#edit: AND HES DISABLED. AND HES ON MEDICATION. AND HE HAS WEIRD EYES

[computerpeople]

warren falls into so many tropes i am fucking crazy about in a character AND hes the protagonist like fuck off hes my MAN dude

[river-mort]

Hey this might sound kind of stupid when talking about dick knubblers stupid robot eyes but there is an unfortunate history of disabled people's medical aids getting erased and photoshopped out of photos and fan works to see either what a disabled person would look like "normally" or because they don't like the look of them. So seeing his robot eyes photoshopped out was kind of upsetting as someone who uses medical aids. I'm not angry or accusing you of being purposefully ignorant or malicious about it just so we're clear and you don't have to respond this this. I just wanted to let you know that it can be harmful.

I want to thank you for your polite language. I can see your genuine desire to make things more comfortable for others, it's a great wish, so i will try to give you proper answer as much as my english skills allows me.

First of all - I love Dick Knubbler. I'm one step from obsession, which is good because when I'm obsessed I start to act pretty weird as if I had maniacal phase. I love everything about this ridiculous man and I love his robotics eyes, it's such a genius concept and it looks so neat. I did edits only because of my love to him, I didn't have any intentions to "fix" him or give him more proper look. He used to have eyes for such a small period of time and I wanted to fantasize about how would he look. In fact he looks better WITH robotic eyes. That's all, I didn't think about surgery he came through or if it's more or less comfortable. To me, he is just a picture on screen.

Second - I can't take care of everyone who come across my art, it's not my responsibility to filter content they might or might not see. Everything can be harmful, it's internet, its filled with so much different shit, if you just float in this dirty river you will drown in this swamp, unless you get yourself a boat and a paddle and make your own course. No one will do it for you, no one have to do it for you. Internet is magnificent,you literally can build your own world. Make yourself a safe, beloved space. And you're the only one who can do it, it's only in your power.

You can't come across everyone saying their content is harmful and expecting them to follow YOUR rules. If you come to my place saying you has a traumatic experience with cats, I will suggest to meet in different places, not close my cat in room and don't let him be anywhere while you visit me.

EVERYTHING can be harmful. Anyone can have traumatic experience about anything. O came through tough bullying in school for 11 years and every time I hear anyone has good relationship with their classmates I feel both angry and jealous. But I can't tell them not to talk about it. It's not their problems.

Now, I clearly understand your point. I don't know your story, but I maybe you come through bullying or stressful operations, maybe you had rejection from people or painful memories. And I feel sorry about that. I hope you have a good treatment and friends and family that support you and love. But I personally can't help you anyhow and I can't filter my content because of you. I know what I did has nothing to do with any kind hate so I don't see any reason why I should be aware of "harmful content".

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello. I had a question regarding your post about blind characters. I have a character in my WIP that must cover their eyes.. but it’s blind. He may need to tell people he is blind to explain why he covers his eyes though. I was wondering how I might write this character without offending. Thank you :)

I think I want to start by explaining the “covering blind eyes” trope and why it has become a harmful trope. I think understanding why it’s hurtful helps everyone learn how to handle it better.

I would guess that the “blind people wear sunglasses” trope comes from Hollywood for the specific reason of 1. wanting to signal to the audience that the character is obviously blind and 2. avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief by preventing the audience from catching the sighted actor look at visual stimuli (because disabled characters are almost always played by able actors).

But this changed the way the public expects to experience blindness. If watching a sighted actor wear sunglasses and say he’s blind is all the exposure to the blind community a person has had, that’s the only model of blindness they’ll recognize. If they meet a blind person in real life who doesn’t wear sunglasses, it’s going to break this built perception and cause an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. 

And then there is the common “cloudy-white blank gaze” that pops up in media. It stems from the fact that cataracts is the most common cause of blindness and the appearance of severe cataracts is a cloudy film in the eyes obscuring the iris and pupil. It can also alter what color a person’s eyes appears to be, making them appear paler and grey in the beginning and then as the cataract advances it becomes more yellow/brown and alters a person’s vision to appear more yellow tinted.

There are lots of other eye conditions that makes the eyes look visibly different. Albinism for instance affects the color and structure of the iris. Eyes might be congenitally misshapen. The muscles might be weak or not work and one or both eyes point significantly outward. Someone who was born blind and experienced no visual stimuli might also have weak muscles around their eyes because they never had a reason to focus their eyes on anything.

