This is an incident that happened to me several years ago. It is about exposure to the depths of our own vulnerabilities.
Ok, I think I can talk about this now.
So, a few months ago I was coming back from the store. As usual, I had my lap full of groceries, as well as a bag hanging off the back of my wheelchair. I had just finished pushing myself up the hill, which usually takes me about ten minutes. I looked up and saw my neighbor coming toward me - he also uses a chair, so we have something to talk about. I had just put my brakes on about halfway to stop myself at the top of the incline so I could talk to him.
I was about to take my headphones off when suddenly there was this force behind me. Then there was a deep male voice right next to ear, saying something to the effect of “CAN I HELP YOU HERE?”, loud and close enough for me to hear through my headphones. I yelped in surprise and fear and grabbed my handrims, but he kept trying to push, and push hard. Since my wheels weren’t moving, this resulted in him forcing my upper torso forward (the back of my chair folds down) and onto my groceries, crushing them a bit. My back was also involved, since I was trying to hold my upper torso up (I can’t use my butt or hip muscles, so I have to use my back muscles as well as I can).
During all of this, from my first yelp to when he finally let go, I was yelling, “No, no, NO!”, my voice getting louder and more agitated as I realized he wasn’t letting go. By the third “no” I started to wonder if I should let him crush my groceries in order to save my back. But he finally let go, either because of what I was saying or because I wasn’t moving. I felt him back off, and I quickly turned myself around, looked at him and put my hand to my chest in the international sign for “Jesus Christ you just scared the crap out of me”.
He couldn’t have been more than 28 years old, tall, tanned, wearing jogging clothes, a sheen of sweat covering his skin. Still hopping up and down to keep pace. He said, “Sorry“ in that way that tells you they’re not sorry at all. He started to back away to continue his run.
My heart pounding, my hands shaking, I remembered that it’s more constructive to explain to him why he startled me and how it’s respectful to ask someone before putting your hands on their chair, than to just blow him off. I beckoned with my hand a bit and said, “Come here!”.
“I gotta go,” he smirked at me. Which was, of course, bullshit, because he had nowhere to be, he wasn’t catching a bus or mailing a goddamn letter before the post office closed or trying to catch a crosswalk light. He started to jog away, getting thirty feet from me in no time on golden gazelle legs. I wasn’t going to leave it like that. I shouted at him as he ran away, “Don’t grab my WHEELCHAIR!” He turned around, looked at me with a smile, and flipped me off. I flipped him off back as best I could, considering I was wearing bulky gloves at the time. Of course, I wouldn’t have done such a thing if I wasn’t in the safety of a busy intersection in the middle of the day. I watched him leap and bound away.
By this time I remembered that my neighbor was there. “Did you see that?” I said.
“Yeah, what a jerk,” he said, and then started to ask me about school. I looked at his mouth moving, still freaked out enough to not really know how to act normal to him right then. I said something back that I don’t remember, and I left. All the way home, which was about ten more minutes, I was shaking and trying to keep the tears in, because one of those things people don’t think about when they think about ever using a manual wheelchair is that you can’t cover your face and move forward at the same time. I could either stop on the sidewalk to cry into my hands a bit, or I could start to go home, face exposed. I chose to go home. I kept my head down and tried to will my sunglasses to be bigger and darker. Fortunately I didn’t meet anyone else along the way and I finally arrived home, shutting the door behind me and breaking down, as I have done a hundred times before after coming home and realizing that the world hates disabled people.
I talk so tough sometimes. But all it takes to shut me up is one experience where my vulnerability is thrown in my face. This incident happened months ago, yet I haven’t found a voice to write about it until now. I’ve been reading up on abuse lately and its affects on the victim/survivor, and I’ve learned that silencing is one big effect. I’m trying to explore why it silenced me. Before, when people would do or say messed-up little things to me I could rant about it easily. But why has it taken me months to be able to speak about this experience? I think it’s the degree of fear that I felt. I could yell at him and flip him off all I wanted, and he could just come back and stomp me with those gazelle legs in a second. I thought, Well good for you buddy, being at the top of the food chain isn’t enough, you gotta be a little snot, too. One second I’m just strolling home, doop-de-doop, and the next I’m scared out of my wits and trying to rush home as fast as I can. Such is your power. And I hate feeling beaten by it. Beaten as in lost the game, not a winner, LOSER. I felt put in my place. I was getting too big for my britches that have tiny functionless pockets. I should be grateful he sacrificed maintaining his heart rate to help me.
I think it’s affected my self-esteem as well, which is another way abuse silences people. He made me feel so tiny I could hardly squeak any words out after the experience. One of the most challenging things in this world is to stand up and show your vulnerability.
And you know what? Fuck this guy. Fuck him right in the ear. Anywhere I go in this town he is going to be able to recognize me immediately, and I really have no idea who he is. He could change his clothes and I wouldn't know him -- I don't have that privilege. And as a woman, that pisses me off. It is impossible for me to disguise myself; everyone who's seen me once knows immediately who I am. People watch my route home, because they think it's cute. They come up and talk to me like they know me. I have no anonymity -- that is a privilege of this guy's tan, muscular, able-bodied ass. He can be an asshole to a stranger and know that in all likelihood he won't have to confront them again. Any jerk will be able to recognize me as the chick they pissed off last time.
And all this, because he told himself he wanted to help me. I didn’t ask you for shit, buddy -- you just gave it to me.