Why I Dislike the ISA and Why I Think it has Failed

crippledscholar

International symbol of access

I hate the International Symbol of Access (ISA). That symbol that is intended to indicate spaces built to accommodate disabled people. It has however fundamentally failed to promote the accessibility that it meant to signify. If anything it has fostered misunderstandings both outside of and within the disability community. The symbol is tellingly often referred to as “The Wheelchair Symbol” and that is unfortunately what far too many people–disabled people included–seem to think it refers to, wheelchair users.

The ISA was and is intended to be generic in reference. It is supposed to be a symbol of access for disabled people. It is not supposed to prioritize or define which needs are accommodated. It is as much for me, an ambulatory part-time mobility aid (a bioness L300 or an AFO) using person or any other embodiment of disability as it is for wheelchair users. Unfortunately, people often look at that image…

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In Which I Ramble and Make No Particular Point

Let’s get the normal stuff out of the way first. My kid is finally eating solids, though I’ll admit it’s not much, but she’s actually trying foods and eating them. She still nurses entirely too much and I know she’s bored but I’m much better at entertaining older kids. Being a parent is tough for weird reasons. I was in physical therapy for eight weeks and it actually helped, and then they discharged me and so now I have to self-motivate to do my exercises at home. I haven’t done any. In the meantime, I’ve got an appointment to see an ophthalmologist and my ears are being weird. I’ve had problems with both ears, but the right ear in particular, feeling stuffed and painful for a while, but lately I’ve felt like I have trouble hearing sometimes. I’ve also got to make appointments to get some imaging done: MRI of lumbar spine, ultrasound of thyroid, and I need to visit the Dizziness and Balance Center because ten years of dizziness deserves its own specialist apparently.

Moving on.

I’ve always had this issue of wondering if I’m daydreaming or astral-ing. When I was a kid it didn’t really matter, but it’s like, where is the line? (Trick question, there is no spoon)

I wondered about it specifically this evening because sometimes my “daydreams” change rather abruptly and can sometimes go someplace entirely different than where I was directing it. It often connects to some of the work I’m puzzling out Over There and today’s redirect connects possibly to a fuzzy dream that I can’t remember nearly enough of. I was also discussing this with a friend and my assertion that my writing is supposed to help me with my work Over There somehow. I had an idea today but I’m not sure where that will go. Mostly it’s to deliberately write what is happening in the astral. Give it more direction than what I can typically accomplish in dreams. Perhaps trancework or meditation or something.

The other thoughts I’ve been having lately revolve around Kali. Honestly this whole thing with her is causing me stress. She’s from an entirely different culture, and that culture, the people who created it and live it, and She herself, deserve the respect of me adhering to it. The culture is so big though, and I am sick and lazy and exhausted. I can’t even worship the netjeru properly. I want to. I want to worship her and Anpu and Aset properly. It makes me sad. I feel like I can’t even try, like there’s no point. I feel like I shouldn’t even ask Her for anything.

Being sick sucks. Capitalism sucks. I spend half my day working to come home and have four hours with my kid, where I struggle to give her attention and entertainment because I’m worn, and struggle to see my physicians. And I still have to feed everyone and clean (my bathroom is disgusting and you only can’t tell because the tub is pink) and go to bed. Thank the gods Zolfyer is not a chump and cooks and cleans.

Back on topic, I know that a lot of astral work tends to start with self improvement. TheTwistedRope is currently going through therapy and that has popped up in my head multiple times recently. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that. I can’t afford therapy, I can’t afford another specialist. It’s 35$ per visit to see my specialists. I spent almost $200 in November and October on specialists. I’m spending another 35 next week. I also just don’t want to. I make jokes out of it, of having All the Specialists. I use it to empathize with patients at work and let them know “hey, it’s ok, it sucks but you’re not alone”, but I hate it. I absolutely hate it. I despise it.

