Category: Uncategorized

Sammie Meyers’ Response to Take Back the Night

This event was empowering and eye-opening. For many people, domestic violence and sexual assault is something that should be hidden from the public. The speakers did an incredible job with showcasing the ways in which sexual assault and harassment affect each and every one of us even those who have not personally experienced it. Some of the speakers came from dysfunctional family environments where healthy relationships weren’t displayed very often. The first woman who spoke talked about her own personal experience with domestic violence. She was a marine who married another marine and she had what seemed like the perfect marriage. She grew up in a small town where things like sexual assault and domestic violence weren’t talked about or acknowledged. She told us that her breaking point was when one of her kids saw her husband lay a hand on her and that that was the last straw. She asked herself who would take care of her children if something happened to her and she didn’t want to put her kids through that. Another girl shared her story about having to see her abuser at school every day and how painful it was for her. I know all too well how that feels and her words helped remind me that I’m not alone.

            Throughout the event there were repeated messages of acknowledging the hurt and knowing that there will never be another one of ourselves. That we are strong and that we need to take back our power for ourselves and never let it go. There will never be anyone like you because there is only one you. They also mentioned that these things take time and that going to therapy is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of strength.

            Natalie Illum, the keynote speaker, talked about her experiences with both assault and disability. She told us that one of her friends was assaulted too but she didn’t find out until much later which is usually how these things go. Natalie read us original poetry that showed her disbelief at how people tend to distrust victims of sexual assault. She wrote a poem about a poetry slam event that she went to. She wrote about 9, 10, 11 and 12 year old’s who read their original poems about their past sexual assaults. They were so very young. At the end of all of this, she said that she believes us and that it is time for us to own ourselves and what has happened to us. Even when and if perpetrators are not caught, the important thing to know is that it is not our fault nor was it ever our fault.

This event was empowering not only as a woman but as a human being. It is helping us take one more step forward in the effort to get rid of the stigma surrounding sexual assault and domestic violence. The speakers at the event helped remind me that I am not alone in what I, and many others, have experienced. All of these speeches resonated with me because of not only my experience but because of the experiences of all the strong women around me and the ways in which they were able to pick themselves up and start again.

Rebecca Young’s Response to Take Back the Night

This evening, I had the absolute pleasure and honor of attending the Take Back the Night event at Lee Hall. Not only were Ben’s musical talents an excellent way to begin the night, but each survivor’s reading was moving and empowering. The event undoubtedly met their goal of breaking the silence surrounding sexual and domestic violence, as an incredible number of people chose to share their personal stories and speak out, clearly emphasizing that perpetrators of violence do not hold power over survivors by keeping them silent. Instead, the survivors speak on their own behalf and on their own terms; witnessing this tonight was awe-inspiring and empowering.

Natalie Illum’s presentation was especially moving tonight, in addition to being the most intersectional presentation of the evening. The poems she read for us focused on her experiences with sexual and domestic violence in both first and secondhand ways, and were written and performed with a kind of personal magic. The audience was enraptured by her naturally poetic performance, but the power behind her words was even more impactful. Additionally, the intersectionality in her presentation and discussion added even more importance and relevance to her readings. Illum discussed her own disability, and how she was at a personal disadvantage in already disadvantaged situations; additionally, issues such as class and gender were dispersed throughout her works and her personal commentary as well. Her works allowed us to see a number of perspectives on the issues at hand, as well as experiencing the events as she did herself. Ultimately, Illum’s presentation was an irreplaceable conclusion to the night’s speakers.

This event was incredibly empowering and enlightening, and it truly felt like all those who attended it were united in the movement’s purpose tonight. With speakers like Natalie Illum and our own classmates and friends, the silence and stigma typically surrounding sexual and domestic violence were clearly broken and left behind. It was an incredibly memorable experience for me, and I am honored to have been a part of such an event.

Carly’s Response to “Take Back the Night” Speakers

I sat on the bench outside “Take Back the Night” and listened to the speakers tonight, April 16th 2019.  Natalie Illham was the featured speaker and an alumni of UMW! She has many honors for her poetry, and a disability advocate who experienced sexual abuse. She made the point that creative writing and communities that facilitate it help give survivors a powerful voice and outlet to create social change. This made me think of our project, where we all used our own creative licenses to make something to facilitate controversial thought about disabled experience and needs. Additionally, this event advocated for normalization of therapy because of the truth that trauma is a part of a person’s identity. This does not mean that a survivor or disabled person  has get better, or has to heal, but they should be given the resources to live the way they need to. This statement is a paraphrased idea that the keynote speaker presented, and I thought it was really important because it shows a sort of intersection or at least similarity between disability and traumatized persons such as sexual assault survivors–the piece of them that makes them deviate from society’s perceived “norm” does not make them less valuable or capable–they need not feel any shame or failure, they just must be provided resources and mechanisms to live according to their needs and experiences; embracing their identity, experiences, and abilities as valuable and strong.

Caitlyn with a C’s Major Project: Teaching “To Kill a Mockingbird”

For my major project I created two different lesson plans for reading Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird with an eighth grade English class. The first lesson plan not focusing on disability but theme, and the second discussing how perceived disability in the novel affects the characters. I also wrote a letter to the Fredericksburg City School Board members, encouraging them to consider including disability studies into the common curriculum of students. I chose this avenue as I am not an English major and the idea of writing a paper was daunting to me, and when I thought of what I could do instead, I knew this was the right choice. After reading To Kill a Mockingbird in eighth grade myself I did not realize the importance of the novel, or its future impact on me as a student. Reading Harper Lee’s novel this semester has truly opened my eyes to how disability affects us every day, and how material relating to disability studies can be fully accessible to all.

My goal in creating these two works was to fully consider how disability studies could believably be integrated into mainstream schools and classrooms. While it would be ideal to dedicate an entire unit to disability in literature for an English class, it is improbable that a school district would approve, and even if they did it would take years to finalize and implement. Instead what I thought of was ways that disability could be taught within discussion of an already approved book. To Kill a Mockingbird is often included in Middle or High School English classes, but lessons revolve around reading the novel whilst examining the effects of race. While I have no intention of suggesting that these important discussions be halted, I believe that disability also has a place here. Teaching students about this topic pushes boundaries and preconceived notions about those with disabilities. It fosters increased empathy and acceptance of differences. Disability studies has the capability of inciting conversations that might not be had otherwise.

While creating my lesson plans, I had a difficult time forming an outline that was progressive, while still being something that could be taught in Fredericksburg County schools, which are considered somewhat conservative on what material is taught. Therefore, I created two. The first does not actually revolve around disability, but theme – one of which just happens to be disability. In middle school English classes, the focus is still on building fundamental reading skills that can later be used for detailed analysis. Teaching theme allows for a teacher to use disability as an example, thus further normalizing discussions of disability. While educators or school board members may not fully agree that disability studies should be taught, what they can agree on is the importance of acceptance and compassion. The second lesson is more of what I would want to be taught in schools, but may be a stretch. The procedure begins with discussing what views children already have on disability, and opening up conversation about ways in which disability can also be thought about. The lesson also includes topics such as race and gender, and whether or not those are disabling in the novel, which could spark further discussions. The lesson concludes with a talk of empathy, as I believe that is most important.

I had originally intended to utilize one of the theory pieces that our class read around the same time, but I found the writing to be a bit above the comprehension level of the typical eighth grader, so I instead integrated my knowledge into sample questions to ask students, and my letter to the school board. I have emailed that letter to the email listed on the website with my lesson plan attached, and hope to actually hear back from somebody. The real significance of this project is enacting real change for the future, something I think this idea truly has the capability of doing.              Word Count: 657

I hereby declare upon my word of honor that I have neither given nor received unauthorized help on this work. -Caitlyn Valenza

Theme in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird

Objectives:

  • Students will be able to explain the idea of theme and find examples in text.
  • Students will understand that theme is more than just a topic or a moral, it is the main message that the author conveys.
  • 8.5 The student will read and analyze a variety of fictional texts, narrative nonfiction, and poetry.

Purpose

The purpose of this lesson is not only to allow for an understanding of the concept of themes in fictional text, but also exposes students to ideas such as prejudice and disability.

Materials/Equipment/Preparation

  • Physical copies of Harper Lee’s novel, To Kill a Mockingbird for each student, poster paper, markers
  • Overhead projector and screen to project video outlining theme. Set up computer beforehand with video: https://youtu.be/0heUJ5Q-skU

Procedure

  • Introduction

As the teacher I will begin this lesson with the introduction to the idea of theme. First, I will ask the class if anyone already knows the definition of theme or has any idea what it could mean, identifying students who may be more advanced in the subject, and may need to be challenged more, also their writing may be used as an example. Then, I will show a short video the concisely explains theme.

  • Model

To show how to both find and understand theme, I will model using the theme of disability in To Kill a Mockingbird. I will explain how by giving an explanation such as:

  • When we think of theme, sometimes our default is to just look for a topic that is repeated frequently in a novel, and while that is helpful in finding a place to start, a theme is more than that. Take the idea of disability. What does the author say about disability and how it is perceived? That is the key idea of theme, you should start with “Harper Lee believes disability *blank*” and that blank is how you create the theme. In this case, Harper Lee believes perceived disability affects how an individual is treated in society. And for it to be correct, there should be textual evidence. Like on page 13, “Jem gave a reasonable description of Boo: Boo was about six-and-a-half feet tall, judging from his tracks; he dined on raw squirrels and any cats he could catch, that’s why his hands were blood-stained—if you ate an animal raw, you could never wash the blood off. There was a long-jagged scar that ran across his face; what teeth he had were yellow and rotten; his eyes popped, and he drooled most of the time.” This perception, which you know is untrue, causes Arthur to be further ostracized by society, and treated differently by people who have never met him. Can you think of other characters who disability has also had an affect on their lives? (Look for answers such as Tom’s arm, or Mrs. Dubose’s addiction)
  • Activities

I will further direct students through the idea of theme by asking students to work with their table groups to come up with different themes of the novel to then share with the class. From there I will write those ideas on the board and work with the children to create a class set of themes.

