Disability Representation on Game of Thrones

I just read a post on NPR about Game of Thrones' representation of disabled people... Which is a topic I've been thinking about a lot, especially since the latest season comes to a close tonight.

First of all, I'm impressed that a large news outlet is talking about disability as it relates to GOT, not just talking about GOT itself. I'm also impressed by some of the points they make, such as:

On GOT's use of inspiration porn: 

Take the young princess scarred by a fictional severe skin disease — "greyscale." Perry says the character's disability primarily serves to pump up the pathos.

"It isn't really about her," he points out. "Right? It's all — this poor, physically disfigured girl who's so good and pure and smart. Oh no, she's going to be killed; now we have to be really upset. That is the kind of writing I kind of hate."

The article also mentions the trope of "curing" disabled characters. What will become of Bran Stark, a wheelchair user? David Perry, a disabled activist interviewed in the article responds: "You don't want to learn to fly... You want a ramp built into your castle."

Exactly! (I know I'd gladly live in my very own accessible Medieval castle!).

Tyrion Lannister: "...complicated, powerful and very sexy". Also disabled.

Game of Thrones has some brilliant acting, thrilling cinematography, and fascinating characters... Characters who, for the most part, aren't always moral. You often love to hate them. (Cersei, anyone?)

The disabled characters are the same way:

"Peter Dinklage, the actor who comes first in the credits, is a little person... Tyrion Lannister, is complicated, powerful and very sexy". All true. Except he also murdered a sex worker, just because he was jealous that she was doing her job by sleeping with someone other than him.

Jaime Lannister (who has a prosthetic hand) is "complicated, powerful and very sexy" too. He's also a talented swordsman, and a loyal brother... other than the fact that he raped his sister.

I guess it's nice to see that disabled characters aren't being treated like saints just because they're disabled. But wouldn't it be nice to have at least one disabled character who isn't problematic?

Also note that all of the major characters who have disabilities (other than Tyrion) are played by abled actors. That in itself sends a message to viewers.

Game of Thrones is doing an infinitely better job of including characters with disabilities than many other shows on TV right now. But I still hope they'll do a better job in their final season. 

May the Lord of Light answer our prayers.

Top 15 of 2015

2015 has been a memorable year, so I thought I'd take a cue from Blacksburg Belle and make a list of my favourite 15 things from 2015.

1. Travel. I was fortunate enough to visit Columbus, Atlanta, Philadelphia and Central Florida this year. I'm crossing my fingers that 2016 will include further travels.

2. Launching our first project at The Selectively Silent Child.

3. #hospitalglam. "Taking the shame out of being in treatment one selfie at a time". Check out a couple of my selfies here and here.

4. This bathing suit bottom. I foresee the fatkini movement living on well past 2015. (Psst. It's still available on Torrid's website).

5. Amazing food. Gingerbread from Richmond's Kosher Bakery (Toronto), hotdogs and chili cheese fries from Tony Packo's (Toledo), homemade matzoh brei, for example.

Churros in Epcot's Mexico Pavillion are amazing! #dessert #foodie #foodstagram #orlando

A photo posted by Rebecca Esther (@rebeccaesther) on Sep 5, 2015 at 10:40am PDT

6. Crop tops. More specifically, seeing a huge variety of women rocking the style that used to be for white girls with perfect abs. This is my favourite.

7. This quote.

8. My cane. I definitely couldn't have travelled, worked or enjoyed 2015 nearly as much as I did without my cane. No one wants to need a mobility device, especially in their early 20s, but if you need one, I say this: Use it. And make it pretty. It's so worth it.

A photo posted by Rebecca Esther (@rebeccaesther) on Oct 13, 2015 at 4:59pm PDT

9. Starting Project Zero.

10. Revival by Selena Gomez. It's a great album. And I like the conversation it started.

11. Clinique Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion. Oh my god. The change in my skin really is "dramatically different". Another skincare life saver (especially when I'm in Florida) is Evian Mineral Water Spray. It makes your skin feel cool and refreshed without messing up your makeup. Amazing.

12. Maple syrup scented candles.

13. Comparing my "double life" as a spoonie to Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus. It still makes me giggle.

14. Kacey. Musgraves. I love her music and everything she stands for.

15. Avocados.

Let's spend the new year together! Follow me on Instagram.

Being disabled makes me feel like I'm living a double life.

There are days when I function almost like an ablebodied, neurotypical person; I can run a block to catch the bus. I wake up early to work and eat breakfast and take my vitamins. I have lattes with friends and call my boyfriend on his lunch break and spend time with my family.

