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#MySpoons are all fucked up.

I can't explain the level of hurt- separately & all at once- for being a Black dark-skinned disabled woman.

Right before a (minor but still!) surgery, no less.
Y'all know me.

I talk a lot about having #cancer. Especially after finding out the remission I celebrated is not really remission.

I talk about #InvisibleDisabilities.

But I couldn't get into this surgery.
And of course that's my right.

I share what I share when I feel it will help people & not hurt me.
Yet this surgery is for something I am super self-conscious about & part of why I hate to be on camera.

And why I have dark glasses on in half the pictures I take.
People think it's because I'm heavy.

Bish I have lost 50 pounds.

With some effort over four months but nothing outrageous.

So looks like I can lose 50 more.

I'm at my pre-cancer weight. I love showing off the kids. That's not the problem.
The problem makes me feel ugly though.

The problem is part of one of my disabilities.

One I don't talk about because it's one they can't figure out yet.

It's one that mostly white people have.

So when I go to be treated I stand out.
And when I'm waiting to be seen I'm usually in a white area.

To them I guess I'm being very Black and very dark skinned until I speak.
Oh shock of shocks!

I speak clear & fluent English!

Surely I will lose into ebonics if they use AAVE to relate to me.

Sweet Jesus be a hole to swallow me into the ground...
So in the waiting room? We have been waiting A Long Time.

So people are now commenting aloud and clearing their throats and. Looking at Me.

Is there a superhero called Sassy Black woman that I've been confused with?
If there is?

Surely she's not as dark as me because a minute ago you people acted like I had the plague.

And I hate to think of it in colorist terms.
But when you and a family member have a STRONG resemblance except for skin shade

.....and they have a problem with you

...... and not her

......and even SHE has said "damn they don't like dark peoples here" you start to wonder.
And it's a life where you finally manage to convince yourself you're beautiful.

Not just sexy and exotic.

Beautiful. Dark & lovely.

A revolution in motion.

And someone comes along and comments on your disability and how it makes you ugly.
Or engages you in a conversation over Skype.

That you think is flirty until they tell you how much they'd be "trying to hit that" if you weren't so dark because of how fine you are.

And wow. I was supposed to be flattered.
And an ex thinks it's a shame you're disabled now (I WAS THEN TOO YOU JACKASS Of A FUCK) because he'd want to wife you.

But then what if you had [insert disabled slur] kids.

It's 2019 too.
All this happens the night before or morning of a minor surgery but yes, sure, jam scapels into my flesh.

I'm emotionally prepared for that & the evil fucks in this waiting room.

My armor is not worn threadbare at all
The trauma. Alone. Of having to admit that I need this type of... repair.

That I may have to do this dozens more times before it helps all the way because doing it in one go is too much risk for someone in my state.

The fact ... this isn't even a top chronic illness of mine.
Six chronic illnesses. And cancer.

This isn't a TOP SEVEN of the shit wrong with me.

And all those other things are whispering their own three or four alarm fires.

Some of which?

I can literally do fuck-all about.
Isn't it enough to deal with.

Why does that have to be simmered in racism, ableism, misogyny, misognoir, and colorism and bad exes when I'm already anxious nervous & depressed the day of a surgery?

About how recovering from this will impact everything else?

I do not know how to just be Disabled Tinu.

Or Black Tinu.

Or Female Tinu.

Or Dark-Skinned Tinu.

We can't get a divorce. Those people don't exist.

Only Black Dark Skinned Disabled Cis Woman Tinu lives here.

Even though I don't aways say all her names.
Does your eye color change if you don't talk about it?

No. You have to live in that reality that having those eyes of those color, functioning partially, fully or not, every day, all day, even if you never reference it.
So it is with me. I'm on here.

I'm laughing because I don't want to cry.

I'm sharing because it makes me feel like I'm not wasting my life.

And because I love to write. I have to.

And the tweet format helps me remember to rest.
But. I'm barely hanging on right now. Two good notes to end on.
I see a therapist tomorrow. Been trying to for a year though this nonprofit.
Also the surgery experience was extremely compassionate. I don't have the energy to write about it now.

But that's coming in a much shorter thread.
I still need help with the copay for my 2nd Feb surgery & related costs.

I also don't have my meds for this month yet.

So if you learned anything from me, tips are appreciated.$TinuWrites
@threadreaderapp unroll my gratitude for all these retweets and assistance because people are wonderful despite the news.
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