Each group of students will then write one of the themes we have created together as a class on a large sheet of paper. Groups will then rotate around the room writing one quote from TKAM on each of the themed pages that supports the idea. As a class we will go over each of the boards so the students can learn from each other, and see what ideas they might have missed.

  • Assessment/Closing

To end class, I will write 3 classic fairy tales on the board and ask students to write on a sheet of paper what the theme of that story is as an exit ticket. This will help to gauge comprehension of the lesson. But assessment also comes from class participation and what students wrote as evidence from the text to support their themes.

Disability in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird

Objectives:

  • Students will understand how disability can influence the ways an individual is treated and seen by society and be able to relate that to their life.
  • Students will be able to describe how perceived disability affects individual characters in the novel.
  • Students will know that the way disability is handled in this novel is not appropriate today, and that it is important to accept those in our community that are different.
  • 8.5 The student will read and analyze a variety of fictional texts, narrative nonfiction, and poetry.

Purpose

The purpose of this lesson is to both build upon and alter student’s view of disability, establishing that disability is another characteristic of people, and it is something that should be accepted and embraced, not feared. This lesson also reiterates the importance of empathy and inclusion.

Materials/Equipment/Preparation

  • Physical copies of Harper Lee’s novel To Kill a Mockingbird for each student,
  • Overhead projector and screen to project video on empathy: https://youtu.be/icIlUdTEQnU

Procedure

  • Introduction

As a continuation from the previous lessons on the concept of theme, this lesson focuses on the theme of disability and society. First, I will reiterate my previously used example of theme in To Kill a Mockingbird , and then ask students to “think, pair, share” (first brainstorm for 5 minutes, then discuss with table group, and then share with the class) about what they know about the term disability in general. If students are apprehensive about sharing, I will explain how I understand that the topic can be a sensitive one, but enforce the idea of our classroom being a community where we can freely share our ideas. I will prompt discussion with a question of whether or not race and gender are seen as a disability in TKAM.

  • Model
  • To continue with the topic of disability I would question the class to think of ways that disability may affect them or someone they know in their own life. This real-world connection can include seeing ramps (or lack thereof), watching a TV show, or even connections to other novels. If children do not want to answer that question, broaden it to asking if anyone they know has been affected by how someone perceived them, not relating to disability. (such as stereotypes or gossip)

To demonstrate the lesson, I will begin with the character of Scout. While gender may not always be considered a disability, I will ask students how being a female disables Scout in Maycomb. Using examples from the text, as modeled and practiced in the lesson previously I will read the examples, “I could not possibly hope to be a lady if I wore breeches; when I said I could do nothing in a dress, she said I wasn’t supposed to be doing things that required pants”  and “For one thing, Miss Maudie can’t serve on a jury because she’s a woman”

In this plan there is considerable time built in for questions and discussions. Let students question the world as they know it and come to new conclusions.

  • Activities

As time allows have students take out their writing journal. I will start a list on the board of characters in TKAM that I believe are related to disability, but will ask the students if they can think of any other. Students will take time to write as much as they can in the time allowed about how their character is affected by disability, reminding them to use quotes from the text inside their sentences, an important skill to master. This is done individually to allow students time to reflect privately, and I will remind them to ask me questions at my desk if they were not comfortable asking in front of the class.

  • Closing/Assessment

If time allows, I will project a video on empathy, prefacing it by telling students that I am proud that they could have such a mature discussion about a topic adults may have a hard time talking about. Even if the video cannot be played, I will remind the class that what they should take away from this lesson is just because we may perceive somebody a certain way, it is usually not true. I will leave them with a quote from Atticus, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view […] until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

Dear Fredericksburg City School Board Members,

            My name is Caitlyn Valenza and I am a student at the University of Mary Washington. Currently I am simultaneously working towards obtaining my bachelor’s degree in psychology as well as my master’s degree in education. Amidst student teaching hours and working full time, this semester I am currently enrolled in a class on Disability in Literature that has broadened my understanding of disability not only as a student and a future educator, but as a global citizen. Disability studies centralizes on the idea that just as race, and gender are studied as aspects of society, disability can be theorized the same way in order to help better understand those who are unlike us. I urge the school board to consider integrating aspects of disability studies into the curriculum of middle school aged children and above as I believe that this addition will lead to further acceptance and empathy in students.

In education disabilities are often though of as an obstacle to overcome, that with enough support and accommodations students with registered IEPs can become be mainstreamed and more ‘normal’. But the truth is that any idea of normal is social constructed, in fact according to Tobin Siebers in the introduction to “Disability in Theory “…all bodies are socially constructed.” This idea is important for both teachers and students to understand. We as a society have placed artificial boundaries on what is expected, and the more that these boundaries are pushed for our youth the more inclusive our future society can become. Similar to how teachings of past racism or prejudice can work as a springboard for conversation and change, disability studies will do the same. In our current climate teaching acceptance is more important than ever.

            Below I have attached a sample lesson plan for teaching the novel, To Kill a Mockingbird. Lee’s writing is essential to creating a knowledgeable youth who are exposed to the history of this country, and is often already taught through a lens of race. I propose that alongside this discussion of racism educators can include a lesson about how perceived disability affects character’s acceptance and behavior in society. From the first outline it is clear to see that while disability may not be the central idea of every lesson, it is possible to discuss the idea informally, allowing students to become more accustomed to disability studies as a common place idea. Social idea of disability states that disability only exists as society sees it, and Learning through a lens of disability and race allows for students

 Disability is often thought as something to shield students from, but this lack of intentional confrontation does little to shield children from real world exposure. What we must do as educators is prepare our students for real world experiences and not further stigmatize those who may look, act, or think differently than us. I ask that the school board consider my proposal, and would be glad to answer further questions or discuss the importance of this decision.

Sincerely,

Caitlyn Valenza

Olivia and Sammie’s Major Project: Beware for I am Fearless and therefore powerful

Our Website:

https://beware-for-i-am-fearless-and-therefore-powerful-com.webnode.com

Rational:

The goal of this project is to look at different Hollywood depictions of Frankenstein and see how it relates to disability. We decided to make this project in order to display the stereotypical Hollywood portrayals of Frankenstein.

Our process involved researching which tv shows and movies included Frankenstein. We had to make sure that there were both older and newer portrayals to see how Frankenstein differed between generations. We then watched the movies and tv shows while we took notes. We made a website and put together some clips to show how Victor Frankenstein and the Creation were depicted in each adaptation. Some of the clips were unavailable to us but we found many other clips that showed the full extent of representation. The process took about two and a half weeks in total.

There are many significant issues in both the tv shows and movies regarding disablity. In several films, there is signs of eugenics at work. Older media tends to portray the Creation as less intelligent and, in some cases, nonverbal. This aligns with the flawed stereotype that people with physical deformities are unintelligent. In most of the adaptations, people are cruel towards the Creation. At many points, the Creation is almost always kept in the background especially in the Addams family adaptation. This is connected to disability because, in some cases, individuals with disabilities are pushed to the side or ignored. By portraying the creation in what could be described as a slave-like state, the film is implying the creation is incapable of independent thought. Additionally, in the novel, the Creation is an intelligent individual who is capable of talking but, in contrast, this specific portrayal of the Creation takes away his voice and leaves him incapable of communicating with others. In doing so, the Creation loses his agency. This also falls in line with the stereotypical assumption that people with physical deformities lack intelligence; however, in the film, the Creation shows an understanding of their situation and experiences emotional responses to those situations. So while he may lack intelligence beyond his piano skills, he still shows signs of emotional intelligence.

While not all people with disabilities do this, there are a good amount of people who will put other people’s needs in front of theirs. Some individuals with disabilities do not want to inconvenience anyone and some may even try to make things harder for themselves in order to keep abled people comfortable. This is seen in the Addams family when Lurch is told to do certain chores and he has to do them without complaint. Another issue regarding disability arises in Once Upon A Time when Rumpelstiltskin reattaches Frankenstein’s arm. The presence of magic essentially makes disability non-existent which is problematic because it is a form of eugenics. Victor Frankenstein is an interesting character to look at under the lens of disability. In all variations of Frankenstein, Victor has obsessions and issues with addiction. Victor is obsessed with creating life and in other adaptations, he is also addicted to morphine and alcohol. As time progresses, these obsessions and addictions begin to affect his ability to function. This is an interesting aspect to look at with thinking about disability.

In the 2015 adaptation, the Creation has a mother-like figure in his life which is unique to this version. The 2015 adaptation is also the most accurate representation of the original novel out of all of the viewed adaptations. What’s interesting to note is most of the adaptations of the Creations portray him as suicidal, especially ones that are nonverbal. This indicates the societal belief that people with disabilities who are unable to communicate verbally are lesser than others and that their lives are pointless. In the 2015 adaptation, the Creation ceremoniously burns his “mother” and burns himself along with her. It isn’t until he is engulfed in flames that he transforms and rids himself of the impurities on his skin and evolves. This is problematic since this ending implies that individuals with physical deformities cannot fit into society unless they change everything about themselves and also encourages the unhealthy notion of “being cured”. This adaptation not only encourages transformations, but it also tries the idea of eugenics. In other words, experimenting with genes until the perfect specimen is born. It can also mean looking for specific genes that cause certain disabilities and figuring out ways to eradicate them or avoid them. Victor experiments with creating the perfect being by making the Creation in his lab; however, he has a backup specimen ready to go in case his first Creation isn’t good enough. In Sharon L. Snyder’s article, she talks about eugenics and says that “Cure-or-kill story endings frequently connect to logics of eugenics where disabled people represent a soon-to-be eradicated group whose promised erasure will better society” (181). In each one of these adaptations, the Creation either wants to kill themselves or has other people that want to kill them. People want to eradicate what they are unfamiliar with and disability is one of those things.