But on bad days...

I literally can't get out of bed. I skip meals because toasting a slice of bread or grabbing an apple takes more effort than I can expend. I have panic attacks that leave me in tears. I can't keep any food down and swallow Gravol by the package.

This is a double life, but it's not glamorous. I'm no Hannah Montana!

The Intersection of Fat and Disability

Would people react to my disability differently if I weren't fat?

If I weren't fat, would my sudden puking in the middle of a mall be met with offers of ginger ale and sympathy instead of fascination and disdain?

If I weren't fat, would my occasional use of a cane merit respectful volunteering of seats instead of hushed giggling and accusations of "you wouldn't need special accommodations if you didn't eat yourself into a body unable to hold its own weight!"?

If I weren't fat, would my admission that I have PCOS be surprising and upsetting, instead of drawing questions like "so that's why you're so huge?" or "isn't that an obese person's illness?"?

Fat people already aren't viewed as people. Even when they're white and cishet and able-bodied and generally "acceptable" in every way, other than their size. So when a fat person deviates from being "otherwise acceptable", they're even less than less-than human.

I guess I just answered my own question.

Image Source

It's Thanksgiving, and I'm Not Feeling Thankful

As someone who preaches gratitude daily, it's really disconcerting for me to not feel grateful. But today (on a day that has "thanks" in the name!!!), I'm not feeling thankful. I've been depressed all week, trying to come to terms with a worsening disability that's crippled me emotionally and physically, emptied my wallet and forced me to seek government aid, and I guess that's contributing to my overall feeling of frustration and panic and discontent.

I'm upset because:

1. People say seeking welfare is lazy, the "easy way out", but they've clearly never had strangers comb through their financial records and quiz them on their illnesses, cried on the phone and explained they couldn't afford food this week, sat in uncomfortable chairs for two hours while staving off a panic attack, suffering through PCOS cramps and anxiously watching their diabetic mother's blood sugar drop dangerously low while awaiting a humiliating appointment with a caseworker who asks, for the hundredth time, why they need help.

2. I'm being blamed for my disability, because I'm fat. I'm being told I'm lazy (there's that word again!) and that if I had a little work ethic, maybe I wouldn't be in this situation. Newsflash: I was fat before developing my illnesses. Body size has little, if anything to do with health. And I am the most ambitious and hard working person I know: I started a business at age 18, have done press for Disney World, Osceola County's tourism board, Emilie Autumn and numerous events in Toronto, completed a certificate program in business at a prestigious university and overcame Selective Mutism and Clinical Depression, while educating others about mental health and illness. That's all before the age of 23. The problem isn't that I won't work; it's that I can't.

3. I can't work. I'd gladly study full time and work full time, like many of my peers are (often simultaneously). I'd mop floors and flip burgers. Gladly. I'd love to make a living and never ask anyone for a cent, ever again. But jobs are scarce. And jobs for someone with multiple phobias, Panic Disorder, and debilitating chronic fatigue and pain are pretty much unheard of. I'm working on that, but it's hard (to say the very least).

I'm just so tired of spending all my time doubled over in pain, sleeping, picking up prescriptions I can't afford and waiting for doctors to see me and tell me there's nothing they can do. I'm tired of other people, whether it's society as a whole, Internet trolls or aquaintences, telling me I'm not good enough, because I'm fat and poor and disabled. I'm tired of letting their opinions affect my self worth. I'm tired of being tired!

But... I'm thankful for my self-knowledge and insight that allow me to verbalize my feelings. I'm thankful that welfare exists (even if it's a somewhat flawed program). I'm thankful for the friends and readers who have stuck by me since the very beginning (2010!). And my goodness, am I thankful for green bean casserole!

Happy Thanksgiving.

Gorgeous artwork by Coramantic on Etsy

Times Are Hard. Having a Disability Is Harder.

"Times are hard," said the creditor, cutting off my explanation that I'd love to pay my debt, but can't, because my disability is so severe that I can't work. "Times are hard for us all. I know".

Don't tell me you know how hard I have it until you've stayed up all night, clutching your stomach and trying not to be sick, wondering if a tenth extra-stong painkiller will kill you-- and wondering if maybe dying would be better than this.

Don't tell me you know how hard I have it until you've been so desperate to make the pain (emotional and physical) stop that you'd consider anything, everything; therapies that make you go into debt, dangerous treatments that have a 50% chance of working, expensive prescriptions that give you viscious side effects. And when none of that works, you're ready to cut your wrists or burn your thighs or drink until you forget.

