Author: dietbeepis

let’s talk about masturbation
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let’s talk about masturbation

One of the biggest ways that going to Christian schools my whole life traumatized me was when it came to me and my sexuality. Being sexual is natural, but we were taught that it was dirty and sinful. I remember sitting in my religion class and being told that masturbation was “sin of the flesh” and that the first person who should be able to explore our bodies should be our future spouse. Let that sink in. We were taught that we did not own our bodies. Our bodies’ erogenous zones were made for not us, but our future husbands. We were so heavily shamed for sex and even masturbation that I felt too guilty about my own sexual assault to tell anyone. I was so deeply indoctrinated that I would throw up after masturbating for years, and didn’t begin to explore my own body until I was 16/17. I wish I could go back in time and argue with the teachers that taught us that we should be ashamed of sexuality. How could they try and gate keep us from our own bodies, when its so natural that children masturbate. In fact, children only stop touching themselves when they are socialized into knowing that it is not okay to do that in public. We all have erogenous zones, so why were we taught we weren’t allowed to touch a certain part of our own bodies?

When talking about sexuality and its intersectionality with disability, we see similar ideas about how disability cancels out the sexual aspect of people. People are surprised to know that disabled individuals engage in sex or own sex toys. The stigma surrounding disability is so negative that anyone who is visibly disabled is seen as a non-sexual human. When I was in group therapy for my disabilities (ASD and Bipolar) we talked about the importance of masturbation as a way to release endorphins if we are spiraling. It was recommended for us to masturbate or have sex if we are feeling especially depressed or dissociative because the dopamine that is released into our brains as a result may help pull us out of the mental space we are drowning in.

I think that masturbation and its benefits should be talked about more, not only as something normal, but also as a tool for mental health. Everyone has erogenous zones, they’re all over our bodies. We should be allowed to learn about them and explore our bodies (privately) without feeling immense guilt and shame. If we are not visibly disabled, we should reframe the way we view disability and sexuality, being disabled shouldn’t serve as a hurdle to being sexual. 

i dont look autistic, whatever that means
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i dont look autistic, whatever that means

Wow, I never would have guessed, you don’t look autistic. Are you high functioning? You must be, my little brother is high functioning… I couldn’t believe that I was being asked that in the middle of a party. Language surrounding autism and other ‘disorders’ is so, and i cannot emphasize this enough, important to learn, especially when you interact with people from that community on a daily basis. Language surrounding autism in particular has changed a lot over the past decade as people with autism have stepped more into the spotlight of entertainment media and social conversations.

This idea of “looking” autistic is absurd to me, and the idea of not looking disabled stems from related disability to intellectual or physical disability. It’s so interesting to me that people feel the need to comment on my ability to blend in due, in part, to pretty privilege. My attractiveness helps me further mask my autism, and although that is in part a privilege, it also assists in further disabling me in many social situations. By not looking autistic people assume that I view and function the same as them within social situations, specifically when it comes to communication. I am so tired of having to put every ounce of effort into deciphering the hidden meanings of the actions of neurotypical people. Unless something is clearly communicated to me, I will misinterpret what you want and are expecting of me. Being autistic, I am prone to being manipulated, and I find that happening to myself over and over again. People take advantage of the fact that I am autistic without even meaning to, and I end up anxious due to not understanding the social expectations of me.

This post was honestly going to be more positive, and was going to be an attempt at educating non autistic people about my autism, but to be honest, I am tired of having to be the bigger person and practice patience when it comes to people being ignorant about the existence of my autism as well as basic terminology surrounding it. As a person who is the part of a marginalized community, such as the disabled community, it should not be our job to educate people on our condition. Unfortunately, that task does usually fall to the marginalized community. As someone who doesn’t look disabled, whatever that may mean, I am able to blend in if I want, I don’t always have to be clocked as disabled by others. This makes me feel as though I owe something to the wider disabled community and should be the one educating others, which I have to remind myself is not true. I wish the abled community took a bigger interest in educating themselves on how to interact with people with disabilities, whether they may be physical, intellectual or mental.

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“F*ck your disorder”