In all the adaptations, there are a few things that they have in common. Nearly every Creation portrayal is suicidal and nearly every one of them is taken advantage of or shown in freak shows. In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein with Daniel Radcliffe, he is a hunchback and part of the circus. This is due to the cyst in his back. When Victor takes this cyst out, he is left with painful sclerosis but because his pain is now invisible, no one notices his disability. In other adaptations such as The Addams Family movie, the Creation is taken advantage of; the family tells Lurch to do certain chores and is in the background for most of the movie. It is as if he is left out of the family due to the assumption that he isn’t intelligent. Even the other older shows like the Munsters and Struck by Lightning joke about the Creation’s appearance. These adaptations make it seem like people’s differences are a punchline.

In conclusion, these adaptations show the subtleties of how the public views disability.

Krista Beucler’s Major Project: “The Twilight Kingdom,” a disabled retelling of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”

Longing. That’s the first thing I feel when I wake up. But these days, it’s always the first thing my sisters and I feel when we wake up. It gets worse and worse every day, the longing for the night. 

There are little stirring noises around me. My sisters are waking. Adrian yawns and stretches in the bed beside me. 

“Breakfast is served, Your Majesties,” calls the soft voice of one of the serving girls. 

Lily, the next youngest after me, throws a pillow half-heartedly at the servant from across the room. “Five more minutes,” she mumbles. 

“Begging your pardon, Mistresses, but the King insists.” The serving girl comes over to help me dress. 

One by one, my eleven older sisters begin to get dressed. The serving girl pulls the dress over my head and helps me pull it down over my twisted legs. She helps to strap the braces around my legs and slide my feet into my slippers. She glances around as my sisters shuffle toward our bedroom door. 

“I don’t understand it, Miss,” she says, “won’t you tell us why your sisters’ slippers are worn to shreds every morning? Yours are all right, but where are your canes?” 

“She must have misplaced them,” Bria, the eldest, comes over to me. “Lily and I will help her down to breakfast. See if you can’t find Elise new canes.” 

Looping her arm around my back, under my shoulders, Bria helps me stand and Lily comes to stand on my other side. 

“You really must stop losing your canes,” Bria says to me and winks.

“You really must stop wearing out your shoes every night,” I grin back. We’ve only walked to the door, but already I’m out of breath. 

“How is it today?” Bria asks.

“I’m just extra tired. It’s hard to move my legs when I’m so tired.” 

Bria nods. We come to the breakfast room and Lily pulls my chair out for me. Father comes in and sits down at the head of the table. He frowns in my direction and sighs. 

“Your canes, Elise?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, Father, they have vanished.” 

“And the rest of you?” he asks, looking around at the others. “Your shoes?”

Adrian lifts a slipper to show him the holes worn right through. 

“Well the cobbler certainly won’t go out of business,” Father says dryly. “And the prince who was to guard you and discover the mystery?”

We all shrug, exchanging glances. Of course we know where Prince Atua is. We know where all the princes are, but we couldn’t tell, even if we wanted to. The enchantment prevents it. 

Father sighs. “Tonight we’ll try a different tact. Branwell will stay in the adjoining room. He will have three nights to discover your secret, if he can even last one without vanishing like the others.” 

“Branwell?” says Lily. “The woodcarver?”

Adrian nudges me as if I didn’t hear. 

“The very same,” Father eyes me over his coffee. 

I put some eggs in my mouth, trying to ignore him. I hate it when he looks at me like I’m a problem to be solved. 

Bria looks to father and then to me. “You’ve promised him Elise’s hand if he discovers the secret,” she guesses. 

“I couldn’t very well promise his pick of you. He’s no prince.” 

“But I’m expendable because I can barely walk,” I say. I want it to sound like a joke, like I think it’s funny, but the words are acid in my mouth.

“He does like you though,” Lily says. 

“That’s not the point. Father doesn’t care if Branwell loves me or how I feel about him. But Father can’t marry me off to some prince because I’m damaged goods.”

“If you’d just let her get one of those rolling chairs we’ve seen,” Bria pauses, “down in the village—” 

“She’s a princess, she must not appear weak. The canes are shame enough. Besides, what does it matter? Eleven princes have failed, why should a woodcarver succeed?”

I push back from the table and rise unsteadily to my feet. 

“Elise,” Bria says but I wave her off. I don’t have my new canes yet so the steps are slow and difficult, but I get out of the room and no one stops me. The room opens onto a mezzanine overlooking the grand entry hall. I sink onto an upholstered bench abutting the gilded balustrade. I’m breathing hard, hot tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“Miss Elise?” It’s Branwell’s voice. I take a deep breath and blink hard. He comes up the wide stairs clutching two long, dark pieces of wood. “I have new canes for you. I was hoping to catch you before you left breakfast.” 

“My, you carved these ones fast,” I say, reaching out and taking the soft, carved wood. It is warm under my fingers. Branwell’s canes are things of beauty. They stretch from the floor to the middle of my upper arms, where they are curved to fit around arms from behind, so that I can lean into them. There are handles that Branwell has carved into grips that fit perfectly into my hands. They are perfect. And still how I hate them. 

“I started stocking up on them,” he says smiling a little bashfully. “I’ll bring a supply up to your room later so that when you wake up in the morning, you won’t have to wait for me to carve a new one every day.” 

I look up into his sweet open face, his soft curling hair and brown eyes. The ‘thank you’ get caught in my throat and instead I say, “Don’t do it.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Whatever you’re planning, whatever you think you know, don’t try to solve the mystery.”

“Tell me, princess,” he whispers.

I open my mouth but no more will come out; I’ve said all the enchantment will let me say. I position the new canes and get up slowly. He reaches to help me and puts firm hands around my back. He touches the place in the middle of the back where the scar is. It is the place where the surgeon had to cut away the sac full of spinal fluid that protruded from my back when I was born. Bria tells me even a magician was present to help with complications, but they could not repair the damage. When Branwell puts pressure on the scar, I cry out before I can stop myself. He draws his hands away like I’ve burned him.

“I’m sorry, Princess, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” I wave him away and hobble down the corridor, looking for a place to be alone. 

Walking for me is a little like falling. Sometimes I feel graceful, like the stilt-walkers at  the carnivals that come to the kingdom every summer. Other times I feel ungainly, like an insect with too many legs. Today is one of the latter days. I lean forward into the crutches, my rolling steps limping laboriously after. 

***

Lily finds me later in the library. She taps the top of my book and I lower it. 

“You know we don’t think you’re expendable. And you are worthy of any prince. The question is whether he is worthy of you.” She taps my nose with a fingertip. 

“I don’t even want a prince,” I say.

“I know, sweet. He does love you though, the woodcarver.”

“How could he?” I gesture vaguely at my body, at the legs I can barely feel, that won’t support me, at the catheter, at the sensitive scar tissue, at the fatigue, deep in my muscles. 

“You know that’s not what love is about.” Lily puts an arm around my shoulders, careful not to touch my back. 

“It still feels like a barrier between us,” I say.

“He carves through the barrier every day, when he makes you new canes.” 

***

We are readying for bed. There is an air of high anticipation, but we are all trying to hide it from the servants as they turn back the covers and draw the curtains over our tall windows. We climb into bed. Father and Branwell come in a few minutes later.

“I will leave it to you, woodcarver,” Father says seriously.

Branwell nods and goes into the adjoining bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. Father withdraws and the candles are snuffed out. 

We do not sleep, only lie in the darkness fidgeting, waiting. Finally, midnight comes and the clock begins to chime. Bria lights a candle. 

“Lily,” she says, “go retrieve our guest.” Lily goes into the next room and leads Branwell back to the room. He looks perplexed, unsure if he should raise an alarm. 

Two of my sisters help me into my braces again and I stand on my four legs, two flesh, two wooden. 

Bria turns the ornate wooden lion’s head carved at the top of one of her bedposts and the long space that runs down the center of our room between the two rows of beds sinks down revealing a smooth ramp into the darkness. 

We are giggling now, trying to remain quiet, but unable to contain our glee. Bria takes Branwell’s arm and together they descend into the dark. The other eleven of us file in behind her, Lily and I bringing up the rear. Bria goes slow to make sure I can keep up. 

At the end of the ramp we enter a twilight forest. The leaves of the trees are made of silver and they ripple and sway in the soft, fragrant breeze. Now we are not quiet. We laugh and shout in a state of excitement. Branwell stares around, eyes wide.

The leaves on the trees shift from silver to gold as we pass through a field of jeweled flowers, sparkling like dew drops. Branwell stoops to gather a bouquet and Bria and my sisters sweep past him, on their way to the lake. 

“Take nothing,” I say softly to him. 

He looks quizzically at me. “I thought to gather some for you.” 

I smile before I can stop myself, but I do not take the flowers. I say, “Everything in this place has a price.” I limp on toward the boats. 

My sisters have already been helped into elegant rowboats by eleven dashing princes, so Branwell helps me into the last and joins me, taking up the oars. On an island in the center of the lake, the castle looms brightly. Lights twinkle in all the windows, casting a soft glow onto the water. The white marble glimmers and the turrets rise gracefully heavenward. 