Don't tell me you know how hard I have it until you've worked as diligently as you possibly could, for as long as you possibly could, and realized that your best wasn't good enough. You fall asleep on the job because the fatigue is so overpowering. You're in excruciating pain and have to call it quits early. Maybe you can't even get a job in the first place because you're too sick.

Don't tell me you know how hard I have it until you've had to stretch your $100/month salary and sell everything you own and beg your parents or friends or the government for help so you can put food on the table. And then the creditors start calling... You fell deep into debt 'splurging' on clothing and shelter and medication, praying that your health would stop declining so you could finally hold down a real job and pay off your Visas, just for your cards to be maxed out and the sharks to start circling. How can you pay off 3 credit cards and feed yourself and pay for medical treatment on $100/month? They don't care.

Don't tell me you know how hard I have it until you've been stared at and cat called because you gained literally 150 pounds on a new medication. You lose friends because you keep having to cancel on them because you don't feel well, ever. Even your doctors don't know what to do with you. You develop clinical depression because you're so distressed about your illness and the way it affects your family, friends and career. People glare at you because you won't can't give your seat on the bus to a little old lady because your joints are aching. You go to bed in pain and wake up in pain. You go to bed tired and wake up tired. You take your meds, grab your cane or your brace or your heating pad and pray that tomorrow will be better, that people will be more understanding, that simply existing won't be this grueling.

Don't tell me you know how hard I have it. Because unless you have a disability, you don't.

Image Source.

Spoonies vs Winter: A Love-Hate Relationship

I love winter. Fresh-baked gingerbread. Wearing slippers and sipping hot chocolate while I write, cats nestled by my side. Holiday dinners with family and friends. Christmas trees, menorahs, fluffy snow everywhere...

But I also hate winter. Daily panic attacks because of the weather. Scrubbing my hands until they're raw, because the person sitting next to me on the bus coughed. Fearing I can't pay the heating bill because I'm underemployed but still was turned down for disability. Icy fingers and toes (which is saying something, for an anemic). Being sad that I don't have the strength to toboggan or snowshoe like I used to.

Thus is life for a spoonie; things you once enjoyed, you can't as much (or at all); things you once paid no mind to, make life incredibly difficult. Winter also brings Seasonal Affective Disorder (or symptoms thereof), additional expenses, like heating, boots and warm clothes (difficult to afford if you're un- or under-employed thanks to a disability), and unfortunate run-ins with family members who don't 'get' the illness you're dealing with. And every day, you're forced to struggle with pain, fatigue and stigma on top of it all.

Do you have a love-hate relationship with winter? How do you cope?

Just keep fighting.

Every day, I pray my pain will go away and this dark, increasingly heavy cloud of fatigue over me will dissipate... but it doesn't. The more tired I am during the day, the more my insomnia plagues me at night, and I eventually pass out, sleeping all day. Then I can't fall asleep the next night. It's a never-ending cycle.

And yet, optimist that I am, I keep hoping my fatigue will magically go away, my doctors will find a cure for my pain, I'll 'snap out of' this, I'll drink a few cups of coffee or take an Advil and be totally fine.

But chronic pain and fatigue don't just disappear.

It's a daily struggle to walk the very thin line between accepting we have an ever-present disability, and allowing that admission to derail our attempts to live a fulfilling, happy, meaningful life. 

I know the struggle is worth it, deep down. Even on days like today, when I've been up for almost 40 hours or when my joints ache so much I sob or when I can't stop pulling my hair out.

Just keep fighting.

Downplaying Invisible Disability

I'm afraid of letting my disability define me, but more than that, I'm afraid of down-playing it, because 1) that does a disservice to others with disabilities, and 2) my loved ones won't understand that when I turn down an invitation or take an Ativan or the elevator or flake at the last minute, it's not because I'm lazy or being difficult-- it's because I sometimes require different aids or am anxious or my fatigue is debilitating. This makes me feel guilty and less-than and like a bad friend. The guilt and anxiety and my symptoms are things I'm working on, but I fear that isn't enough: I feel like a fake. I'm not in a wheelchair. I don't have cancer. My agoraphobic tendencies aren't full-blown agoraphobia.

Am I a fraud? Does applying for ODSP (provincial disability aid) make me greedy? Am I fool for thinking I'm part of the differently-abled community, and will be welcomed with open arms? Am I making a big deal out of nothing?

Most of the time I know I have no dishonest motives. I do need help. And I am trying.

This shit is hard. I just pray it will make me stronger.