A while ago I had a conversation on FB that led me to realize some things about myself that hadn't occurred to me before. The convo was about women's health/invisible illnesses/the like, and I mentioned that whenever I go to an appointment of any kind, I get dressed up. No, I don't wear my Sunday best, but I'll put on a pair of slacks, a nice top, and usually a blazer. I do this because I want to be taken seriously. I already have three strikes against me: I'm female, I'm disabled, and I'm low-income. If I went to my appointments in clothes that actually reflected the way I feel physically (probably yoga pants and a sweatshirt), I would be dismissed as another "parasite on society." So even when I'm sick, I dress up, I put on makeup, I do something with my hair. I do this so doctors, teachers, therapists, social workers (people who are supposed to have my best interests at heart) will take me seriously. And it works.
So I was a little bit shocked when a friend commented, "Spinster, you're passing." I had never thought about it like that. But it's true. I'm a disabled, low income woman passing as an able-bodied, middle class woman so people will take me seriously. So people will think I've got my shit together. I practically purr every time I hear a medical professional describe me as high functioning. A high-functioning epileptic who has three seizures a week and is somehow managing to hold it all together.
The thing is, though, I don't feel high functioning. I don't feel like I'm holding it all together. I feel like I am putting on armor of pretty clothes and makeup so the people I know won't see my weak spots, won't see that a lot of the time I am barely functioning, exhausted, and living off coffee.
I'm extremely lucky. I live in a city with many, many hospitals and medical services available. I have a therapist who has taught me that a lot of the things I thought were flaws in my character are simple consequences of having brain damage. I'm attending a school where I'm treated extremely well by teachers who are amazing. I am finally starting to see the life I dreamed of, the life I always thought my disability would make impossible.
But I am not the face I show the world. I'm just passing. And a part of me knows that I will be uncovered soon enough, that some doctor or teacher or fellow student will someday say, "You aren't what you've been telling us you are. You are not that pretty middle class lady." I don't feel like the pretty middle class lady. I feel more connection to the kid on the bus with the studded leather jacket and pierced everything than I do to the women who look and dress and act like me.
Something about this makes me very sad. I don't really want to be the persona I put on each day. I want to wear my scars proudly and let the world see what I am. But I'm a coward (that's also part of what I'm hiding). I'm afraid that they'll see who I am and decide I'm worthless.