He is there at the docks to greet us. He is tall and thin as ever. Sharp. His smile like a knife, his dark hair swept back from his face and tied with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. At least partially, we come for him. 

“Princess Elise,” he says. His voice is soft and low and warm. “Will you take the chair this evening?”

“I always do, Lord Shade,” I tell him. 

He extends a thin, long-fingered hand and helps me from the boat. One of his faerie attendants has brought down the chair and I sit in it gratefully. The walk from our room is tiring. The chair is exquisite. The seat is plush velvet. Tonight it is red. Somehow, Shade manages to match the chair to my gown every evening. The wooden wheels are plated in gold and silver. The armrests are outfitted in many brass buttons and knobs that I can use to drive it, if I don’t feel like pushing it. 

Shade brings my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across my knuckles. 

“Anything for you, Princess.”

“Will you let me take it with me tonight?” I ask.

His face falls elegantly. “Alas, Princess, that I cannot do, as you well know.” 

I sigh. “Well, it never hurts to ask, I suppose.” 

Shade moves to the back of the wheeled chair and pushes me forward. He doesn’t have to do this; I could drive, but I like his nearness. We come to the long banqueting table and Shade pushes me to my place at the foot of the table. Branwell, who has followed us, dumbstruck, sits beside me. Shade goes to the head of the long table and spreads his arms wide, magnanimous. “Eat, my guests.” 

My sisters and I dig in, laughingly. The princes, blank-eyed, eat and converse charmingly. Branwell looks around. 

“Don’t eat,” I whisper to him. 

He looks at me. 

“And don’t drink, not if you don’t want to stay.”

He eyes the other princes, the eleven young men who tried to discover our secret before him. They are happy and animated, but I can tell he sees there is something off about them, some docility, some dimness behind their eyes.

“But why—” he begins. 

“Ask no questions.” I take a long draft from my wineglass and tuck into the feast. 

There are courses upon courses. We eat until we can eat no more. Then Shade rises from his places and cries, “Let us dance!”

He takes Bria’s hand and leads her from the table. The rest of my sisters pair off and we proceed to the ballroom. The wide, glass doors to the veranda are thrust open to the warm night air and fireflies twinkle in the garden beyond. Music seeps in from somewhere, as though the walls themselves are playing for us. We dance. 

Branwell is my partner. The chair makes it so much easier for me to move. Every night I marvel at how easily I can turn, at how I hardly get tired. I could never dream of dancing on my feet with my canes. 

“Elise,” Branwell whispers to me as he turns my chair from behind. “Please tell me what is going on. Are you trapped here? Imprisoned? You are forced to come here every night?” 

“We love it here,” I say, which is true. 

“Elise, there is something wrong. That man—”

“May I cut in?” Shade is at Branwell’s shoulder, dark and tall, his thin smile in place.

Branwell bows and steps back. I smile up at Shade. I think we are all a little in love with him, the architect of our dreams. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Princess?” he asks me in his soft voice. 

“I always do.”

“The boy, am I right in thinking you are fond of him?”

“I am,” I admit. My eyes find Branwell by the wall, watching us closely. 

“I am glad. We are a full party now, twelve princesses and twelve princes.” There is something almost ominous in his voice, but perhaps I have misunderstood him. 

At the end of the dance, Shade sweeps me a deep bow and kisses the back of my hand. He has now danced with each of my sisters, as he does every night. We dance until my sisters’ slippers are worn through and sunlight is beginning to gild the gardens and the lake as dawn breaks. The last song finishes and Bria claps her hands. Groaning, we return to the boats. Shade reappears to help me out of the chair and into the boat. 

“I always hate to see you go,” he whispers to me, settling me in the rowboat. 

“We hate to go, too.” Already I can feel the weight of missing the castle by the lake. It settles into my heart like a deep ache and I can’t wait for tomorrow night. 

“He has enchanted you all,” whispers Branwell, pulling the oars smoothly. “He is a sorcerer, a trickster, or…or worse! A demon!” 

I am craning my neck to look back at the castle to catch one last glimpse of the glimmering light. 

“He is trapping you here. One night you will come down and you will not escape.”

“Would that be so bad?” I shoot back. “We could dance and I could have that beautiful chair and Shade never makes me feel like I am deformed or crippled or less than my sisters. He does not look at me the way my father does.” I realize I am crying and wipe furiously at my wet cheeks. 

“Elise,” Branwell whispers, “this world is not real.” 

We’ve arrived back on the shore and I climb laboriously back out of the boat, taking Lily’s and Adrians arms. The boats head back to the castle and I see Branwell no more. I wonder if he heeded my warning. I wonder if he ate the faerie food.

Somewhere inside me, I know he is right, but I could never give up that place. None of us could. We walk slowly back through the glittering forest and up the ramp into our room. Bria closes the passage and we fall into our beds to sleep a few hours before we will be woken for breakfast.

***

There is a new pair of canes by my bed when I wake. Tied to them with a blue ribbon is a sprig of silver leaves. I look around for Branwell. How could he have escaped the forest?

We plod through the day. We are tired and my sisters look pale and drawn. It is as though we are addicted to the magic. 

I go out to the garden slowly. I go everywhere slowly. It feels like it takes more effort than usual to move my partially paralyzed legs. I think of the beautiful chair. My father could have one built for me. His is the king. I am not like those poor wretches in the village who must beg for scraps on street corners. But my father would not have the shame of a daughter who could not walk. Who had given up. 

I find a bench among the rose bushes and sink onto it. Somewhere nearby, in the labyrinthine gardens, a fountain bubbles and splashes softly. Presently, I hear voices floating on the slight breeze. 

“I must say, I am surprised to see you survived last night. Have you discovered the secret?”

“Not everything, sir. I will need the next two nights. I believe they are under an enchantment. I will discover how to break it.”

It is Branwell’s voice. I crane my neck, trying to see where they are. I don’t know how Branwell made it back unseen. I am caught somewhere between wanting him to succeed and break the spell and never wanting the magic to end. 

***

That night we return, like fish caught on a line, unavoidably drawn down to the twilight kingdom. 

“How did you escape?” I whisper to Branwell as he pulls our boat over the lake. 

“You saved me, Princess,” he says. “I did not eat or drink, but I have one or two more tricks.” 

I think back to the first night my sisters and I had come here. How we had not remembered the old warnings from our bedtime stories, how everything had seemed innocent, a dream. 

We feast and dance. There is a triumphant twist in Shade’s smile tonight. When he comes to dance with me, he brings a cup to wine to Branwell.

“A drink for you, good sir.”

Branwell takes it, smiling. He pretends to drink. Shade whisks me onto the dance floor once more. 

“He thinks to outsmart me,” Shade says, lips close to my ear. “He wishes to leave you.”

“No,” I say, I can’t help myself. “He wishes to save us.”

Shade scoffs. It is an ugly sound. The dance brings him back around in front of my chair, and his face is twisted into an expression I have not seen before. It changes his thin, handsome face into a wolfish mask. I am, for the first time, a little afraid of him. Then, in the next moment, his features are smoothed out, back into elegant gentlemanliness. I am left wondering which face was the mask. 

“Why would you wish to leave me?” he asks softly, sadly. “I have created your dreams.”

“One cannot live forever in a dream,” I say. 

“Why ever not?” But before I can answer, he says, “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” I say truthfully. I think of the real world, my father’s world, how empty and colorless it is without magic. 

“Worry not, my dear,” Shade says bringing his face close to mine. “Your dreams will come true. I just need a little more of you.” 

He kisses my cheek before pulling away and I am left wondering what he meant. 

***

The next morning new canes are propped by my bed, a gold sprig bound to one of them. Again Branwell had vanished with the other princes but somehow has managed to resurface. 

All of us feel ill today. I do not even get out of bed. I sink in and out of dreams of the twilight kingdom, yearning, fearing, loving. Branwell’s kind open face shifts to Shade’s thin, long face which contorts into that wolfish grin and I awake, sweating and shaking. 

When the lights go out for the night, we suddenly feel renewed. We dress for the ball and for the third night, Branwell accompanies us into the darkness. In the field of jeweled flowers, he picks one and tucks it into my hair. 

“You should not have taken them,” I say, thinking of the sprigs of leaves he has already left me. 

“Do not worry for me, Princess,” he says. 

The feast is a little subdued that night. Something feels wrong, feels final. Shade stands at the end of the meal and chimes a knife against his glass.

“My guests,” he begins. “I have built you this castle of dreams and magic. After many nights, it is finally strong enough for you to stay here. You need not ever leave.” He smiles his knife-smile around at all of us. “There are only a few things left to make it official.”

He snaps his fingers and one of his Faerie attendants brings him an ornate goblet. 

“I hope, Branwell,” he says looking down the table at him, “that you will stay with us. I know you favor Elise,” he brings the goblet to Branwell who takes it with trepidation. “You can never truly be together unless you drink.” 

Branwell is looking at me; his eyes are sad. I shake my head, wordlessly at him. He looks back at the ruby-liquid. He raises the goblet to his lips.

“No!” I cry and try to roll my chair forward, but Shade, standing behind me, holds it still. I lurch forward, up onto unsteady legs and I try to knock the cup from his hands, but Branwell has already tossed back the wine into his open mouth. 

I lose my balance on my fatigued and traitorous legs and fall against Branwell. He catches me and holds me to his chest where I sob, “Why did you do that?”

“I can’t take you away from here. You love it. So I will stay for you.” He strokes my hair and kisses me. He draws back to look at me and I watch the light fade from his eyes until they are as blank as the rest. 

I stumble away from him, falling back into the chair, my hands over my face. 

