Dear ableist

You should be glad that I exist.

Thanks to me, you have someone to blame for your problems. When the wages go down, services are cut and taxes go up, when the powers that be are corrupted and you feel helpless, I’m here for you to blame. Looking at me lets you target your anger.

Thanks to me, when you feel down, when you’re tired of your boring life as a cog in the machinery of capitalism, when you’re envious of those who you think are better off than you, I’m here for you to pity. Looking at me lets you feel lucky you aren’t me.

Thanks to me, you can feel normal. When you’re reminded of the ways in which you’re not quite able to appear normal, unable to hide your individuality from the judging eyes and ears of your peers, I’m here for you to bully. Looking at me lets you hide.

Thanks to me, you can maintain the dividing lines. When you wish to separate those like me, highly verbal, gifted and holding high-tech jobs, from those like me, useless drains on society, stimming in corners and requiring expensive services, I’m here for you to dissect. Looking at me lets you perpetuate the divides.

Thanks to me, you can rationalise your desire to prevent others like me from being born. Looking at my difficulties with communication and managing my daily life, my inability to do certain things, my chronic pains, my very sparse social life, I’m here for you to prevent. Looking at me lets you condone eugenics.

…and in doing so make sure your children never need to look at me and never be challenged to start actually seeing me. As a person. As a human being. As an equal.

Written in a fit of rage.