is showing in NY this week. It's a theatre work about voluntary amputation (also called BIID) and devotees, a subject discussed in our recent blog carnival about sexuality and disability.
"Body Integrity Identity Disorder, or BIID, is a psychological condition in which the individual requests an elective amputation. Individuals with this condition experience the persistent desire to have their body physically match the idealized image they have of themselves." via biid.org
I've linked to a NY Times review above.
Showing posts with label devotees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label devotees. Show all posts
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Totally Devoted to You
Shortly after I acquired my disability, my brother suggested I buy a computer so I could go online since my mobility was limited. I still remember setting up AOL, including the IM feature. I composed a profile in which I mentioned that I was female, what my hobbies were and that I used a wheelchair.
My IM's started going off within 20 minutes. I had, within the space of several hours, six men IM me asking me questions - not about me, but about my disability. By the time the sixth one did it, I wondered what was up so I asked him. He replied that he was a devotee - attracted to women in wheelchairs with disabilities.
"If you don't want IM's from people like me, you better take the wheelchair out of your profile," he told me.
I did delete the word wheelchair out, feeling kind of queasy and yucky at the same time. Attracted to me simply because I used a wheelchair? What was that about? So, one of my first searches of the web was of devotees.
Not all, but several of the devotees were unpleasantly persistent even in the face of me asking them to leave me alone once I caught on. One night I was online with a good friend and she said she was being IM'd by this really nice guy in Cleveland and I checked her profile. Sure enough, it said wheelchair user, female. I mentioned his cybername and she asked "How do you know?" I told her. Like me, she wasn't particularly interested either.
I found it just as unsettling to be chosen because I have a disability and use a wheelchair (or whatever the particular devotee attraction is, since it varies) as it was in everyday life to be eliminated from the running because of my disability. Both situations make me feel as if I'm not being treated like a person.
At that time, I began dating offline as I regained my mobility and went through the usual "blind dates" (although I insisted the guy know I was disabled - I'm just not sure any of them understood what a 'quad' is until they watched me try to eat) and dating scene. I never went through a dating service although one of my friends met her husband there. I dated through groups I belonged to with common interests, dated business acquaintances and friends of friends.
And, yes, I found someone. We had a wonderful first date and when he dropped me off at home, he asked to come inside. I watched as he lifted his pant leg and showed me a prosthetic leg. "Still interested?" he asked.
Over time we were engaged. We worked through what became our mutual fears about the relationshp working, fears that were being fed by some friends and family. He lost his leg at 19 years old and his mom still treated him, her only child, as if he was about that age at times. And many thought marrying a quad was too much for him to "take on". He was an extremely active person, so this didn't seem to make much sense to either of us after we calmed each other down. Perhaps the most amusing part of this was that his conservative mom , a Southern debutante in her day, kept inviting me to tea parties where I couldn't even hold a tea cup! You should have seen the look on her face when he marched into the "tea room" and plunked a straw into the tea cup one day and said "Let it go, Mom."
Logistical issues like how to be intimate when a disability requires adaptations was much easier for us than working out day to day living on more mundane subjects, such as him letting the aide do his/her job and knowing that didn't make me feel unloved. Many times people assumed he had no disability because they couldn't see his prosthetic leg. This created some very interesting scenarios for us behind closed doors, believe me. But we weathered it and both learned from it.
Perhaps because of the groundwork we laid, when he passed away unexpectedly I can truly say we were totally devoted to each other. It was a hard blow. Love songs still bring tears to my eyes, movies we saw together bring a lump to my throat. But I look at it this way: I went from six anonymous devotees to one totally devoted amputee who loved me.
My IM's started going off within 20 minutes. I had, within the space of several hours, six men IM me asking me questions - not about me, but about my disability. By the time the sixth one did it, I wondered what was up so I asked him. He replied that he was a devotee - attracted to women in wheelchairs with disabilities.
"If you don't want IM's from people like me, you better take the wheelchair out of your profile," he told me.
I did delete the word wheelchair out, feeling kind of queasy and yucky at the same time. Attracted to me simply because I used a wheelchair? What was that about? So, one of my first searches of the web was of devotees.
Not all, but several of the devotees were unpleasantly persistent even in the face of me asking them to leave me alone once I caught on. One night I was online with a good friend and she said she was being IM'd by this really nice guy in Cleveland and I checked her profile. Sure enough, it said wheelchair user, female. I mentioned his cybername and she asked "How do you know?" I told her. Like me, she wasn't particularly interested either.
I found it just as unsettling to be chosen because I have a disability and use a wheelchair (or whatever the particular devotee attraction is, since it varies) as it was in everyday life to be eliminated from the running because of my disability. Both situations make me feel as if I'm not being treated like a person.
At that time, I began dating offline as I regained my mobility and went through the usual "blind dates" (although I insisted the guy know I was disabled - I'm just not sure any of them understood what a 'quad' is until they watched me try to eat) and dating scene. I never went through a dating service although one of my friends met her husband there. I dated through groups I belonged to with common interests, dated business acquaintances and friends of friends.
And, yes, I found someone. We had a wonderful first date and when he dropped me off at home, he asked to come inside. I watched as he lifted his pant leg and showed me a prosthetic leg. "Still interested?" he asked.
Over time we were engaged. We worked through what became our mutual fears about the relationshp working, fears that were being fed by some friends and family. He lost his leg at 19 years old and his mom still treated him, her only child, as if he was about that age at times. And many thought marrying a quad was too much for him to "take on". He was an extremely active person, so this didn't seem to make much sense to either of us after we calmed each other down. Perhaps the most amusing part of this was that his conservative mom , a Southern debutante in her day, kept inviting me to tea parties where I couldn't even hold a tea cup! You should have seen the look on her face when he marched into the "tea room" and plunked a straw into the tea cup one day and said "Let it go, Mom."
Logistical issues like how to be intimate when a disability requires adaptations was much easier for us than working out day to day living on more mundane subjects, such as him letting the aide do his/her job and knowing that didn't make me feel unloved. Many times people assumed he had no disability because they couldn't see his prosthetic leg. This created some very interesting scenarios for us behind closed doors, believe me. But we weathered it and both learned from it.
Perhaps because of the groundwork we laid, when he passed away unexpectedly I can truly say we were totally devoted to each other. It was a hard blow. Love songs still bring tears to my eyes, movies we saw together bring a lump to my throat. But I look at it this way: I went from six anonymous devotees to one totally devoted amputee who loved me.
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