“There is but one thing left,” Shade says, all smiles. Whatever his plan is, it is working. 

“Princess Bria, I shall need a queen to govern with me in the Shadow Realm and it would be good to have you by my side when I strike your father down and claim your kingdom. It will make the transition easier.” 

Bria sits straight and tall. “This I will not do.”

“So be it,” Shade snaps his fingers and his faerie servants appear from everywhere, grabbing my sisters and the princes and Branwell. “Take them to the dungeons. Perhaps Princess Bria will reconsider her position after a few nights down there.” 

Shade turns to me, the last. “You, sweet Elise. I shall not lock you up. I hardly need to.”

He puts a finger on the chair and the controls melt away, so I can only move it by pushing the wheels. 

“What have you done to us?” I spit at him.

He smiles. “Each time you eat my food, dance to my music, a little of your humanity bleeds away into me.”

“Why would you want our humanity?” I ask. 

“Oh, you simple creature. I cannot cross into your world without it. I am a shade, bound to the Shadow Realm. But you have given yourselves to me and I will use your gift well, my dear, worry not. The first thing I will do is kill your intolerant father.”

“I will stop you,” I say.

But Shade just laughs putting out a finger to touch my forehead. My vision stretches, like I am zooming down a long tunnel away from him. When I can see again, I am at the bottom of a long flight of stairs, beside the cells in which my sisters are imprisoned. Bria reaches out an arm to me and I roll forward to take it. 

“I’ve failed you all,” says Bria, “I should not have been so stupid.” 

“I will get you out,” I say. “I will stop him.”

Bria looks at me. She does not say anything, but I know she thinks I will not be able to. She has resigned herself to be a prisoner. I look up the long staircase and take a deep breath. I stand up. I can do this. I pull the velvet cushions off the chair and toss them aside, hoping to make the chair a little lighter. I hook one elbow through the armrest and brace my other hand against the stone wall and take the first step up. Bring the other leg to join the first. Lift the chair up sideways behind me, the wheels on the right side of the chair on the first step, the wheels on the left still at the bottom. I look up the staircase stretching endlessly before me. I am tired already. Leaning into the wall, I take another step. And on and on. I stop to rest several times, leaning my shoulder against the wall, but even just being on my feet is tiring. I go on, the wheelchair bumping after me. 

After what seems like an eternity, I’m at the top of the stairs. I heave the chair up the last step and sink into it. Glory. Now it is easy. I am fast and powerful. I’ve come up from the dungeons in a side room off the ballroom. I wheel across it and out the entrance and down to the boats. 

I have to get out of the chair again to get into the boat but the wide, flat bottom of the boat is wide enough for me to put down the chair and sit back down. I lock the wheels and position the oars. I stroke across the lake, repeat my maneuvering to get out of the boat. The sandy path is harder to roll through than the polished ballroom floor but I am so close to my goal. 

I reach the trapdoor and wheel up the ramp, my arms burning. Immediately when I reach the top, I am struck with nausea and dizziness. My chest tightens and I can feel my racing heart pulsing, vibrating my body. I stop for a moment, closing my eyes. This must be a reaction to reentering the human world. All those nights of eating faerie food have been slowly tethering us to the twilight kingdom. 

I take a deep breath. A headache is building behind my eyes and all I can think about is going back down to the glittering ballroom. 

“Get a grip,” I mutter and shake my head, trying to clear it. I wheel over to the stack of canes Branwell had left me. I put one on my lap and head out in search of my father, hoping I am not too late. 

It is just past dawn and morning light filters in the windows. Father usually rises early to go for a walk in the gardens. He likes to watch the sunrise and think about matters of state. 

I arrive at the sweeping marble staircase to the entrance of the palace. Down will be easier than up though, right?

Because there’s two smaller wheels in front and two bigger wheels in back, I don’t think I can go down facing forward. I have an image in my head of trying to roll the chair down and falling face first with the chair on top of me. 

I turn around, lining myself up with the bannister. I put one hand on the bannister and the other on the wheel. I go down one step at a time. There is a moment of suspended time as each step ends and I feel myself falling onto the next one. It is terrifying but it gives me something to focus on other than the nausea. 

I finally reach the ground floor and wheel out the big double doors and into the gardens. I find my father sitting beneath the statue of my mother, who had died shortly after my birth. He is facing east, watching the sky change color. 

“Father!” I cry.

He turns to look at me, brow furrowing. I bend over the wheelchair arm to retch. 

“Elise, what are you—”

“Father, you’re in danger,” I say, trying to regain control of my nausea and light-headedness. I look around. Shade hasn’t found him yet. I suppose he must be searching the palace. 

“So you’ve just given up walking now?” he says, getting to his feet. He towers over me. “Where did you get that thing?”

“This is not the time for this discussion,” I say. “But for your information, I get to decide what’s best for my body and I like the mobility of the wheelchair. I don’t get tired so easily.”

Father shakes his head at me in disapproval and for a moment I think about letting Shade have him, this man who has never seen me as more than my disability, who has never accepted my disability as part of me. 

But then Shade steps out from behind the statue, sword raised behind my father.

I roll forward and hit my father in the leg with my cane that I’ve been carrying in my lap. He makes a surprised sound and steps sideways. I raise the cane and catch Shade’s strike on the wood, causing my whole arm to vibrate. His eyes widen in surprise at seeing me there. 

Still holding the cane in one hand, I grab one wheel and roll it forward, turning my chair and rolling the wheel right over Shade’s foot. He cries out and I slam the cane into the middle of his back. He falls. 

By then, my father has collected himself enough to call for guards. Shade tries to get up but I hit him in the back of the head with the cane. 

***

We take Shade back to his twilight kingdom in iron manacles. I can see his skin burning under the iron. We release my sisters and the princesses and Branwell and we leave the twilight kingdom forever. This time when we leave, it does not hurt. One by one, the cobwebs fade from the eyes of the princes and Branwell. 

He smiles, pushing my wheelchair up the ramp, back into our bedroom. He leans toward my ear. “You were pretty amazing.” 

“I was, wasn’t I?” I say, grinning. 

My father still looks a bit dazed. He dismisses the princes, unsure what else to do with them and turns to Branwell. “I suppose I must fulfill my promise to you, for saving my daughters.”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I saved all of us and you. No offense, Branwell, but you were no help at all. So in return, Father, you can give me Branwell’s hand in marriage, some significant remodeling of the palace to include ramps and elevators, and some aid legislation for other citizens of the kingdom with disabilities.”

Father blinks at me. 

“I’ve let you silence me for too long. I shall not let it happen again.” 

Father looks around at his other eleven daughters. “We’re with Elise,” Bria says. 

“Um. Branwell, find a few more carpenters to help you with castle renovations. Elise, my council and I shall review the legislation once you’ve drafted it.” He hesitates a moment, “And you may marry whomever you choose, a prince or a woodcarver or anyone.” 

“Thank you for your blessing, thought I intend to do as I choose from now on.”

My father nods and withdraws; he knows when he’s been beaten. 

Branwell squeezes my shoulder and kisses my temple. “Is this the part where we live happily ever after?”

(Word count: 5485)

Write-up for Major Project

The purpose of this project was to try to increase accurate and non-stereotypical representation of disability in literature. Grimm’s fairytales are a huge part of Western literary canon so I chose to rewrite the Twelve Dancing Princesses with a disabled narrator. While it can be argued that some classic fairytales do include characters in disabling circumstances or minor physical or mental disabilities (the dwarves from Snow White, for example, or the Steadfast Tin Soldier who has one leg), there are not really any that portray disability in a way that is not pitiable, or in some way a result of a moral failing, or curable by the right potion or a completion of tasks. My aim with this story was to give a character with a significant mobility impairment a starring role in a story primarily about mobility. 

I chose spina bifida as the disability for my main character because I wanted her to have limited mobility, sometimes walking and sometimes taking a wheelchair. I did some research on spina bifida and watched a lot of YouTube videos made by vloggers with spina bifida, sharing their stories. I would have liked to do more research and I am sure that my character could have been more believable. I do not have the experience of having spina bifida and I have not done nearly enough research to claim that I accurately portrayed the disability. But, due to limited time, this is what I’ve come up with. 

I also wanted to make sure not to write ‘inspiration porn,’ although I’m really not sure how well I succeeded at that. I tried to keep in mind what we’ve read in class about characters like Lennie who don’t get to use their own voice so I wanted to make sure the character with a disability got to tell the story; the Grimm version is omniscient but follows the soldier on his way to try to discover the mystery of the princess’ shoes. 

I was not super happy with the ending of the story, which I felt was a little too neat and not quite believable and maybe plays into the idea of inspiration porn. It also is pretty abrupt, although the original fairytale ends: “And the king asked the soldier which of them he would choose for his wife; and he answered, ‘I am not very young, so I will have the eldest.’—And they were married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king’s heir,” which is also abrupt and not a great ending. 

Looking at the original Grimm story, there’s really not much there, no character development, not too much conflict, and barely a plot. So I added an antagonist and a curse. I also gave the role of saving the day to the youngest princess, my protagonist, and my disabled character. In the original version, a soldier saves the day; I include an equivalent of that character in my woodcarver, but in the interest of feminism and disability studies, I didn’t want him to be the one to save all the princesses.   

With more editing and research, I think this story could be really successful. I am not great at writing short stories; novellas and novels are more my medium, so I’m sorry the story ended up quite a bit longer than you asked it to be. New versions of fairytales are in fashion right now (see Cinder by Marissa Meyer, whose Cinderella could arguably be a disabled character), so I think that rewriting old stories with societal changes in mind can be really beneficial. Everyone should be able to find good representations of themselves in literature and conversely, I think everyone should be able to read about people whose experiences are vastly different from their own. Fantasy is a genre that is traditionally very white and very male, including female characters, characters of color, and characters with disability as plot points (see Lord of the Rings, where Arwen serves the function of Aragorn’s love interest). More and better representation in media is the future and people are starting to demand that of Hollywood and publishers are looking for more diverse voices. I want to be part of the movement. 