And unfortunately humans have the habit of feeling uncomfortable when they meet someone who looks very obviously different from the norm, whether that’s a personal style choice (hair color and style, tattoos, clothing choices) or something they can’t help (a visible disability, skin color, scars). 

To the paragraph above, @gothhabiba replied with:  “it's very weird & ahistorical to claim that racism or ableism are some kind of natural "human" trait.. like frankly it's apologia”

You’re right, I wasn’t thinking beyond that generalization or assumption.

Perhaps a better way to put it is: I was raised in a society where I was taught from childhood to think that there was only one kind of human being to be. White, cis, straight, abled, conservative. That’s a very western thing and that’s a thing I’m going to constantly be unlearning.

Racism and ableism and homophobia aren’t innate, that’s a western thing that was forced onto the rest of the world by colonialism. And because western media created this idea that the world is white, abled, cis, straight, and Christian-value leaning, it taught people to think that was the norm so that seeing someone different from that archetype would cause a cognitive dissonance, which causes discomfort.

And instead of working past that cognitive dissonance to learn more and realize there’s so much more to life than media taught you, society encourages you to ignore that cognitive dissonance by sticking your head in the sand-- or TV screen.

So combine these two tropes or common beliefs together and you get something a little dangerous: the idea that blind people cover their eyes because they look obviously different and they’re ashamed (or should be ashamed) of that.

And if you’re someone who’s just gone blind or who was born blind and you have little to no contact with the blind community, then this societal belief that you should be ashamed of how your eyes look becomes detrimental to your self-esteem and further builds internalized ableism.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read or watched a blind character cover their eyes with sunglasses because they were ashamed of how their eyes looked. And I distinctly remember a few times where a sighted friend of the character was trying to convince them to stop wearing sunglasses because there’s nothing wrong with looking different--which is true, but it plays into this fantasy of being the perfect abled ally who saves the blind character from being miserable. 

In an ideal world, the character has no reason to believe looking different is a bad thing or diminishes their worth or makes people dislike them. And if they develop this belief, it’s more likely that someone more involved in the disabled community, most likely someone disabled themselves, will set them straight. Or that the character will learn to accept themselves on their own, looks included.

But there are some perfectly valid reasons for any blind person to wear sunglasses. They might have an interest in fashion and sunglasses complete the look they’re going for. They could want to protect their eyes from UV rays while they’re outside. They may experience light sensitivity and sunglasses reduces any discomfort or pain. Those are incredibly common reasons to wear sunglasses whether you’re sighted or blind.

But there are some more complicated situations.

In your words, your character must cover his eyes. You never specified why, so my primary guess is that he has some kind of power that is unpleasant or has devastating affects and the only way to prevent it is to keep his eyes covered. My primary guess stems from this post where an anon and I discussed a retelling of Medusa, a hypothetical blinding of oneself to avoid ever killing anyone ever again, and what I think I would do if I was in that scenario.

So how do you write a blind character who must cover their eyes and avoid some of the complications?

1. Your character must always have the ability to say “fuck off, it’s my business, I don’t have to tell you why I’m blind or why I cover my eyes.”

Most blind people really, really don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of why they’re blind and how they feel about it and what it’s like being blind with a stranger they’ll never see again or a new acquaintance they don’t know well yet. You have exceptions to that rule where sure, educating the public about blindness is a thing you want to do and you’re committed to helping your community, but I still have days where I don’t want to talk about being blind or disclose my medical crap.

And if someone doesn’t respect their right to their privacy or pushes too much, the blind character is allowed to be angry, is allowed to tell them off and complain without anyone else in the situation vilifying them or saying they’re “overreacting” and “should have just disclosed private information because big deal or whatever.” If they are angry, that’s their right, and it’s not unreasonable, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

2. Your character should not be ashamed of being blind or of covering their eyes. It is a part of their life, they’re used to it by now, even if they weren’t in the beginning.

The shame and internalized ableism is something that should be written about, but that’s for an own-voices story with a blind author. I don’t think an abled person will ever be able to understand how much society expects you to hate yourself and your disability because “being disabled is a tragic thing that ruins your life” and how that does affect your mental health, self esteem, your relationships with others, your medical care, and what kind of accommodations you can get.

3. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few sarcastic lines in response to uncomfortable conversations.

Stranger: so what’s with the...

Blind Character: what’s with what?

S: the... you know

BC: you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific

S: Your eyes?

BC: They’re... eyes

S: but you’re...

BC: Blind?

