I remain the subordinate in a society of the unyielding standardized
dominant ideals.
This “disability” is either something to be hidden away or stigmatized by
others.
Invisible illnesses.
Quit being dramatic. You’re fucked up. Stop seeking attention. Just get
up. You’re bound for failure. You mess up all the time and it’s all your
fault. You’re too broken for me to handle. You’re not normal. Stop being
a baby. You’re not dying. You can’t talk about those things: they’re
scandalous; taboo.
Push! Push! Push! Ignore it and the ugly thing will go away!
Hash it out. I’ll take it again and again, one person to the next.
We must lock them into this box!
Lock them in tight, shove this discrimination down their throat!
What am I to do?
As my illness goes ignored.
My anger builds until—for a period—it’s all I am.
My social identity is but one thing: a broken and willing fuck-up in the
eyes of all.
See me god damn it! See me for what I’ve been and know I don’t have a
choice!
I’d choose any other path than my own!
Internalized stigmas bring shame.
It’s my fault.
Why can’t I snap out of this?