Photo by Darya Sannikova on Pexels.com

A few weeks ago I had a difficult bipolar/autistic meltdown that spiraled me into a dissociative state. I say bipolar slash autistic because the criteria and symptoms for both disorders overlap so much that it is nearly impossible to tell them apart within my own body at this point.  I wasn’t able to attend some of my classes for two weeks because my mental state was feeling immensely guilty about using my accommodations. Every time I typed up another email to a professor, saying that I once again had to rely on my disability accommodations, I felt my chest tighten with anxiety and guilt, as if I was doing something wrong by needing my accommodations. I didn’t want my professors to think that I was lying to get out of class to go out with my friends. To be fair I did hang out with my friends and try and do stuff during the time I had class, but everything we did was an attempt to pull me out of the dissociative state I was in. As someone who has heard numerous times that they don’t look “autistic” or “disabled”, I am aware that this is a judgment that many pass on me, and I was aware that my professors may think that as well. Perhaps out of guilt, I sent an email to my professors, explaining that I had bipolar disorder and was struggling to pull myself out of a rough episode that left me unable to even read and comprehend the readings for any of my classes. Most of my professors answered with supportive statements, validating my disability and granting me as many extensions as I needed. One professor emailed me back, ignoring the fact that I had just opened up to him about my identity, and demanded I turn in my work within 48 hours, because the accommodation guidelines offered a 48 hour extension as an example guideline. Evidently, I was not able to get my work in, because I am not able to pull myself out of a dissociative episode on command; to make it worse, when I finally returned to class the following week he spoke negatively about bipolar disorder in class, leaving me stunned and panicked. I made the rather obvious assumption that I wasn’t his favorite student. Rather than fighting with him every step of the way, I decided to withdraw from the class, postponing my graduation from this December to May. I was devastated telling my parents that I would not be graduating as soon as they thought, and I was even embarrassed, knowing that if I pushed myself I could have made it through the class. But just because you can do something as a disabled person, doesn’t mean it is worth it. I was reminded in a somewhat blunt manner that not everyone will accommodate your disability, and sometimes it’s better to give up, then to fight for your right to take a class. 

The emotional labour it would have taken for me to fight with this professor every step of the way, just to most likely pass with a C in his class was not worth it for me. Personally, I am proud of myself for knowing my boundaries and how far I can push myself. He made me feel weak and made me hyperaware of how people view me as someone who is bipolar and on the sepctrum. 

Subtle ableism is so present in today’s world that it goes unnoticed by most, unless we are directly affected by it. For me, this was an example of direct ableism, someone who would do the bare minimum to accommodate my needs, and refused to do anything more. It was dehumanizing, but it also reminded me how lucky I am to not be faced with people like him, and ableist challenges on a daily basis. Our world was not made for disabled bodies, whether it’s expectations at work, to campuses being not accessible, to the general population applying certain stigmas to disabled people as a whole. As a physically abled person who is usually able to mask their disability in public, I don’t have to constantly worry how I will make it to class on time, or if the elevator will work today, or if I will be able to make it up the hill to my building for class, and that gives me a certain privilege. The dialectic of both being disabled and abled is an interesting limbo to live in. I can’t imagine how it would be if I had to worry about physical disability on top of my ever present mental disability, still, I can’t help but wonder if I would have been treated better by that professor if my disability had been more visible.

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you caused me to be nonbinary

Content warning: Emotional Abuse, shitty highschool relationship

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Sometimes I sit and think about what “caused” me to be nonbinary. I used to be so content in my childhood as a girl, where did it all go wrong? As my mom puts it, where did her “daughter” go? Now before you try and stop me, I know that line of thinking is problematic and pathologizing, but sometimes I spiral down that rabbit hole. I want to pinpoint exactly where my relationship with my assigned gender at birth went awry, and to me the answer is clear. I can trace all my problems back to you. You were my first big relationship, my first “I love you”, and also the person who ruined me. You made me question every part of my body, you made me wish I had more curves and bigger tits and less blonde eyebrows. You told me that if I didn’t wear a push up bra to school, you wouldn’t talk to me in the halls. If I didn’t draw on eyebrows to make up for the fact mine were so clear, you wouldn’t even look my way. At the young age of 15 you forced “the ideal body” on me so hard I think it broke me. Now my tits are big, I have a “womanly” figure, but I don’t identify as one. And I think that is due to the two years of you constantly sexualizing my young body.

I know, based off the concept of phenomenology (the study of consciousness through the first person experience of events and, well, phenomena), that this did affect me and my view of myself and the world around me. Your forced perspective on my body changed my view of how my own body moves and is perceived by the world around me. Two years of hearing what I needed to change about my physical body makes me move around in the world feeling awkward and being very aware of how people view my pear shaped body. I don’t think I’m attractive and I interact with people as though I truly am physically unattractive. Based off of other experiences I have had since, I know other people think that I am beautiful and that my body is lovely, but the words you said scarred me forever. As I continue to collect more experiences maybe I can put myself further and further from the experience that was you, but it’s been six years and still you affect me.

I know that realistically, and due to phenomenologists, it was not just you who “made” me nonbinary. I know it was probably a combination of experiences I have had, as well as my own personal relationship with gender outside of you that led me to be nonbinary. That being said, I enjoy how easy it is to say that all my identity issues are because of how you treated me. You already are a antagonist in my story, so why not blame you for everything? You would hate me as I am now, and that gives me power, I think (I hope).