Another rough night feeling sorry for myself and hating having to use a wheelchair when I go anywhere.
On the weekend Andrew wanted to head into the mountains to look at some clothing for Dragon Dreaming.
There are a whole of bunch of “hippy” clothing stores, so that’s we aimed for.
The first one we went to: Stair at the door, only just enough room for my wheelchair around the counter. I had to get up and walk to look at anything in the store, and it was stupidly cramped. I’m not a small girl granted, but those aisles were waaaaay too thin. I gave up after looking at 2 aisles.
Second store: Stair at the front, stairs inside the store to get to the other half of the store.
I’d already walked through the camping store earlier that morning, so I had fuck all energy, then having to walk through the first store too. It takes so much out of me now, it’s kind of embarrassing.
I stayed out the front of the store. And was treated to people staring outright at me.
Even heard “Why did she even leave the house if she’s just going to sit outside?”
Eventually Andrew came to check on me, and he must have seen I was on edge, so he pulled me into the store anyway.
I found a nice skirt, and one that was an XL. Again, not a small girl here.
I had a bit of trouble getting to the changerooms, because narrow. And navigating in the change room was hell as well.
Andrew helped me try it on, because I was so low on energy I thought I would just fall asleep mid-wheeling.
It was too small. Way too small.
Andrew went out and asked the lady working there if they had skirts in bigger cuts/sizes.
"We don’t really cater to truly plus size people, but how about trying a wrap around on the front? I mean, she doesn’t need it to go all the way around right?"
Andrew didn’t know I’d heard that, but I left the changeroom, sat at the front of the store and waited for Andrew to buy the pants he’d found.
She asked me if I was going to Dragon Dreaming as well. My answer was pretty blunt. “Manual wheelchairs and bush aren’t on speaking terms.”
Third store, step out the front, too narrow.
Fourth store was an art store, and I could go inside. I grabbed some new fineliners because they were on sale. I drooled over the copics and prisamcolours, the paint sets, the giant canvases that I can’t afford.
Fifth store: 3 stairs to get in, plus a ledge to get to get to the stairs. Way too cramped.
Then we went to the next suburb. Which is Katoomba. Which is just basically a giant freaking hill.
Again, stores with steps, and too cramped for me to go into. Unless I walked, which by this point there was a better chance of me gaining wings or a jetpack.
Went into a little bookstore.
Went into the steampunk store. Tried a corset on. Nope, not fitting. Woot. (Sarcasm, it actually really sucks I can’t find nice goth clothes now that I’m bigger).
Then we went for food.
I crashed out as soon as I got home. I pushed my knees way too hard making myself walk around stores, just because I keep feeling left out of everything and I really hate not even being able to shop.
My knees are still in more pain than usual, I’m still having crazy amount of trouble walking across the hallway to the bathroom, and I still feel incredibly left out of everything.
To make it worse, I saw photos from Neko Nation as well. And all I could see at first was awesome costumes and makeup, but then it warped into things I can’t do.
I can’t dress up that way anymore. I can’t find stuff that fits. I can’t run around with my legs/midriff showing, because I’m too big too.
No point in me even going to a club because I don’t drink, and can’t dance.
And I mean, it’s not even my type of club scene either.
But I hate the whole thing.
Every adventure out of the house for anything but supplies for stuff inside the house feels pointless.
Hell, we went to Penrith rsl for dinner, housemates went to Aqua Golf after.
I can’t stand for long enough, and can’t twist even slightly without my knees popping out, so I can’t play myself.
I was just going to get my ereader out and read a bit.
Wheeled past a couple of guys.
"Why bother coming to golf? hahahahahaha, freak."
Why is the first thing that gets asked of me on dating sites/in public is some form of why bother?
As if this whole thing isn’t fucking with my head as it is, I have to deal with asshat comments like this too.
It’s no wonder I’ve not been motivated to even keep track of events that are “accessible” and that I have remote interest in attending.
Because asshats, and staring, and comments.
And feeling shitty, and self hating.
Being aware of loosing my independence and my sexuality, my confidence.
I am surprised I’m still doing the youtube thing, but I think that may just be my stubborn-headed rebellion against cutting all of my social stuff.
I’m torn between wanting to flip tables, and curl up and cry.
Hell, I can’t even go to the park at night and sit on the swings anymore because I can’t walk to the damn thing.