Flames-on-the-side-of-my-face

There is no part of this letter that doesn’t make me feel sick. She probably thought she was being “helpful” and “compassionate” too.

He’s a child,  presumably his family loves him and does things to make him happy…and she’s outright advocating he should die because he’s inconvenient to her.

Pretty much everyone with a disability (and their carers) has been exposed to the “end their suffering!1!!!” meme at least once. I know I have, though the first time it happened I was still too young to understand what it really meant. Even if it’s NOT explicitly stated, there’s a constant undertone of oh, you must be suffering, it must be SO HARD for you. Being like you would be the WORST THING IN THE WORLD.

It’s only hard when shitbags like this MAKE it hard. We’re here. We exist. We’re not going away…and we are MORE than just burdens or problems to interrupt or inconvenience your comfortable life over the fence.

We’re people. Real, complex people just like you. Remember that.

Everyone who sees this, please signal boost it. I know it’s a long shot, but I live in hope that the woman who wrote this disgusting, hurtful thing (or someone who knows her written mannerisms) will see it again with a fuckload of commentary attached…and have a much needed moment of self reflection.

Jokey Jammer, happy Kaner and smiley Tazer at the Chicago Blackhawks’ 2013 Stanley Cup Rally

Ye gods, this Women Against Feminism thing. Bitches, we couldn’t even get credit cards in our names until 1974. NINETEEN SEVENTY FOUR. That’s forty years ago. I have dust bunnies in my apartment older than that. I’m glad your husband can lift giant flaming boxes of knives for you in a manly fashion or whatever it was you said negated your need for equality, but if you’re spitting in the faces of the women who came before you and tried to make the world a less hateful place for you while you have a credit card or a loan in your name then I hope that giant flaming box falls on your head. Good day.