I lose my mind a little. I saw a post on tumblr today that was entirely too real. A relatable post about psychosis, or something. Too many “lol yeah” reactions. And another one after that. Now, to be fair, I have a lot of friends on tumblr who suffer from dissociation and psychosis (I myself had derealization and dissociative episodes in severe depression), but it just….ironically makes me paranoid.

I know some people who have essentially done some “therapy” with their gods and I get the feeling that’s the angle one of Them (or all of Them, those three have always pushed shadow work) is going for. I know for a fact that my spiritwork is about healing, specifically healing Dapper (he’s got enough strength back to run around thank the gods), partially since he’s right in front of me. Learning to heal others tends to require healing yourself, or at least knowing where you’re broken and how you break, and I know that from watching Ekunyi do her fantastic work as a counselor.

Winter always drags up the ghastly creature of depression. It hasn’t got a full hold on me, but oh how it loves to jump up and bite me. I know that I’ve still got unhealed trauma, though part of that is I still have it inflicted on me. Being sick is a trauma in itself. I’ve never been the pinnacle of health, the epitome of stamina and whatnot, but man I miss my body from before high school. I never wept for my youth, slapped and punched and verbally poisoned out of me. Parts of my brain are still stuck there, still run away, or lash out viciously, at least in my head and behind closed doors.

My body is driving me nuts this year. Having doctors continuously tell you “I can’t find anything.” “Your tests are normal.” “I don’t know what’s wrong” (and those are the kind ones, the ones with compassion and bedside manner, rather than the ones who deliberately tell you, through your chart or implied, that you’re crazy and nothing’s wrong) makes you doubt. God and goddesses above I wonder every day if I’m just doing this to myself. Is it for attention? Would everything get better if I got therapy? Surely that’s cheaper than seeing five specialists. What am I going to do if the next test is normal too? Why can’t anybody find anything? Why isn’t any of this working?

I had two tests recently looking for vitamin deficiencies. One came back normal and the other came back low. So I’m getting treated for the low one. I desperately wished for the other one to be low too. It’s easy to treat these. It would make most of my problems go away. I’m not getting any better even treating the one. I’m crushed. I really am. Do you know how easy it is to treat a vitamin B deficiency? I could do it myself, or ask my coworker. But I’m not deficient in that, only in vitamin D, and that just requires a once a week supplement for 8 weeks, followed by a regular supplement. My life with my health has never been that easy though.

I know it’s normal, but in so many things I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where to go, or what to do, or how. I see myself getting pushed to go back to school for social work, but honestly how? I cannot quit my job for school, I barely see my kid as it is and I am sick and fatigued. I often stay up entirely too late so I can spend some quiet time with Z, if only to watch some tv or listen to him rant at his games with his friends. (I find it comforting and mildly amusing most days, though sometimes I wish he’d stop playing sooner so he wouldn’t get so worked up)

I wonder sometimes, if I could just will myself better. Rheumatologist thinks I have fibromyalgia, but that doesn’t explain everything, but my neurologist can’t find anything either. I’m tired of looking, but I know average diagnosis time is 10 years for most chronic diseases. It’s only been three. It’s disheartening. I find myself hoping my gods forgive my weakness and negligence and comfort me. I don’t feel worthy of it, so I often don’t ask. I wonder what’s the point sometimes. I feel like I’m walking in darkness sometimes. I guess that’s why my daydreams are so often about a traumatized person getting pampered and loved by someone with unending patience.

I know Z would do the same, but I’ve never been very good at communicating what I need or am looking for. He’s not a mind reader. Although apparently he’s getting very good at hearing when I’m thinking! Maybe he’ll be a mindreader in another eight years!

I’m going to bed now, I’ve rambled enough and only partially got my ideas for astral crap out of my head. I used to be good at this writing thing, but lately I feel like my brain is full of heavy darkness, semi solid and hungry for my words. It makes me feel stupid and looney. Guess I am depressed after all.