ok I’ve put together a list of disability-focused books for me read while I have the Seattle library ebook card. I’m not sure what order I’m going to read them in, yet. and obviously this list is non exhaustive, it’s just what I could find & deem worth reading from a surface level glance at the blurbs right now, while I have a migraine. i fully intend to explore other topics and revisit other titles im unsure about/prioritizing lower, I have them tagged separately on Libby.
if anyone would like to join me on this journey— be it by reading/listening to the books yourself at your own pace or just following my own posts about what I read— I’m going to come up with a tag for this journey. suggestions for that are welcome, I just want it to be a near-unique tag because tumblr search is awful
(most of the titles I have selected for this list at least make a notable effort to be inclusive and intersectional, if you’re worried about that. however, I have not read any of these yet, I cannot confirm anything about their actual content. I guarantee there will be excerpts worth critique from books on this list. part of exploring these heavy social topics is critical thinking.)
my current list is as follows, in no particular order:
Fat Girls Hiking by Summer Michaud-Skug — I’m interested particularly in modifying hiking (and other outdoor activities) to be more accessible for myself, as I love hiking but find it very difficult nowadays, the book seems to be at least decently disability-informed
The Future Is Disabled by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha — disability justice for a better future that emphasizes the value of disabled folks. overall interested to see the perspectives and rhetoric presented in this book, along with:
Care Work by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha — I don’t think I can do this one justice in a couple lines of tumblr text. read its blurb yourself, it includes: “a toolkit for everyone who wants to build radically resilient, sustainable communities of liberation where no one is left behind.”
My Body Is Not A Prayer Request by Amy Kenny — appeals to my experience living as disabled and intersex in a rural part of the Bible Belt in an evangelical household
Disability Pride by Ben Mattlin — gonna be honest, I threw this one in without reading its blurb. regardless of its quality, I believe I should read it based off title
Crip Kinship by Shayda Kafai — this book is based around an art activism project called Sins Invalid, exploring some of the messaging of it in a disability justice framework
Against Technoableism by Ashley Shew — from what I can gather, this book touches a lot on the social model of disability
Decarcerating Disability by Liat Ben-Moshe — prison abolition and decarceration with a disability focus
QDA by Raymond Luczak — QDA stands for queer disability anthology, also threw this one in based on the title
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I don't know how you feel abt sickfics, but...
(pre-banana, but after they got together btw)
I have this scenario in my head where Owen has a really bad headache, which he has dealt with a million times before. He tries to hide it and passes out in front of Curt who is now worried out of his mind. Owen keeps on insisting he's fine and Curt's like "ok clearly not. I care abt you you know," and Owen is just like in so much pain the whole time.
Oh yeah did I mention it's angsty as fuck lol
I'm quite happy to do a sickfic, anon! And I'm also quite happy to do this sickfic, that's a strong ass idea you've got there
Owen would say he'd pretty much gotten used to the way the state of his vision- and by extension, the world itself- changed so quickly. One moment, everything was fine. Perfectly clear, perfectly in focus. All it took was one little spark, and then it was a mess of blur and oversaturation, like a badly handled photograph.
Sometimes, it would feel like he was trying to walk on a surface not meant to support his weight. That he had to tread precariously, or risk falling into the aether. But he'd gotten used to that tightrope walk, he handled it often enough to make it look remotely normal, even from the outside. Not a lot of people tended to notice when he was having a particularly bad day, so he never really told anyone.
Something of that nature happened mid-mission prep, while he and Curt were trying to make ends of the briefing. Curt was browsing, trying to figure out just why he was needed. Owen was trying to focus, for all it was worth, but he'd neglected to pack his reading glasses for the trip, and had realised all too late. He'd known that was going to cause some kind of problem somewhere down the line, but he'd never quite been sure of when. Until that point, he was locked in a dangerous sway, where a push to the wrong side would spell bad things for him and his ability to get anything done.