(Word count: 704)

Works Consulted

Grimm, Jacob and Wilhelm. “The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces.” Children’s and Household tales—Grimms’ Fairy Tales. Translated by D. L. Ashliman, 2004. Final edition, Berlin 1857. https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm133.html

Nordqvist, Christian. “What you need to know about spina bifida.” Medical News Today. https:// www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/220424.php. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“Question Time: Living with Spina Bifida.” YouTube, uploaded by Attitude, 26 Oct. 2017. https://youtu.be/OZRACu5_wUU. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“Spina Bifida.” Mayo Clinic. https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/spina-bifida/ symptoms-causes/syc-20377860. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“Storytime: Living with Spina Bifida.” YouTube, uploaded by Jorden’s Books and Looks, 27 Dec. 2015. https://youtu.be/BgDM9r4QHUk. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

“What is Spina Bifida?” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. https://www.cdc.gov/ ncbddd/spinabifida/facts.html. Accessed 30 Mar. 2019.

Rachel Porchie’s Major Paper on Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and William Faulkner’s “The Sound and the Fury”

Mental illnesses carry a large stigma in society revolving around the fact that one cannot see it, it is invisible to the average human eye. These invisible illnesses are overshadowed and overlooked by more noticeable, physical disabilities although both can be equally debilitating. Two of the novels in class that stood out to me were Frankenstein and The Sound and the Fury. During these novels’ time frames, mental illnesses were more misunderstood than they are now due to the lack of advanced medical equipment that we now have. These novels stood out because of the fictional characters, Victor Frankenstein and Quentin Compson, and their mental disabilities being overlooked due to characters with more apparent disabilities. Since these characters’ disabilities are not addressed nor taken as serious, they struggle just as much or more due to societal ignorance of mental illnesses like depression and severe anxiety. Consequently, this ignorance and lack of help negatively impacts both of their mental states and leads both to heart-breaking ends.
William Faulkner’s novel The Sound and the Fury, published in 1929, is narrated through four different perspectives. Two of the four narrations, Benjy and Quentin Compson, can be read through a disability lens. Benjy Compson communicates through moans and cries, unable to speak due to an undiagnosed disability, and relies mostly on his senses to understand and view the world. Referred to in demeaning ways by his own family members, his family is fully aware of his mental and physical disabilities; however, they are ignorant to what extent Benjy is competent and able to process and understand. Benjy is described physically as “a big man who appeared to have been shaped of some substance whose particles would not or did not cohere to one another or to the frame which supported it. His skin was dead looking and hairless; dropsical too, he moved with a shambling gait like a trained bear. His hair was pale and fine. It had been brushed smoothly down upon his brow like that of children in daguerreotypes. His eyes were clear, of the pale sweet blue of cornflowers, his thick mouth hung open, drooling a little” (Faulkner 274). It is made evident in the novel by his physical description, behaviors and the interactions between his family and others with him that Benjy is noticeably disabled. However, his brother, Quentin who suffers from disability as well, is not portrayed as noticeably. Quentin, the oldest Compson sibling, attends Harvard and centers his morals and life around traditional southern standards based on reputation and physical appearance. He carries the burden of his family because he is the Compson heir and believes fixing their reputation lays on him. Quentin’s narrative is not seen as reliable as Benjy’s because he lives in his ideas and made up events rather than Benjy whose timeline of events is more accurate even though he is not seen as capable of order. He bases his life on the ideas of virtue, family reputation and purity which leads him to obsess over his sister, Caddy, breaking his ideas of tradition. Because Quentin’s whole life revolves around theses morals he has created, he is intent on saving his sister’s reputation which drives him to lie about actions of incest to his father. Once he realizes his father nor his sister do not care about his family’s reputation, Quentin does not know what to live his life by. This is where his mental state starts to deteriorate, and no one seems to notice because there is not a physical change in appearance. Quentin’s obsessions with the past, Caddy and time all seem to have an unfixable outcome and he is lost in despair. “Haunted by a past to which he is inadequate, dogged by a present he cannot face, and doomed to no future, Quentin, through his diction and general point of view-both what he speaks and what he thinks-dramatizes a modern yet universal sensibility” (Brown 553). No one can see Quentin’s internal struggles about the foundation of his life being completely destroyed and sense of failure in saving his family’s reputation. His family is oblivious to the mental disability he is dealing with, it is invisible to them. In that time, there was limited study on mental illnesses and treatments were in their infancy. The ignorance in itself on disability is also fatal to Quentin’s mental state. He does not understand his own disability nor knows he has one. Quentin looks like an average white male, attends Harvard, and is able to function normally; therefore, who would ever look further into Quentin’s mental state and be able to notice something was not right? His family does not pay as much attention to Quentin as they do Benjy, so they would never notice a difference in his behaviors. Quentin considers himself a failure and all the ideas and morals he has built his life on mean nothing to his family, “So Quentin succumbs, a victim of his father’s despairing vision of language, sexuality and indeed all existence” (Desmond 96). Arguably, Quentin suffers more or just as much as Benjy because he does not receive the help he needs. This endless despair in his mind leads him to suicide.
In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, published in 1818, Victor Frankenstein is born into a wealthy, well-known family with a fascination for science. Victor creates this creature, referred to as the Monster, while attending university at Ingolstadt. When looking at this novel through a disability lens, the most noticeable disabled character is the Monster. The Monster is described as “His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same color as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shriveled complexion and straight black lips” ( Shelley 43). Frankenstein’s creation is seen as a monstrous or freakish to anyone it encounters. The Monster is isolated due to his looks although nothing is physically impaired nor is the creation mentally impaired. The creation is actually quicker, faster and stronger than the average human as well as being more intelligent and a faster learner too. “I was not even of the same nature as man. I was more agile than they and could subsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs” (Shelley 103).
However, the physical abnormalities of the Monster isolate it from civilization and society. Through a disability lens, the Monster is often seen as disabled due to its physical description in the novel, but a disabled character that is often overlooked from lack of physical disablement is Victor Frankenstein. After the death of his mother, Victor goes to the University and cuts himself off from the world. He throws himself into a world of science and becomes obsessive over creating his creature. From there Victor spirals into manic-like behavior, has spouts of severe anxiety and often faints when he is overwhelmed. He becomes the stereotypical “mad scientist”. “My cheek had grown pale with study, and my person had become emaciated with confinement … the moon gazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places… My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but then a resistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit” (Shelley 41). This passage from the novel shows the obsession and manic-like behaviors of Victor. He locks himself away in a room to create this creature while neglecting sleep and proper nutrition. Victor also becomes severely paranoid of his vengeful creature and “carries pistols and a dagger constantly about him” (Shelley 44). He is in a constant state of anxiety where he does not sleep or eat, and his family becomes extremely worrisome about his overall health. “I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness” (Shelley 44).
As the story progresses, Victor begins to lose his sanity due to paranoia, severe anxiety and grief and becomes delusional. “I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit” (Shelley 48). The only cure his family and friends could think of for this erratic behavior was rest. Mental illnesses such as the ones Victor Frankenstein most likely faced would not be easily handled during the 1800s. The cure for many facing severe mental disabilities in the 1800s was isolation or simply being thrown in an asylum. Because Victor was ignorant of his mental disabilities, he drove himself into insanity while chasing his creature around the world. When looking at Victor Frankenstein through a disability lens and not only his creation, one sees the novel in a whole new perspective. This perspective does not focus on physical appearances but instead examines the erratic behavioral patterns, paranoia and severe anxiety the main character, Victor, faces throughout the novel. Although Frankenstein’s disability is not made as evident as his creature’s, one can argue that he suffers just as much or more than his creation because of the invisibility of his own.
In conclusion, fictional characters in the novels previously mentioned have often been overshadowed due to a lack of a more noticeable disability. In Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, characters Quentin and Benjy Compson both face mental disabilities. However, because Benjy’s disabilities are more apparent due to his physical appearance and his inability to communicate with words, Quentin’s goes unnoticed by his family. Quentin struggles silently with his depression and despair until he commits suicide later in the novel. In Shelley’s Frankenstein, the Creation’s physical abnormalities overshadow his creator’s severe depression, anxiety and paranoia. Victor Frankenstein slowly loses his sanity and follows the creature around the world to destroy what he has made. Both characters are not seen as disabled due to their disabilities being invisible and not noticeable on first glance. The lack of knowledge on their mental illnesses creates unnecessary suffering and fatal endings for these two characters. The stigma mental disability revolves around creates a negative environment for a person to heal and live healthily in.

Word Count: 1800
I pledge: Rachel Porchie

Works Cited:
Faulkner, William. The Sound and the Fury. New York: Vintage Books, 1984. Print.

Brown, May Cameron. “The Language of Chaos: Quentin Compson in The Sound and the Fury.”
American Literature 51.4 (1980): 544. JSTOR.

Desmond, John F. “From Suicide to Ex-Suicide: Notes on the Southern Writer as Hero in the Age of Despair.” The Southern Literary Journal, vol. 25, no. 1, 1992, pp. 89–105. . JSTOR

Shelley , Mary. Frankenstein . Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library .