S: uh...

BC: yeah, I’m blind. *walks away*

Or this conversation:

S: *to some other character* so why are his eyes covered?

(author’s note: which, honestly, that’s fucking rude. At least have the guts to ask me yourself)

BC: If I look anyone in the eye they instantly perish.

*awkward silence*

BC: instantly.

Friend: It’s truly tragic

BC: *melancholic* that’s how I lost my sister. *chokes up* She was so young

Or this conversation:

S: Why are you wearing that?

BC: It’s called fashion Karen!

Or this conversation:

S: are you like... blind?

BC: yes?? why wouldn’t I be?? Wait, are you sighted? Are you one of those sighted people? You poor thing! What caused you to gain your sight? Do you have a car? A bike? Were you born sighted? What’s it like to see color? Do you miss not having to see 

God, I want a chance to try that last one. I haven’t interacted with a stranger in almost a year. One day...

4. Honestly, it’d also be cool if someone’s reaction to your character covering their eyes was like, “cool sunglasses,” or “cool *insert random character, even one you made up* cosplay,” (which is ten times funnier if this character is a notable figure in modern society like an actor who people might cosplay). 

5. You know, if he’s covering his eyes with some kind of blindfold, he should totally have custom blindfolds for his moods. Like, I have a mask that says “suck it up buttercup” and another that says “not today” because sometimes that’s the mood. And sometimes the mood is one of my floral masks, and sometimes the mood is my cat mask.

So, just some thoughts. I hope that helps.

Edit: a commenter said: “op, unless i'm mistaken this kind of reads like anon meant the character ISN'T blind but lies about being blind to explain covering their eyes? it seems like they made a typo on the word "isn't"”

So my original response to the question was based on the assumption that the character is blind. However,

If the character is not blind, then do not under any circumstances have them lie and say they’re blind to escape a mild inconvenience. 

It’s better to have the character actually explain the situation or straight up leave the conversation or invent a more ridiculous lie than to perpetuate the very real stereotype and misconception that there are people who fake being blind and therefore it’s okay to discriminate or harass them if you even suspect they’re faking.

Do not under any circumstances perpetuate that stereotype. Do not harass someone because you don’t think they’re blind enough.

[spencers-renaissance]

Writing Masterlist

All of my writing is available on AO3, but I’ve put together a masterlist of all my work so far for everyone who gets their fic fill on tumblr and will keep it updated! Keep your eyes peeled for new fics on the regular <3

⭐️= indicates my personal faves

If you’re looking for smut, you need to head to my smut masterlist on my nsfw blog!

Current Fic Count: 30

Aaron x Spencer

⭐️turns out that I need you now (much more than you need me)

Spencer is suffering in silence and it’s only made worse when the team messes up and makes him feel even more hurt and insecure. When Hotch goes to check on him, though, things start to look up.

3.5k, angst, hurt/comfort, protective hotch, happy ending

⭐️Vivaldi on Full Volume

Spencer’s done enough pining, so he decides to write a letter for Aaron telling him exactly how he feels and gives it to him on the jet. He cannot be held responsible for what happens when they land.

5.2k, fluff, love confessions, shy spencer, insecurity

Living the Same Lie

Aaron breaks up with Spencer, but when an attempt to move on goes horribly wrong they get a second chance.

5k, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, breaking up and making up, implied/mentioned physical assault, implied/mentioned sexual assault

East Coast

Spencer and Aaron happen to sit opposite one another on a busy train, and when Spencer spots a breakthrough in the legal case Aaron is stuck on, they strike up an innocuous conversation that quickly stirs up feelings.

2.1k, fluff, meet-cute, train carriage au, lawyer!aaron, academic!spencer, shy spencer, firsts 

All Roads Lead Home

Spencer’s working the Christmas Eve shift when a young boy with a hurt arm comes into the ER. Nothing out of the ordinary, except his rather flirty dad and leaving later with an extra phone number in his contacts list…

2.1k, fluff, hospital au, getting together, first date, gentleman!aaron, soft spencer

To Look on Tempests and Not Be Shaken

In the wake of a blazing row and an empty apartment, Aaron finds Spencer’s well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets and recalls the morning after their wedding, when Spencer sat on his lap and read Sonnet 116 to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

2.6k, angst with a happy ending, fighting and making up, married hotchreid, relationship dynamics, introspection, fluff

Derek x Spencer

Even More Beautiful 

The BAU is stuck in Michigan with no case and no way home, so naturally, Spencer and Derek confess their love for one another. (Based on the prompt ‘You look even more beautiful covered in snow.’)