It started with a tightness behind his eyes, spreading throughout his brow and down to the bridge of his nose. If he didn't do something about it soon, that tightness would spread and delve in deeper. If he was lucky, it would just result in a complete blurring of his vision, shutting him down before he could get too far and make this worse for himself. That's what he could hope for, anyways, but he was never that lucky, and he was notorious for pushing himself too far and ending up in an even worse mess than before.
He started digging for viable sounding excuses that he could use against Curt. Maybe he could get away with- or perhaps-
No, no. He was going to have to swallow his pride, and just admit outright what the hell was going on before it was too late. That was the only thing that would work against even someone like Curt, who was still sharp despite not being the sharpest person he'd ever met. He knew to detect a lie; he was better than most at telling when someone was lying, and that meant that any excuse that would normally work on someone else might not have worked on him at all.
Curt didn't give himself the credit for his own intelligence sometimes, and sometimes it was just drowned out by his enormous ego, but that was entirely besides the point. He was smart, and he did know what he was talking about at the best of times. So, this excuse had to be one of the most airtight he'd ever come up with. (Owen had prided himself on his ability to lie, before. He was good at playing a bluff, and good with balancing out the truth so people didn't know where the falsehoods layed among his words. The first time Curt had figured him out was an immense shock to the system, and he'd likely never forget it. That was also the first time Curt had ever gotten him flustered…)
He grabbed a pen from their haphazard layout of files and documents, and tapped it against the table. When Curt was focused- really, really focused- it was hard to break it. The sound of his voice alone wouldn't have done any good, so he needed something that didn't sound as if it belonged in the room, and the pen was his best bet. Sure enough, Curt blinked, and looked up from whatever he was trying to get his head around, straight towards Owen.
"Hey, Curt…" He stopped himself mid sentence, almost deciding that it was a futile endeavour and would only lead to more questions. But, this time around, he didn't care that Curt's lack of attention to detail would probably lead to him not remembering that he needed glasses, this was more important than keeping his pride fully intact. Besides, it was Curt. They literally told each other everything. Why was this so different?
He pointed to a specific spot on Curt's file that he thought looked similar to his own. It was roughly the same sized paragraph of barely legible blur, at least. "What does that say? Your agency always prints things so bloody small, and I can't make mine out…"
Curt squinted over at his file, then cast his gaze back down to his own. There was nothing particularly off about either of them, per se, or not that he had noticed anyway. Owen was the one with the attention to detail of the two of them, if he thought there was somethhing wrong with the files, then there probably was something wrong with the files. Maybe the typesetting was off, and he just hadn't noticed, or maybe he'd noticed it was harder to read because it was smudged…
"I can- uh- write that out? If you want? It seems fine to me…"
Owen scanned the document one more time, slightly taken aback that Curt would choose to offer something like that in the first place. Still nothing, and at this point, the tightness had devolved into a dull ache that was starting to take hold of his head like a parasite. His eyes felt way too heavy in their sockets, and the muscles in his face felt like they were working overtime just to keep him looking vaguely alert and like nothing was wrong.
"Here-" Curt took a spare pen and a piece of paper before Owen could think to protest, spun his file around with one hand, and tried to transcribe what was written there. They would have to burn this later, but most of these documents were getting destroyed anyway, what was one more piece of paper?
Owen was exceedingly glad that Curt had always had particularly large handwriting. He wrote in print, too, which made things a lot easier. There may have been a protest if Curt's hand was any less clear than it was, but he had been blessed with such clarity, and that was a godsend when it came down to it. So he just watched, silently, as Curt scribbled out every word of the briefing line by line, trying to make it as accurate as possible. God, Owen knew for a fine fact that he didn't deserve this, someone who would be willing to do something so menial just so that something could be understood better. It was a wonder he'd found Curt at all…
Imperfect as he was, and cocky as he got at almost every opportunity he could muster, he was quite a gentleman when he wanted to be, and quite the charmer to go with. The two of them had found each other through a series of crazy circumstances, and their lives had done nothing but improve ever since. He thought about that until a slip of paper was pushed in front of him, along with the file. Owen nodded gratefully and started to take a scan of the briefing, as well as the images that had been paperclipped to the original copy. He cleared his throat. Something so small shouldn't mean so much, and yet…
"Thanks, Curt."
