cakefordogs

Content notes: internalised ableism mention, food mention

I've been thinking, recently, about relationship anarchy and Disabledness.

Thinking about what relationships could look like when we toss all the rules for what they should look like out of the window.

Thinking about society's expectation that we must be closer with our romantic partners than with our friends. Relationship anarchy rejects the idea that this is a necessary part of life, and instead enables us to choose the type of relationship that we and our friends or partners are comfortable with.

Usually, what we mean by this is that friends can be as close and valued as romantic partners typically are. Could it mean more casual romantic relationships, too?

“I can only spend 5 minutes a day on you, at the very most. Less if I have to wash my hair.” Does that have to imply a casual relationship, or can that be thrown out along with “relationships have to involve sex” and “you can only love one person at a time”?

How am I supposed to know, when there's only one allowed mould for relationships and that mould was built by and for abled people?

Thinking about what relationships could look like when we build them from the ground up specifically around our own Disabled wants and needs.

What would a relationship built around my wants and needs as a person who has very few spoons for socialising look like?

Thinking about asynchronous communication, or communication without the need for an immediate response. Letters, emails, and various social media to varying degrees, for example.

What might asynchronous dating look like?

Imagine getting biscuits specially tailored to your food intolerances in the post, and lying down to eat them and read your datemate's latest email and think about all of the things you love about them, and knowing that they don't expect you to reply until you're ready.

Imagine writing down the list you made in your head, of all the things you love about them, and sending snippets to them throughout the day.

Imagine reading a book together, in little 5 minute segments, and sending them texts filled with exclamation marks a week later.

Imagine a game of chess. One move every day, accompanied by flirtatiously taunting messages. Do abled people's dates go on for months? Do they know they're missing out?

I suppose what I'm trying to say here is that I've been undoing the threads of internalised ableism that tell me it's impossible for someone like me to be a desirable partner. Imagining a future that I want. And I'll be honest, I'm still not sure what that might look like. But I want to find out.

#essays #mecfs

Content note: needle mention

I jokingly call it a “houseiversary”. It's like a birthday or a wedding anniversary, except it's for when I last left the house, and no one's ever given me a present for it.

It means I noticed it was October, And that made me think of - oh, so long ago – I don't even remember what I was doing but I think it involved loud car rides and needles in my arm. Did I know it would be the last time? Did anyone tell me?

It means I wonder what's out there, how it's changed, how I've changed, how much of what I remember is real. What I've forgotten. There could be dragons roaming the streets for all I know.

It means I think of other people, what they meant to me, what they could have meant, and whether they think of me from time to time. Whether they ever truly existed at all.

It means I dream of one day leaving, again - of hatching a dragon of my own and raising it and waiting until it grows strong enough to lift me into the sky and away.

#poetry #mecfs

A chest binder is a kind of hug. A hug is a kind of reassuring squeeze, A promise of protection, warmth, And a chest binder is a kind of protection, a kind of warmth. I wear a hug and it protects me, Keeps me safe, Squeezes dysphoria into a tight embrace Until it defrosts into something new, something calming, Something warm.

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Inspired by this post

#poetry #lgbtq+

I push the clear gel out of the bottle and hold it up to the light as it sits in my hand spreading out, almost but not quite losing its shape. Gently, I use my thumb to divide it in two. I slide half to my other palm, leaving a glistening trail behind. I put my hand to my shoulder and feel the pressure of my palm through the gel as I move my hand down my arm. Reassuring. A gift from myself to myself.

This is my daily ritual, my promise to myself. I have seen my pain, dissociation. I have recognised it. I will make my future better.

I close my eyes at the coolness on my skin as everything unnecessary evaporates.

#poetry #lgbtq+

 Sleep disturbance   Unrefreshed sleep:e.g. awaken feeling exhausted regardless of duration of sleep, day‐time sleepiness -Myalgic Encephalomyelitis International Consensus Criteria

In my dreams I fly. In my dreams school takes place at the top of an endless staircase. In my dreams I meet a girl and we kiss under the stars. We have no need of words. In my dreams I swim laps of a pool as the water slowly rises. In my dreams I fail to teleport. I cannot get the hang of shifting my surroundings around me so I run instead. In my dreams I am in the middle of a busy crowd of strangers and I remember I am sick. I remember I need rest. In my dreams I do not rest.

