It upsets cure evangelists to see evidence of disability, right there in front of them.
Beds transmute into a form of policing while simultaneously being promoted as an alternative to policing.
In listings for old pottery that was not intended to be crazed, sellers will disclose what they see as damage: ‘Some crazing.’ Sometimes that’s how I feel. Some crazing.
There are entire lines of therapy that basically boil down to “learn self-control so you never upset the sane.”
When you attribute someone’s evil actions to their mental health status rather than their actual root cause—like white supremacy—then that evil is no longer presented as a choice.
Disability ruins everything, these stories tell us: disability itself is tragedy. These people’s lives are over, apparently, even though they are palpably still here.
When your back is against the wall, dumping your loved ones in the president’s front yard can seem like the only rational response.