3.5k, fluff, love confessions, shy spencer, insecurity, hurt/comfort

⭐️Hear it in the Silence

A short, fluffy chronicle of Spencer realising in increments how in love with Derek he is, and navigating a real, beautifully sweet relationship that's not always smooth sailing, especially since he's been hurt before. (Based on Taylor Swift’s You are in Love.)

3.7k, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, dev relationship, tw past abuse, domesticity

⭐️Still Left With the River

Derek wakes up to find his boyfriend crying on the sofa. Cue the hurt, the comfort, and the fluff. 

1.6k, hurt/comfort, fluff, caretaker!derek, autistic spencer, crying, sad spencer

100

Spencer's an academic researcher who spends every morning at his local library. Derek just happens to drop by one Tuesday and ask the pretty boy in the classics section if he can help him find a book. Sparks fly.

2.1k, library au, fluff, meet-cute, pining, shy spencer, coming out

when I fall asleep (it is your eyes that I close)

Spencer’s not been sleeping, and as much as Derek adores his sleepy clinginess and physical affection, as soon as they get home he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

1.9k, fluff, hurt/comfort, sleep-deprivation, clingy!spencer, physical affection, anxiety, cuddling

⭐️Trees and Seas Have Flown Away, I Call it Loving You

Derek says something hurtful, but it happens to lead to just about the best thing that’s ever happened to Spencer.

3.2k, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, fighting/making up, angst with a happy ending, autistic spencer, coming out, getting together

⭐️A Christmas Like This

Spencer has a very specific plan for their first Christmas in their new house, and it has to be absolutely perfect. Derek’s going to do everything in his power to make his boyfriend as happy as possible, even if that means a house covered in garlands and a tree covered in animal skeletons…

2.9k, fluff, christmas fic, est relationship, neurodivergence, romance, domesticity, day in the life

Secret Santa

Penelope rigs the BAU’s Secret Santa game to finally get Derek and Spencer together with extraordinary success, and they have her to thank for their future first date. Oh, and a sprig of mistletoe nearly throws the whole thing out the window. 

2.8k, fluff, getting together, insecurity/anxiety, christmas fic, first kiss, misunderstandings, friendship

⭐️A Chronicle of Loss

5 people Spencer Reid lost and 1 person he gained. A look at the traumas Spencer faces over the series, and giving him the happy ending he deserves.

3.6k, grief, loss, abandonment issues, insecurity, depression, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, getting together, ‘didn’t know they were dating’, protective derek, autistic spencer

Mayhem

Imagine that scene in S4E1 when Derek is driving the ambulance loaded with a bomb about to explode, except it’s Spencer on the other end of the phone and they finally get their shit together. 

4.2k, canon divergence, spencer is the tech analyst, getting together, mutual pining, insecure spencer, angst with a happy ending, fluff, declarations of love

⭐️my heart talks about nothing but you

Derek finds Spencer staring longingly at dancing newlyweds while on a case and once he gets to the bottom of why he’s tasked with making a proposal to a man who knows it’s coming special somehow. (He pulls it off.)

2.5k, established relationship, hurt/comfort, minor angst, fluff, relationship discussions, proposal, protective derek

I told the stars about you

Derek and Spencer have their first date. They dance to Frank Sinatra and cuddle in an ice cream parlour, before kissing the hell out of each other at Spencer's front door. That's pretty much it. (Prequel to above fic.)

2.1k, first date, first kiss, pure tooth-rotting fluff, dancing, flirting, protective derek

⭐️I can’t hold enough of you in my hands

Derek and Spencer are finally getting married and the rest of the BAU are there to help them through every step of the day. Including a little surprise that Derek has up his sleeve for their first dance. (Third part to the above two fics.)

3.1k, tooth-rotting fluff, marriage/wedding day, team as family, team dynamics, domesticity, paternal hotch, maternal alex, just a whole lotta love man

⭐️ dry me off and hold me close

Derek has finally relented and is bringing his boyfriend Spencer to meet the rest of the team. That means, though, he has to finally tell them about his boyfriend's disability. Terrified that they'll react badly, he puts it off until he can't anymore. Turns out he was worried for nothing

5.7k, so much fluff, protective derek, disabled spencer, caretaker derek, spencer is not in the bau, team as family, hurt/comfort, light angst, est. rel, chronic illness, slice of life: disabled edition

Honeysuckle

The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

2.3k, whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

⭐️The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

4.5k, high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

Luke x Spencer

Start With This

Luke accidentally hurts Spencer because they are both hopelessly stupid, but when Spencer’s faced with a dangerous situation there’s nothing he wants more than Luke. Calling him turns out to be a very good decision.

