, if the way I twist and writhe around trying to soothe my pain has been a bother to you. Maybe my dead stares and sudden confusion about what is happening around me have been weird to you. But would these even be clocked as me being someone who is disabled, or just as someone who is a nuisance to those around me?

Read more: Hidden disabilities tend to stay hidden (TW!! mental health, issues with healthcare, descriptions of dissociation, family issues, brief mention of fatphobia)

I had horrible back pain as a kid. Doctors eventually took me seriously and said that I, a 13-year-old, would have to undergo major surgery to correct a 50+ degree curvature of my spine. This is done so with metal rods and screws put into my back. Yes, I can usually feel them.

Did this help the pain though? Absolutely not. The amount of time I have suffered with debilitating chronic pain and all the doctors and specialists I’ve seen have had no success in relieving my pain.

Would people know it? Absolutely not. My parents raised me to shut my mouth and deal with it. To push on no matter how bad it hurt. So I did, and I did, and I did. Dear god, my body is so sad about that.

Years go by, each adding new things. Your insane muscle tension from your surgery is causing you severe migraines? Sorry hun, good luck, and take some Tylenol (that’s hilarious) You’ve had weird severe migraines your whole life too?? We aren’t really gonna look into that at all actually. Your retina is detached, and you need to have surgery to insert a scleral buckle in your eye to reattach it but we also have no clue what caused it so good luck. You’re autoimmune. You have fibromyalgia, you have rheumatoid arthritis. Oh, this medicine isn’t helping your pain??? Wow, that’s weird. Let’s raise your dose (spoiler alert: that won’t help either). It hurts, but it’s invisible. No one knows. But it brings me shame. I hate telling people I have physical limitations, especially as a fat person. People usually give me that once over, like yeah. sureeee. you’re just a lazy bitch. So guess what I do!!! Exactly what my parents raised me to do. Fuck it hurts.

Did I mention these are only the physical ones?

Plethora of mental illnesses I could list on and on, but I’ll focus on the most stigmatized one. I struggle so badly with dissociative identity disorder (DID). Yes. I am ACTUALLY diagnosed. TikTok has absolutely just taken DID and ran with it. So much fake-claiming etc etc etc. I hate telling people I’m a system, I always feel insane and stupid and like I’m lying!! Really though, I can’t make up how terrifying and debilitating it is. I can’t make up how it feels to wake up and realize we are driving and to not have a single clue where we’re going or that we even left the house. I can’t describe how hard it is to deal with the episodes of no escape. I stay trapped, only heavily emotional parts fronting. Scout is causing us to only feel like a vessel. Nothing is real, you’re not real, this is a dream. Max is angry and we need him to not lash out, Ace is hysterically crying, Remy is having insane sensory overload, and Shiloh and Sadie are scared and are having flashbacks, triggering Ace to be hysterical again. Others are desperately trying to help, but get so drained and dissociative. Minutes. Hours. Days. I don’t really ever know how much time passes. I never know who I am. My brain literally feels like it’s buzzing with how much we switch and how much people are opinionated and talking over one another. We have meltdowns picking out clothes, music, makeup, ANYTHING because it is so hard to satisfy everyone and if someone is upset, Max will front and be mean. We don’t want that. Anxiety. Who can front? No one. Everyone is so burnt out. The body is tired. What the fuck do we do?

I keep my mouth shut.

So how do I take care of myself if no one really tends to know the extent of the shit I deal with?

I don’t.

My parents raised me to shut my mouth and deal with it. To push on no matter how bad it hurt. So I did, and I did, and I did.

Dear god, my body, and my mind, is so fucked because of that.

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A Puppet: Follow the rules I make about YOUR body! (TW: eating disorder, body image, parental issues)

It’s such an odd concept, isn’t it?? My mother started controlling my body image when I was in elementary school. 6 years old and already practically dieting. She would give me specific low-calorie, thin ass bread for my sandwiches with a single slice of cheese as my lunch for the day. 10 years old and already posting long workouts that I did on social media so my mother would be proud of me that I was making an effort to make my body more acceptable for her. I developed an eating disorder in elementary school. I was always so scared of my mother seeing me eat that I became so secretive. Binge eating disorder isn’t taken seriously, she knew I had it, admitting she knew, but I guess it was another way of controlling me for her to not help me. I remember hiding snacks under my bed that I was given at school so I could have them without her seeing and judging me. Halloween as a kid was pointless, she always gave my candy away to people at her work because I “didn’t need it”. I was a kid. My mother snapping at me to pull my shirt out, “suggesting” (the things she told me were never a suggestion: you don’t go against what Vicki says, your body is her puppet) that I take my selfies at a higher angle to hide my double chin, telling me to wear shapewear so my clothes would “flatter”… the best they could that is as she looked my body up and down in disgust. I was a child.

I have always been her puppet. Wear this, don’t wear that you can see how fat you are, god don’t sit like that you can see your fat rolls, when does it stop?? The answer? Never.

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