#poetry #mecfs

I had been captured. Hands tied behind me, evil scheme in ruins at my feet. The good side had well and truly won. “There's one thing I don't understand, in all of this,” Heroman said, as he checked the knots were secure. “Which is?” I replied. “All of this, the elaborate plans, the scheming, the stolen top-secret technology. All so you could teleport into the house of anyone who posts anything on the internet? Why? What was it all for?” “In my coat, over there” – I nod to the corner of the room – “is my phone. Turn it on. Then you'll see.” Heroman scanned my coat with his X-ray vision and, sensing no threat but still wary, did as I asked. “It's a husky,” he said, confused. “The flomp ears! The soft, soft fur! That smile! They're perfect, but this husky lives on the other side of the world!” Heroman still looked bewildered. “Don't you understand?” I could feel an evil laugh bubbling up inside me. “I want to pet them! I want to pet them all!”

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Inspired by the pictures in this tweet by Blair Braverman

#microfiction #dogs

I want a relationship where We spend our evenings cuddled on the sofa Netflix and chilling and it's not a euphemism Then head to bed where we press our bodies against each other in our pyjamas Reassuring, telling each other through touch “I'm here, you're safe” And kissing, before we drift off into sleep Not going further because there is no further Only other people's relationships in a dynamic that works for them And our relationship, different from theirs but no less whole

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A poem about my experience of asexuality, originally posted on Valentine's Day

#poetry #lgbtq+

How does it feel? This -I gesture vaguely to my last half-decade - is normal now. This is what everyone's going through. This isn't what anyone else is going through at all. How are you doing? Are you okay? Our world isn't built for this. Staying at home. Why didn't you put supports in place when it was just us sick people? I want to cackle as you find out first hand that housebound doesn't mean sitting around watching TV all day. I envy you for your ability to watch TV at all. Thank you for the free resources. I hope they help thousands of people. Why weren't they there before. Over the years I've slowly, thoughtfully, desperately discovered how to cope. I want to teach you all of my coping strategies. My coping strategies aren't for you. I want to listen while you vent about how hard it is for you. What's your problem? It'll only be for a year or two at most. You can still do everything except go out, so what are you complaining about? I want to cup your face in my hands and tell you, softly, that it'll be alright. That it's not so bad living like this. I want to smugly proclaim “see? It's terrible living like this”. I want to sit you down and make you sign a legal document promising you won't forget about me when this is all over*. *for you I want to care for you. I want you to care about me.

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I’m having a lot of feelings about watching abled people respond to covid. Not just the way some people are making it extremely obvious whose lives they feel are worth living, but also their response to social distancing measures. Things that society, as a whole, didn’t care about pre-lockdown (when they were only happening to disabled people) are suddenly A Big Deal. I saw an article about the government being deeply concerned about the mental health effects of being confined to the house for extended periods, which was incredibly weird as someone who has been housebound for 3 years. This poem was an attempt to capture my confusing and often contradictory feelings about the whole situation.

#poetry #mecfs

If I do it, will I regret it? Afterwards, will I find

That the frenzied buzzing of thoughts gives way to a mind devoid of anything?

That coordinating every single muscle required to stand up is too much effort?

That, if I try, I can wrangle words into a sentence in my mind, but as soon as I open my mouth to speak they disappear?

That, at dinner, when I drop peas all over the floor, I break down crying because it's all too much, wordlessly screaming at reality to stop because I don't have the energy to deal with this on top of everything else?

That at night I'll lie awake because I'm too tired to sleep?

Is it worth it?

#poetry #mecfs

She looks at your dinner and back up at you And you look into her beautiful, sad eyes and want to give her everything. All the food on your plate, all the toys in the house Everything you own and still you know she deserves more. Soon you're wondering how to pluck a star from the sky and wrap it up with a ribbon Just to see, as she plays with it, the way her eyes light up.

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I wrote this for Casper Kerrivan while worrying about his dog Cinder. She had a health scare but she’s okay now!

#poetry #dogs