April Wobken’s Major Project: Short Story “Solitary Sands” Regarding Stigma on ADHD/Hypersomnia

In my story, Solitary Sands, I attempt to relay the experience of a person with ADHD and Narcolepsy in college. The usage of ADHD medication is one that is often mislabeled as unnecessary due to the strong misplaced idea that the condition does not warrant medical intervention. If they believe it does, the next thought is that the person could avoid usage of stimulants and if they use stimulants they are seen as a drug addict. Yet people use alcohol, marijuana, tobacco, and other illegal drugs recreationally frequently, but it is not seen as frowned on. It is all fun or the occasional “fix”. Even if the person needs the stimulant intervention for reason’s of ADHD or Hypersomnia, they are still blamed for their disability, seen as being able to be healthier to not need the medication. This issue is awful for people prescribed stimulants on college campuses, all are regarded as having drug problems or being drug dealers.

Health centers on campus refuse to refill the prescription, causing the student to go out of their way to get something they need. When they complain about this struggle and how it may impede their ability, they are again told that maybe they should be using a different medication. Doctors are the only ones who are really justified in making medical judgement, yet when it comes to ADHD diagnosis or medication, people will go out of their way to tell you what YOU are doing wrong.

Not only this, but ADHD is regarding as a slang word for when people are having trouble staying on task. This is problematic because this takes away from the seriousness of the disability. More often than not, the people that make these comments might be the same people that think that ADHD does not need medical intervention and regard people who take medications such as Adderall as inferior to them.

In the story, the main character, Roxanna, has used amphetamines for most of her public education, but stopped in her Community College education, simply because she did not want to rely on them. She progressively had issues of falling asleep in class and focusing, but would attempt to power through. Towards the end of her Sophomore year she got back on the medication, much to her Father’s dismay, and was able to knock out the difficult Statistics class. She stopped falling asleep in class and realized the possible connection. Roxanna’s doctor tested her for Narcolepsy and she was positive—she is put on a regulated prescription of Adderall to manage her symptoms. Once she goes to her new 4 year University, she is faced with a lot of struggles simply for having the prescription. Fear of it being stolen (it is enforced that college kids will steal it), fear of not getting a refill on time, fear of judgement, and the like. I cover these struggles between dialogue between her and her roommates. Two of her roommates appropriate her condition to their convenience and see her as a source for the “fix” they may need for studying. The perception of a person with ADHD medication being a drug dealer is more often not self made, but made by others who perceive the ADHD afflicted’s medication as public property. It is seen like a courtesy equivalent to sharing alcohol or marijuana. This is problematic as the mental impairment is not regarded seriously and people see the afflicted as a recreational resource. It is similar to what we have read in class regarding how the disabled body is not seen as an equal, but rather as a fascination (a freak) or a resource to be manipulated for personal gain.




April Wobken

4/2/2019

ENGL 384

Foss

Solitary Sands

I looked around the room, my roommates were nowhere to be seen, just boxes half full and empty. I was still unsure. “Where is it, mom?” I gave her a look, implying the subject matter.

She looked at me but continued to walk out into the living room. “Oh, your Adderall?” I winced and shushed her, but she ignored me and continued. “I left it in your medicine cabinet.”

I quickly walked over to my room and dove for the medicine cabinet. It was perched lazily on the shelf and I repossessed it, hiding it in my purse. Horror stories about taking Adderall and amphetamines were thrown my way whenever it was discovered that I am prescribed it. Most commonly, ones of college kids abusing them. I walked back towards the living room and heard Susan’s mother, Karen, narrating about how Susan used to take Ritalin when she was a child.

“Did you know there was this big epidemic where doctors over diagnosed ADHD?” Karen paused, barely retaining her excitement, “I was so glad when I found this out, I took Susan off those horrid things immediately.”

“Wow, I had no idea.” Mom seemed to be at a loss for words and seemed to consider her claim. I bit my lip in irritation.

Karen continued, “There are better alternatives to ADHD treatment, Susan takes rhodiolia rosa and does a lot of yoga. Mindfulness is a great method to bring focus to the unfocused mind.”

“Mom, are we going to go out for dinner?” Susan seemed impatient and I was grateful for the change of subject.

“Oh, yes sweetie. I am coming.” I started to make my way into the living room and Karen acknowledged my presence with a sympathetic pout. “Nice to meet your Mrs. Twehaus and Roxanna. I hope this new school and year is good to you and my daughter.”

            I smiled. Karen walked over to my mom on her way out, whispering very loudly, “Do consider what I told you.” Karen patted my mom’s shoulders and seemed pleased with herself. The door quietly shut.           

Mom said nothing of it that day. My other two roommates moved in later that evening.

***

I did not understand Honor Code, not for lack of honor or honesty. Growing up, I had to take my medication at home or in the nurse’s office. When taking Adderall, you not only gain relief from symptoms of ADHD and Narcolepsy but additional skills such as caution and mistrust of people, everyone is an enemy because everyone wants your ‘drugs’. Especially the college kids—my roommates, my neighbors, simply all of the students.

Locking doors was common sense to me, I did not need to grow up in the city to know that. Yet it seemed that when I flipped out on my roommates for leaving the apartment door unlocked, I was regarded as the suspicious one.

“Roxanna, UMW has an honor code”, Kelly said proudly.

“Yea, I know that you’re a bit new here, being a transfer student, but Kelly and I have been keeping these doors unlocked since Freshman year.”

Rita stayed silent while fixating her gaze at the large window in the living room and the people playing soccer in the yard. I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Things could easily get stolen.”

“But they won’t, honor code.” Susan reinforced and Kelly nodded.

“So, you are so confident about this, that you are willing to risk having something important stolen?”

Susan and Kelly both nodded.

“Why even take that chance?” I sighed irritably, “And without your roommates’ consent? I live here too.”

Susan folded her arms. “Look, Roxanna, I get where you are coming from. But honor code is something the students take seriously, I get that being on Adderall makes you paranoid, but trust me no one is going to steal your drugs.”

I gasped and felt my face become hot. Rita stared at me quietly and Kelly tilted her head. “I am not paranoid, and I do not appreciate you announcing my medications out loud.”

Susan shrugged and Kelly awkwardly stumbled over to the kitchen to busy herself with lunch. I retired to my room to study.

Later in the night Rita approached me and told me that if anything, we could lock our bedroom door, if that would make me feel better. I nodded and expressed gratitude. Rita didn’t seem bothered by much; it was surprising for her to be bothered for someone else. Maybe I was reading into it too much, she may have been avidly avoiding conflict. My mouth felt dry and my brain compressed, as if it was dehydrated through thousands of straws. I had been overdoing it lately and had been only taking one instant release a day instead of two. Adderall crashes were not pleasant, but not unbearable, unless I was under high stress and overly fatigued. I wanted to study more, but I resigned myself to sleep. I nearly forgot to lock the door, Rita had gotten the door when she came back in from her last smoke break and I felt at ease. I slept better that night.

***

A few weeks had passed and I busied myself with club activities in my free time. I made a few friends and started dating a boy name Luc. I was incredibly grateful to have him because I felt much more at ease having someone to spend time with. My roommates were okay, Kelly and Susan seemed to have their own system that Rita vaguely went a long with. They would often make dinner and would share, but if Kelly was making it then it would only be vegan food. I appreciated the efforts because it made things a bit less awkward.

Rita was often entranced by the shapes her cigarette smoke would take and took solace in exploring that world each after breakfast each morning and before bed each night. Despite drinking Red Bull like water, she always was courted by her drowse. I felt reluctant to allow myself too close to Rita for fear that it would cause conflict. Rita seemed to know Susan and Kelly really well but seemed oddly distant, but I was too scared to risk it.

Rita reveled her selective vulnerability to me when I stumbled into my bed with muffled sobs after fighting with Luc. He had told me that maybe if I studied harder and had more discipline, my ADHD wouldn’t be so bad.

Rita had been tucked away in her strategically placed blankets but dragged herself into an upright position. She kept it simple and allowed her body to be comfortable in its habitat, wearing a white crop top and underwear. “Bad party?”

“No.”

“Bad sex?”

I paused. “No.”

She placed pillows in her lap, propping her elbow on the pillow, to then prop her chin on the palm of that hand. “Then what?”

I explained to her what Luc said and she listened closely. She chuckled to herself when I explained what Luc said and shook her head.

“Many people ‘think’ they understand ADHD, as if they were a doctor themselves.” She paused and inhaled from her vape. “You won’t see no self-proclaimed ‘experts’ on Leprosy.”

“Anyone can be distracted.” I felt hopeless.

“Normal distracted is different than ADHD distracted. Just as Diabetic hunger is different than normal hunger and as AIDS’ flu is different from normal flu.” Her eyes were distant.

“Yea, I never thought of it that way.” The constriction of my lungs eased.

“Yea, probably because people like to make slang out of diseases. ‘I am so OCD today’ or ‘I am so ADHD today, I cannot focus!’ or ‘That girl is cancer.’”

“Oh! Yea once when my friends and I were goofing off, one said to the other, ‘Stop acting autistic’.” I paused. “Even I laughed though. It’s like saying something is silly in a stupid way.”

“Yea, but more people are Autistic than you think. Judy from Statistics is.”

“Shit really?”

“Yea.”

“She doesn’t seem autistic.” I paused.

“But she is.”

I knew I was wrong but had no words to process it.

“Think about your description, that association alone will build up the interpretation/bias that autistic people are stupid and silly. Even if that is not what you meant, using that word as slang to replace stupid or silly immediately connects the association to the people with the condition.”

“I really know nothing about autism,” I spoke slowly and carefully, “hence I don’t have the agency to define her condition, she and her doctor does.”

“No one likes a know it all.” Rita laughed. “Just as long as you at least try to hear all that needs to be said and understood, that’s what counts.”

“Yea.”