"Don't mention it."
For curt, it was weird. Owen was always the type of guy never to complain about the work. Never how much of it was set, or having to do the boring office tasks at the end of the espionage, or even the way some of the briefings were worded… He was content in getting his head down and just… Getting it done, no matter the reason or how long it would take him. To see him like this, to see him actually complain about somethign being apparently illegible- especially when it very much wasn't- was a little weird. "You okay there?" He asked, deciding that he was too curious not to want to find out.
Owen looked up from reading Curt's handwriting a little too fast, and immediately regretted it. For a moment way longer than it should've been, everything spun a little too violently, and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose to try and alleviate it. "Sorry?"
"Are you okay? You've… Never complained about the state of the files before, and I've seen 'em worse than this."
"I'm fine. It must be… a change in the typesetting equipment, or something." That being said, he could only barely make out Curt's writing, too. Something about Madrid, and a few names of those he supposed were their targets… It didn't exactly help that there were no imperfections in the transcript, so he couldn't blame it on the ink leaking or Curt's hand being unsteady… That was just typical. It was perfect. Curt had made sure to get it right down to the last detail, and that was infuriating, only because now he didn't know what to say to get himself out of this.
He tried pushing the written document away from himself a little. That seemed to help, for the time being. It was a little clearer from a little further away. God, he needed an aspirin, and fast. Did they even have something like that in here? Probably not… This place barely had enough room for the two of them to do their jobs. It was barely more than a board room, where the two of them had gotten together to make sense of what they were supposed to be doing.
Slowly, and with more care than he had ever executed over such a task, he stood from the table and walked over to the little sink tucked away in the corner. Curt watched him from his position on the table, his brow drawn in concern. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't notice the blatant lethargy dragging Owen's movements to as slow as they had been in a while, or the way he seemed to wince as he stood, angling his head closer to the ground. If he asked again, Owen would just say he was fine. He always did.
He'd found him bleeding and bruised outside of a hotel once, and that had led to enough questions to last a lifetime, but Owen kept insisting he was fine until Curt literally led him inside and he got to attending to his various wounds. Apparently, it was a mission gone wrong, but that was all he'd admitted on the matter for weeks. It had taken Curt the better part of a fortnight to finally get him to admit that he'd been found out because he came dangerously close to blacking out on the scene, and they'd taken advantage of his vulnerability.
While this was nowhere near as concerning as getting mobbed by a bunch of thugs, Curt still found himself worried. The way Owen was moving didn't seem right. It almost felt like he was being forced into making his body cooperate through some unwillingness or other trying to keep him in place.
Owen poured himself a glass of water, his hand resting just a little too reliantly against the tap. He could feel Curt's gaze on him, but he didn't have the strength to care. In the abscence of anything that would actually help this headache of his, hydration was the only thing he had left that he could rely upon. It wasn't like it was going to miraculously fix the blackout pounding, or the fact that he'd insisted on going on that much that he could now barely see… But it was a start, at least.
It was cold. The cool of it hit his head immediately, and he had to physically stop himself from screwing his eyes shut and lettting it get to him. God only knows he'd done this enough times to get used to it, and used to it, he defintely felt he should be. Still, it didn't stop him hating every second, especially since presently, his vision hadn't yet decided to be entirely clear or entirely unclear, and was switching between the two at a rather constant and rather annoying rate.
He set the glass on the side. He could feel how remarkably close he was to blacking out. It had suddenly gotten a lot warmer since he stood up, and everything rushing around in his head had created something rather reminiscent of a brick wall up there, making his head feel heavy.
He didn't last much longer after that.
One moment, Curt was considering asking him if he was okay again, and the next, his instinct had forced him to rush towards him before he could hit the ground. His chair clattered behind him, and he swore under his breath as he darted towards Owen and managed to catch him before he hit the ground.
He'd fully lost his grip on the world, and the next half a minute was among the longest Curt had ever experienced. Normally, he would've considered it incredibly romantic to have someone wake up in his arms, but he wasn't going to use this as his example of such romanticism.