3.9k, hurt/comfort, angst w a happy ending, fluff, getting together, misunderstandings

⭐️Foolishly, Completely Falling

Spencer declines to spend the night with Luke, but there’s a reason for that, and things start to click into place when Spencer shows back up at his doorstep at 2am, hours after being dropped home.

2.5k, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, past toxic relationship, nightmares, est/dev relationship

You Said You’d Never Smile Again

“At one point, we had a conversation about how hard Spencer was finding life after prison and he told me that he didn’t think he’d ever smile again. And so, I made it my mission to prove Dr Spencer Reid wrong for the first time in his life.”

1.4k, weddings, tooth-rotting fluff, implied/referenced depression, post-prison spencer, insecure luke, found family 

Emily x JJ

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You

JJ is shot and Emily's world stops spinning.

1.7k, whump, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective emily

⭐️my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Emily leaves. Her heart is breaking. JJ follows. Hers is waking up.

1.3k, angst with a happy ending, fluff, mutual pining, crying, first kiss

Emily x Reader

⭐️Night In/Night Out

Emily Prentiss is your girlfriend and she finally asks you to meet her family (the BAU): cue the fluff.

3.2k, fluff, flirting, cuddling, domesticity, protective emily, slight shy!reader

baby, you’re my new years’ eve

You and Emily are hosting a New Years' Eve party for all of your friends, but she's acting a little weird. You finally find out why when the clock strikes midnight.

3.6k, fluff, nye fic, proposal, getting engaged, domesticity, romance, flirting, day in the life 

Gen

Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe. 

3.8k, paternal!hotch, hurt/comfort, sickness, whump, fluff, happy ending

I found my way home

After Spencer tells Hotch about his recent autism diagnosis, he expects that to be the end of it. Somehow, though, it keeps coming up, and Hotch keeps proving himself to be the best father figure he could have asked for. 

4.1k, autistic spencer, protective hotch, hurt/comfort, fluff, paternal hotch, team as family

⭐️The Colour of Waiting is Purple

Spencer's just trying to get home as quickly as possible when a bad decision to take a shortcut down a back alley leaves him broken and bleeding into the night. // Hotch thinks it's a new case when his phone rings at 3 in the morning. It isn't.

3.7k, whump, hurt/comfort, physical assault, major character injury, hospitals, dad hotch, hurt spencer, angst with a happy ending, eventual fluff

[diabeticgf]

ok imma get kinda dark in just a sec so feel free to ignore this post entirely. 3, 2, 1 ok...

so i was just laying in bed and thinking about my old history of self harm and i genuinely scared myself for a moment. unlike an old close friend of mine, it was never with sharp objects but with my insulin. i was diagnosed at 14 and was a freshman in high school so you already have the weird hormones and unstable thought processes that come with being that cursed age and not to mention it was the year i had my sexual awakening and discovered i was bisexual after my almost kiss with my then boyfriend’s ex girlfriend. that caused a lot more stress on me since i live in the heart of the south and my family has positions and reputations in the church so they Would Not Approve™ of me and would say i’m going to hell yadda yadda

so that year when i discovered i was type one diabetic and after my whole life of always being the healthy child of the family (i almost never got sick and i bounced back like a bouncy ball when i did) and having my health plummet down so rapidly was such a shock to me emotionally, physically, and mentally. my numbers got so out of hand that i was constantly feeling nauseous and had constant migraines. i went to a magnet school so i had to keep up with lots of loaded school work and after finishing that year out and starting my sophomore year things got worse

after a particularly bad day where my number kept dropping down into the lows more than five times at school my mom came and took me home where it continued and i ended up in the emergency room. they messed with my number ratios and after that is when things got even worse. there were entire weeks i couldn’t stay in school for more than a few days and not have to check out because of how terrible i would be feeling. my numbers ran constantly high and never wanted to come down and when they did they would shoot down so quickly and i would feel faint. something the headaches from the highs got so bad that i got double vision for a few seconds.

