Disability

I bought a chew tool because I kept catching myself chewing my fingers. It turned out the need went deeper than a habit. The nursing home took away most of my sensory input, and my body found another way to get it.

The independence movement was a necessary fight against institutionalization, but it equated freedom with doing things alone. It never made room for people who need support, and it turned needing help into a failure state.

When you can’t write the code and you can’t find the tool you need, AI is the only way the thing could exist at all.

The wave metaphor for fatigue was true but incomplete. The wave is the crash. Underneath it there is a tide that never leaves, and an undertow that grabs without warning. This is the fuller picture.

For thirty-four years I was told my body was lying. Then the labs came back and said it had been telling the truth the whole time.

The anti-AI crowd keeps saying AI users aren’t using their brains. For multiply disabled people, AI is the accommodation that makes thinking possible.

Without a written standing order, every meal becomes a negotiation, and I am the one who loses every time.

Fasting is a tool, not a law. The point is dependence, not deprivation. What that means for a body that can’t skip food, and why the discipline was never about the food.

Most writing about disabled life focuses on what’s hard. This is what two days where things actually worked looked like for me.

AI isn’t a writing assistant for me. It’s infrastructure. It’s the difference between thoughts trapped in my head and thoughts that become articles, code, advocacy, and community. And watermarking that can’t tell the difference between replacement and enablement threatens all of it.