After that painful half a minute, Curt felt Owen shift in his arms, and his gaze immediately moved down to him as he seemed to realise what was going on, and who had broken his fall. His eyes went wide, and he tried to push himself up.
"Jesus-! Owen, take it easy!"
Owen resigned eventually, leaning back against Curt. While he got used to the state of the world, and the crushing headache making the overhead lights so goddamn bright, against Curt was a good place to keep resting.
"You're not allowed to say you're fine anymore, you know that?"
Owen tried to laugh, but he didn't have a lot of effort left in him. "It happens all the time, don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it? You just blacked out on me! What the hell am I supposed to do if not think that's a bit concerning?"
"Rush of blood to the head, that's all." He propped himself up and rose to his feet, grabbing the glass of water and moving back to the table as if nothing happened. Curt watched him go, and then regained his own seat and tried to pretend that was remotely normal.
"At least tell me what happened," he insisted, unable to find it in him to re look at the notes.
Owen sighed. "Forgot to pack my glasses, trying to read this gave me one hell of a migraine."
"Glasses? I didn't know you-" Curt did stop to think about that, and realised that he had, in fact, seen Owen in a pair of glasses before. Thin framed, silver, perfectly round... "Ah."
"That's why I-"
"Oh. You didn't want to-"
"No..."
"I could just.... Tell you what they want us to do. Your memory's good enough."
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(long post; no tw, i am just sad)
i do not know if this is just me and i am complaining too much or if other chronically ill (or even disabled) people can relate to this but dae take it really badly when their health issues fuck them over, especially if it is at the worst possible time?
for background, i have severe migraines (i dont consider myself diasbled but i have them frequently enough for it to be an issue, in december alone i had 15 headache days) and i have severe mental illness. i am also uni student.
last week i had six finals that i studied like crazy for (except for latin cause i really did not have energy for that one). on thursday i was supposed to have three. the entire week my anxiety has been horrible and on thursday i woke up with awful migraine.
i went to the first final that i had at 8 AM. because i did really well on exams before, i only needed one point out of six. i took otc medicine bc i still thought that maybe it isnt that bad, i am afraid of taking my sumatriptan too much (mistake). before i even got to school, my migraine progressed so much i started having trouble with my vision (in general my vision is bad but glasses correct it - that doesnt happen during my bad migraines). my vision was spotty and really blurry in one of my eyes and i couldnt read.
i took the first final. i got 0.75 points. awesome.
i didnt even bother going to the second one (it was latin anyway, there was 50-50 chance i fail), instead i went back to dorms and i am glad i did because i started puking. i managed to take my sumatriptan, another otc analgesic and used anxiety medicine to knock myself out so i get at least some sleep before the last final that i had in the afternoon.
it helped, i mean i still had bad migraine but at least it was dulled now. i passed, surprisingly bc my eyesight was still pretty bad and that doesnt mix well with lab work so i am glad.
now, failing a final in my country isnt that bad of a thing? like they dont count towards our gpa, only major exams do. i have eleven subjects this semester and only four of them have major exams so that is fine. you need to pass the finals to be able to take the major exams but you get three attempts at every one of them. that means that yeah, they are hard, but one bad day like this doesnt fuck you over as much.
i am still extremely upset by the whole thing. i worked really hard to pass, arguably more than some other people, but i still failed due to circumstances outside of my control. i hate hate being chronically ill. it feels like i really need to work way harder than other people to be on their level due to my memory issues caused by my mental illness... and i can still fuck up just because my brain decides to fuck me over.
i know the world is unfair and all that stuff but i am still upset by this fact. if feels really unfair. i often daydream about being completely okay and how my life would be if i was. but i am not. that is the reality. there is no permanent cure for migraines, there is no way i will ever fully recover from my mental illness. so i am sad, obviously. and when i having hard time to accept this and cry about it, my mum tells me i need to stop pitying myself and instead focus on the future. i know she is well meaning and probably right but it still feels very invalidating.
idk, am i being too dramatic or is this normal reaction? either way, it still sucks. i am not sure why i am writing this, maybe to complain, but i guess i really need someone to tell me i am not crazy for thinking like this.
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