i even had a teacher that humiliated me in front of the class by saying i wasn’t cut out for the class. all becuase my blood sugar was over 400 and the school nurses told me that i shouldn’t take the quiz he was handing out becuase my mind didn’t work properly when i was that high for more than a few hours (it was even in my disability accommodations). i was so embarrassed that i left the classroom and called my mom in tears to take me home because i couldn’t face my classmates after that

once when my bg was high for a long time i got very very dazed and went to my science class instead of spanish and apparently my eyes and demeanor were unfocused and foggy enough that my science teacher silently followed me to my correct class bc he was worried and then had the other teacher send me to the nurse to send home. mom was nervous and at my next check up told the doctor and he thought i was having seizures and i ended up having to test for that and wearing an edm (i think that’s what it was called) for a few days to check my brain. turns out i wasn’t, it was just the unstable a1c fucking w me

so after all that i feel like shit becuase i feel like a burden to those around me and i can’t keep up in school and my mom eventually takes me out of the public schooling system to homeschool me by giving me work to do while she was at work. i was now separated from my only friends and i was left alone in the house all day to entertain my fucked up thoughts of how easy it would be to stop it all bc it would take just a small amount of insulin to do that

and at this point i actively sought to make myself feel worse becuase my self worth was down to 0% at this point. i would mess with my injections and would make myself purposefully go high or low to match my headspace at that time whenever i got pissed at myself and believed i deserved it and i remember one of these times ended with me in the emergency room again

eventually my numbers started to even themselves out on their own as i got older and got a dexcom to help myself keep track that i started to feel a bit better physically, and by extension, a bit better mentally as well and i eventually stopped messing with my dosages as a form of self destruction. i don’t really remember much about my thought process for that decision but i’m glad i did

so yeah it’s been five years and i’ve adjusted to life with it a bit better. i now also use an omnipod which i adore and have come to terms with myself as a person more as i got older which also helped. not saying i’m satisfied with my disease at all but it’s now something that i have more control over now and more experience with than i did then

sorry for subjecting you all to my stream of conscious thoughts that i’m having at like five thirty in the morning on no sleep that i refuse to edit. if you actually read all this brain rot thanks for not blocking me instantly for getting kinda twisted here. it’s just that this disease is very draining on me emotionally, physically, and mentally. still is but my coping mechanisms are better now i think

if any of y’all struggle with similar situations feel free to leave a message. all us type one diabetics have to stick together since there isn’t a whole lot of us and we’re largely ignored by the medical community so we best not ignore each other and all that

anyway enough with that sappy nonsense, my bg is high and i’m dying for some water and sleep so good night 💤💙🥱

[duckbeater]

Courtship, pt. 2

Writing about happiness is very difficult and boring. The below are some small attempts I’ve made to write through my happiness. My small, important readership deserves an update, says my brother, whose sensibilities have only rarely steered me catastrophically wrong.

I AM BUYING CHAMPAGNE TO CELEBRATE MY LOVER

Today��s the last day of his job and he’s throwing himself a little party. In September he begins med school and in the next month he’ll put his affairs in order, readying for the big move. I have the sense that tonight begins our diminuendo, despite his staying over last night and spit-fucking me, and I’ll surely stay over tonight, after the many champagne toasts to his prosperous life ahead. 

We’ve started sleeping as two spoons embracing chest to chest, with our faces tucked awkwardly in a neck or an armpit. Of course I wake up gasping, my mouth sucking after a less hot pocket of air, and turn, and enjoy that he pulls me tightly back to him. He’s a heavy sleeper and I’m a light sleeper, and our bedding situation resembles something like a rock in a tumbler with my rolling over and over and over again, arising too early, wildly underslept, shining with sweat, but ecstatic that we’ve touched all night long. I’m attending his celebration in a sleep deficit that I’ve covered with caffeine and a long, soulful run beside the lake. I’ve been thinking about us a lot. 

He wouldn’t call himself my lover, I think, but I’m hoping the expensiveness of the champagne I’m bringing will convince friends in attendance that that’s what we are. I’m hoping my largesse goes noticed and commented on—that it’s interpreted as my being in love with him, and that his peers compel him, by either fretting over my largesse, or pitying me for it, or anyway finding it impressive or amusing or tender or charming—that they tell this young man I’m adoring him and I’m adoring him well. That my adoration seems steadfast and considered. And despite the riskiness of the circumstances (our differences in age, the widening gulf in distance, a sometimes depleting lack of shared cultural references), when we are together I feel comfort and joy. This must be obvious to him without the expensive champagne. I’m always saying it out loud, or anyway variants on the theme of “comfort and joy,” like a seasonal blessing, a profusion of blessings, needing remarked upon. I’m seriously afraid I mother him.

