The shoe department. Possibly somewhere you only see when walking through to find the escalators in department stores. Or search through frantically to find the perfect pair of shoes to match your new dress for a night out. Or the place that's a common stop on your shopping trip to see what else you could add to your collection.
But for me it's become the place I see almost every time I go on a lengthy shopping trip. Which is ironic in itself as it's the one department I can't actually buy from because I can only wear certain types of shoes. But it's the place I always end up because commonly in shops it's the only place that has a chair. Well, chair is a generous word, when it's usually a stool or a glorified pouffe. Not meant for sitting on for more time than it takes to try on a pair of shoes. Where you'll soon find it's quite an uncomfortable seat.
But it's where I end up because I've no other option. I can hear you exclaiming now; "But there must be other chairs! No there definitely are other chairs, there's more chairs than that!" But until it becomes the first thing you look for when you enter a shop in case you need to dash for it before your leg gives out, where you limp to when your ankle gets that deep deep ache that signals that your time for walking round for the day is over, or that you sit down for a tactical rest so you can make it to one more shop on your list, you genuinely don't notice the lack of them. I've done the exact same thing in the past, when I didn't need to notice them either.
But here I am, sitting amongst shoes I can't wear, while whoever I might be with is off looking at things they could buy, and I'm stuck, with those stares that people hurriedly force not to be stares when they catch themselves looking at you, glancing away as quick as they started looking. Or the clear ignoring instead when they settle for staring across my head at somebody else they're with on the other side of me. Or the classic sympathy ridden smile when they catch sight of my walking stick. I can never tell which one is worse to be on the receiving end of.
At the same time as feeling this deep irritation and although I can't help it, shame and embarrassment, at being subject to these stares, I also know people can't help it. They don't know what to do when faced with visible evidence of somebody being disabled,especially someone young like me, and if it wasn't for my walking stick, you wouldn't be able to tell that I was disabled. I used to be on the other side of this and I know that the majority of people can't help it.
But it still shouldn't be necessary. I hate with every fibre of my being how inaccessible the world is. Bus drivers not stopping to pick up people using wheelchairs, or sighing at the inconvenience of having to get the ramp out. Disabled people having no choice but to plan ahead to make sure they will be able to board the transport they need in the first place. The sheer expense of being disabled too, knowing that there are ways you could make your life easier but not being able to afford that sleek portable mobility scooter, or knowing that if you could afford to learn to drive, and then afford the upkeep of a car, that also would need to be adapted as well, you'd have so much more freedom.
The world shouldn't be like that. Everyone should be able to leave the house on a whim, go on a day out without having to plan ahead, not worry about having to leave early or turn back when something becomes too much or turns out to be inaccessible. Everyone should have the same opportunities as somebody who isn't disabled.
But this is the world we live in. Where people overwhelmingly voted Conservative in the recent election. A party who want to cut NHS funding, reduce benefits and generally don't care about poorer or less able, disadvantaged people. It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about the future.
And then you've got the base level stuff if you have an invisible disability, like me. General opinions of people looking at you and taking you at face value, not suspecting you have a condition beneath the surface that they can't see. Feeling the need to prove you have a disability. Being made to feel that you shouldn't sit in the accessible seating on public transport. That you constantly have to explain yourself. Bracing yourself when you leave an accessible toilet from the verbal onslaught of somebody assuming you shouldn't be using it just because you don't "look disabled". The exact same thing when you use an accessible parking place, even if you have a blue badge, there will be people that don't believe you have that right.
And the general politics of being disabled as well. Having limited disabled parking spaces in the first place. Then having time restrictions on them, because people think that if your disabled you don't need somewhere to park after 5 pm. The struggle of finding a job that works for you and your individual needs, if you can even find an employer willing to accommodate them in the first place. Navigating funding or benefits where you're constantly judged on generalised criteria by somebody who doesn't live with what you live with deciding if you're going to receive money that could be taken away at a moments notice, sometimes for the most ridiculous reasons. Or people assessing if you're fit to work or not, when they have no idea what it's like to have your condition, and they don't realise that when they talk to you, they're the ones talking to the expert in living with it, not the other way around when all they have are black and white facts, when everybody who has some kind of disability knows its more often than not grey, it's not cut and dry.
But all I'm left with is sitting in the shoe department, smiling awkwardly back at people who don't know where to look or what to do when they spot a young woman using a walking stick. Amongst a world where I'll never again be able-bodied and without all these worries and challenges, habits, thoughts and feelings. Knowing it could be far better than this, but likely never will.
Lots of Bookish Love,
Rachel xxx
No comments:
Post a Comment