“Let us take in the scene,” I have said before, “let us only observe for the moment my sitting in your lap, your hands on my neck, my constant kisses. What joy!”

He’s done something to my sense of my proportion, and also my prose style. I can’t seem to describe our relationship without slipping into the sardonic, recursive, mildly-institutionalized voice of Robert Walser, a writer I find too cute by half. I’m finding my life too cute by half, I fear. If this is what happiness feels like, I don’t really want much more of it. It’s making me stupid. “People will think that pain has made you stupid,” wrote Walser, a statement that comes back to me when I can’t distinguish between the good times and bad times making me an idiot.

AFTER THE SPIT-FUCKING

We stayed up late talking about what it means to say goodbye to people who don’t know you’ve cared for them. I don’t pretend this conversation had subtext. For the last two years, he’s worked with profoundly disabled people, first as a case worker and then, after the pandemic closed the campus and made that job “nonessential,” as a nursing assistant on the same floor. 

He spent months feeding, changing, bathing and bedding non-ambulatory children and adults. Most cannot speak, a few cannot see, and none can walk, of course. It is a world I’ve rarely thought about—indeed, a world many of us rarely consider, because in its theater of human need are scenes of unremitting hopelessness. It is a languageless suffering and it perdures. I can become very mystified, very shallow-breathed thinking about his care for these souls, however quick he’s been to dissuade me from romanticizing or elevating his ministrations. “One of my verbal residents tells me to fuck myself all the time,” he’s noted. Still, I would point out that birth defects and accidents account for a small percentage of his caseloads’ impairments, and that active neglect and abuse perpetrated intentionally by former guardians (or unwittingly by the American healthcare complex) have hobbled his charges for life. I don’t like hearing stories about choked babies and toddlers left so long in beds their soft bones grow slab-wise, so I’ve asked him, coward that I am, to please skip origins if he’s entering an otherwise benign workaday anecdote.  

His most patient complaint: using his iPhone to FaceTime parents who want to see their son, then listening to one-sided conversations, burbling, giggles, tears, even story-time. His campus closed to all guardians—a devastating precaution. “Don’t send anything xrated today,” he’d text, and I’d know he was hosting a reunion. So I’d keep my clothes on. And he’d answer the phone from an immediately weeping seventy-year-old mother saying, to her forty-year-old son, “Why good evening, Max, good evening. This is your mother. Hi, baby. Hi. I love you. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. I am sorry I cannot touch you, I cannot hold you, I cannot be with you in this time, but you are my Max, and I am your mother. And I love you always. You can hear me and I’m gonna tell you all about my week, okay? And then I’m gonna ask Scotty here how you’ve spent your week, okay?” He said he usually cries on these calls and when I asked why, he said, “Because it seems polite?” And I pressed harder and he said, “Because I get to—I get to connect these people who have missed each other so much, and it’s so sad. They haven’t touched in months. They might not touch this year. My phone sometimes runs out of battery. It’s so weird.”

I’ve asked him whether families are happy to be rid of their incredible dependents and he said that by and large families are miserable to give over members to the institution: that age arbitrates the giving. “A mother and father have a baby at twenty-five. They can care for him well into their fifties—their twenty-five-year-old, their thirty-year-old son. But when these parents enter their sixties? Their seventies? They can’t lift an adult male. They can’t bathe him or change him. Even basic nutrition gets hard. Meal prep is tiring. It’s long. They start to lose track of medications, and they have medications themselves, you know? So the situation gets very difficult and if they want to live, and if they want him to live, they feel like they have to give him up.”

We’re at the point now where intimacy is a given. He doesn’t swallow, but brings me to orgasm, taking me in his mouth and then dribbles it, I guess, my cum, back onto my stomach, apologizing with a flushed red smirk. “I hate that,” he says, “I really hate it.”

“Go ahead, eat it,” I say, joking.

He gives me dark eyes and showily palms the wad into the black pillowcase behind my head.

“Holy Christ!” I yell. “The nerve! The pluck! The audacity!”

There must be a phase in relationships when extracting intimacies—not only of the “terrible things I did in high school”-vein, or the “times I cheated”-vein, or the “unwittingly right wing ideologies I support”-vein—that close couples endeavor. Where you’re always compulsively revelatory, to seem as interesting as you did in early courtship, as erotically forward and emotionally captivating. We’re in that moment and we surprise one another with small tributes as befits that level of affection.

One of the intimacies I proffered is that I’m going through a religious re-awakening, a need for ritual and sacraments. He finds this funny. (I find it embarrassing.) Yet one of his duties has been wheeling charges to his building’s Tuesday Mass, and then helping to administer the Eucharist. I don’t think he in fact touches the host (I don’t think many in his care can safely take of the host; “I’m mostly there in case anyone seizes,” he said), but he did slip a large wafer away for me and now it’s in my apartment, among my candles, possibly growing mold. He asks me when I’m going to eat it and I tell him around Christmas. 

(That was a lie. I’ll eat it when our romance is over, to consecrate the time we had.)

“I eat it,” I say, and he glowers.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT A MYSTERY SURROUNDING MY FAVORITE AUTHOR

Norman Rush. For a decade and better I’ve wondered about the long dedication in Mating, whose last lines read, “...and to the memory of my father, and to my lost child, Liza.” The novel, set in Botswana and borrowing heavily from Rush’s time there as director in the Peace Corps, suggests that perhaps Liza died in Africa or was born still. She goes unmentioned in his Paris Review interview, in subsequent novels, short stories, and reviews. There’s no hint of Liza’s fate. (As I edit this, I recall a phrase in Mortals, the narrator’s idea that “children exposed you to hellmouth, which was the opening of the mouth of hell right in front of you.” Explaining further: “[I]t was the grandmother, the daughter, the granddaughter tumbling through the air, blown out of the airplane by a bomb, the three generations falling and seeing one another fall, down, down, onto the Argolid mountains. With children you created more thin places in the world for hellmouth to break through.” And then, in Subtle Bodies, Rush describes a wayward teen boy, whose angry and aggressive behavior corresponds exactly to Rush’s own troubled teen son. In fact, Subtle Bodies is about the decision to have children at all. Nina follows Ned to a funeral, to fuck him. So, Rush has indeed remarked on children and strife, as he has lived it. Anyhow—) Yet by accident I listened to an old Fresh Air interview where Rush is asked to comment on the aspect of family in his novels, and to clarify that inscription. 

“I have a daughter who is now thirty,” he says, “who was born with diffuse brain atrophy and has been institutionalized for many years. Um. But I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“What was her condition?” presses his interlocutor.

“She is uh profoundly retarded,” pauses, “and will be so.”

“So you feel she is lost to you?”

“Yes. There is no recognition possible between her and us.”

I reproduced this exchange from notes on my phone. Scotty replied, “I don’t think that’s right, actually. Maybe between her and—who—who was it?”

“Norman Rush and his daughter Liza.”

He said, “Maybe between Liza and her dad—yeah, maybe she was so disabled she couldn’t recognize him. I take care of men like that. But I recognize them.”

We were talking about important books at all (I mean that semi-seriously) because his co-worker had gifted him three works, including a volume of Yeats’ complete poetry.

“Why did Paco give you Yeats?” I asked.

“He thinks I need more poetry,” said Scotty.

(Frankly I have felt and still feel sexual jealousy against Paco, who recently got brilliant red and black knee tattoos of spider webs. Like, Spider-Man spiderwebs, covering both kneecaps. Every few weeks he cooks a large meal for Scotty, and they talk about life until 4 A.M. drunk on bourbon, immobilized by edibles, full and warm and caring, and it makes me mad. It makes me mad, because I can’t really see the point of staying up until the uncomfortable small hours between 2 and 5 unless there is sex involved, but Paco is straight, a father, an excellent chef, a dedicated friend, and so my grousing is a kind of unwarranted possession that baffles me into silence on the matter.)

I didn’t have anything intelligent left to say about Norman Rush. I groped along a narrow thought, however, a thin ledge. “You know—a novelist, especially a novelist as concerned with language and comprehension as Norman Rush, would feel particularly devastated by the condition of his daughter. He would see it as ironic and then as punitive and again as senseless—supporting his comforting regime of a militant atheism.”

Although very sober, I recited the first stanza of The Second Coming, tripping over two lines (but the best lines), saying, “The worst lack all conviction, while the best/Are full of passionate intensity.”

“What?” said Scotty.

“I just—that was Yeats.”

“Who?”

“Go ahead and tell your boy Paco that your hot fuck gave you a teach on William. Butler. Yeats.”

“What?” said Scotty. He grinned at me. He got up and ate a yogurt.