“It’s like Luc saying he was so ADHD today, despite his implication that it is not a real issue.”

“I know it’s real though.” I spoke stronger and a bit louder. “Sometimes I get into fads where I buy planners and write out everything that needs to be done in the next 3 months. But then I lose it, or forget about it. Or I get on this kick that I will remember what I need to get done.” I paused

Rita listened to my struggles and gave me a piece of her mind about Luc. Though she was engaged in our conversation I found her to be a bit intimidating in her certainty about things.

***

Susan would rarely engage me in a conversation outside of shared living room time and dinner. Kelly however, would frequently ask me how I was doing to a point of scheduled madness. This only led to small talk that never deepened and I found it infuriating; it was the kind of small talk forced at Thanksgiving Dinner with people you only see for the sole fact that they are related to you. Refusing this social gesture would be rude, so I did my best to keep it satisfied and at bay.

I had just quelled her recent outburst that occurred during my intent watching of “Game of Thrones.” I so desperately wanted to finish the episode and she even commented, “You don’t have to pause it, I’ve already seen it.”

Nevertheless, I got in a whole two more episodes in, a real steal, before she came in again to ask about my classes.

I decided to try to be a bit less flat. “Well they are okay, lots of group projects, and I lose track of my schedule so easily. Psychics is ridiculous because of this one kid.”

Kelly twirled her hair while staring at the blank tv screen and nodded her head. “Yea. I’ve got 4 papers due. One of them is for a philosophy class about Rene Descartes and his theory is wack.”

“I remember him. I took philosophy before but focused on Nietzsche.”

“The paper is 8 pages long and I cannot use over 5 quotes.” Kelly continued. “I am so overwhelmed I cannot even focus.”

I nodded.

“I spent hours on this paper last night and it is due tomorrow, but I am on the cusp of falling asleep, Roxanna.”

“Drink some coffee?”

Kelly sighed loudly and Rita exits the bedroom, heading for the kitchen. “Roxannaaaa, I already did.”

“Then sleep now and wake up early?”

“No way!” Kelly lifted her arms up above her head. “If I do that I will oversleep with how tired I am!”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could help you, but I got nothing.”

Kelly smiled and quickly restrained it. “Hey, I was wondering, if you could spot me an addy?”

My fingers tensed. Rita gaped and returned to her dinner preparation once she noticed me staring. “No.”

Kelly smiled and put a jovial hand on my shoulder. “Before you say no, just know that I am not oblivious to the fact that you are a student and I am not expecting charity. I will give you five bucks for one.”

“What do you think I am? A drug dealer?”

“No!” Kelly was surprised. “Hold on a second.”

“This is my prescription and I actually NEED it.” I shoved off her hand and stood up. “No, Kelly. If you want Adderall, get the prescription your damn self.”

“Roxanna, I only need it this once. Why would I need a prescription?”

“So, my medication is just recreational to you?” I did not wait, I continued to my door and made myself safe.

***

It was a warm evening with a hint of mist calming the air. I lit a few candles and enjoyed time in the living room, reading a book. Rita was in our room and the other two were gone.

Halfway into my book, with the candle’s lemongrass aroma melding into the misty air I was at ease. So much so that I was beginning to doze off, which was impossible on my medication. I noticed my body developing a tolerance to the medication, I began falling asleep in class again and if enough time passed in stillness I would fall victim to sleep’s clutches. Asking for a higher dose was like asking for judgement with a side of mere possibility for the desired results. I felt like a codependent girl crawling back to her old abusive boyfriend, only the boyfriend was my doctor and my parents.

Daddy would say, “I hope you are not developing a dependence on this.”

Mother would say nothing.

It was a courtroom trial to prove that I was not a drug abuser and yet I knew that I needed the medication in a way that made my body feel awake, alert, and grounded. I had been on the lowest dose for a year now, some got to get upped in 6 months. I took magnesium, cut back on vitamin C, and did my best to avoid taking the medication on the weekend. Giving my body a break was crucial, it helped me not develop a tolerance so quickly and I always did it in high school. I went without Adderall in community college, but in my last semester there I had to get back on it because I was failing my classes. I usually bullshit my way through material because no matter how much time I made for studying, sleep would claim me or another temptation of the mind. Once I got back on Adderall, surprisingly I stopped falling asleep throughout the day and taking naps, it was an added bonus. I found out I had Narcolepsy. I knew I was responsible with my medication, yet I often ran through these narratives in my head to convince myself. Daddy never seemed to believe in me.

The candle flickered and a gust of wind blew through the screen. I felt the pull of the clouds enticing me and as I tried to read the page before me, it blurred and I felt gravity pressing into me. My eyes fought sleep but it was dragging me to hell. If I wasn’t careful, I could probably sleep all day, off medication. I feared sleep like one who fears death, it was all the same. To be asleep is not equivalent to being truly alive and it seemed my consciousness was kidnapped into this void that loved me and doted on me more than reality itself. It scared me because sleep was enticing more than life itself, and that is why I loathe it. A girl loathes the man that batters her, but for some reason stays with him despite it all, because she finds some sort of solace in him. The sandman called for me often. The weakness and loneliness from my disabilities grew rapidly since being in this university—those sentiments deeply crave comfort and sleep offered it, so much so that my fragmented dreams and void space became a frontier I desired to reside in. If I could describe what I barely remember, it would be a realm of warmth: warm breezes, perfect humidity, soft light in the sky, sand warm from the passing day’s blistering sun, and ocean waves like a white noise machine.

In Linguistics I felt my mind being interested in the subject matter, wanting to soak the knowledge in, but Sandman knew me better and promised me more knowledge. My mind was dead space when awake and the school’s desire for an arctic tundra made me cave into myself for warmth. I felt like a collapsing sandcastle, being eroded by the waves and seduced into their cradle.

I could take another Adderall, then I would feel it again, but I didn’t. It would be at 20MG and I wanted to rise to 15 MG. Not without my doctor’s approval, it had to be done right. It was coming close to my 6-month mandatory in office visit, since it was a controlled substance. I would address it there.

My mind processed the nearing struggle in fragments and it became muted as my eyelids tremored into sleep’s clutches. I was startled violently when I heard loud laughs traveled outside in the halls and into my apartment. Two men’s laughter became unmuffled as they opened my door and casually walked in. I gasped and only one seemed apologetic.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I am with him.” The boy was tall and muscular, clad in a soccer uniform. He pointed to his darker friend, also on the same team.

“I don’t care who you are with, you knock as a curtesy before you may be permitted to enter someone’s space.”

My bedroom door cracked open and Rita nestled in the crack to quietly observe. “Oh c’mon, you know me Roxanna. I am a friend of Susan’s. The new Walking Dead is premiering tonight and Susan said we could come use y’all’s TV, after all our PlayStation is here.” He pointed to the hooked-up PlayStation, a marker of his territory.

“Whatever, you jerks just make yourself at home.” I blew out my candles and gathered my things. Rita stepped back and welcomed me in.

“Don’t let it get to you too much.” Rita paused. “Kelly and Susan have lived very open lives and believe that everything is okay so long as it’s fun.”

I jump up onto my bed and settle into my blanket. “Must be nice to be so happy and full of energy.”

Rita twirled her finger into the blanket fibers. “I used to take Ritalin; I get the paranoia. My docs told me how college kids loved amphetamines and I needed to be careful.”

“Yea, treat you as if you will sell drugs or give them out like candy if they don’t remind you.” I sighed in irritation, feeling a bit understood.

“Right?” Rita took a drag from her juul. “I got put on Wellbutrin, they said it would be better for me, non habit forming and what not. I am confident no one is going to steal my drugs now at least.”

“I used to take that too. It has a similar dopamine enhancing effect as amphetamines, but it really did not help me enough.”

“Yea, it doesn’t help me either.” She sighed and gazed at me in understanding and envy. “I got into vaping because my mind felt like dead space, the nicotine at least calms it.”

“My friend became an avid smoker once she lost her health insurance and Adderall”, I recalled.

“I miss it. Life was better. I feel so out of it and people don’t have the patience for you once you are obviously dysfunctional. Kelly and Susan are like that…” Rita trailed off and her eyelids were weary.

I felt the silence and heard the clock’s tick. I forced an apology but she shrugged while mumbling to herself before escaping into her phone. In the morning, I looked under my pillow to make sure my Adderall was still there.

***

“Can I get an extension? Please?”

“For not having your refill yet?” The professor sighed. “Isn’t it your responsibility to make sure that this is handled, how hard is it to get a refill?”

            “Two hours away, because my primary care is the only one that will refill it.”

            “If it is so hard to get, maybe you would be better off getting a different medication?” He tapped his pen. “One that is not controlled of course. I hear there are great alternatives, like Wellbutrin.”

            “Sir, with all due respect you are not my doctor.”

            “No, but I am your professor, and young lady I think you need to be more efficient about your time management skills. Stop procrastinating.”

            “My car is broken!”

            “You can always get an Uber, couldn’t you?”

            I bit my lip while my nails burrowed in the palms of my hands. My mind was disconnected from words. My body went autopilot and left his office.

It was near exam time and well past refill time. I could not make the drive down to my home, bcause I was very ill. Sometimes I could push my prescription a week over and still have some pills to spare if I rationed myself to one pill a day. However, with it being the week before exams I took them as prescription dictated, twice a day. Now I only had two to ration and a weekend to get the paper.

No doctor in the area that would take my insurance felt “comfortable” prescribing Adderall to a college kid. “College kid” was all there was to my identity. It did not matter if I was 22, a bit older than the average college kid. I stuck to my primary care provider back home, a two-hour drive. He would only fill the prescriptions by paper and it was illegal to send it by mail. I would make the two hour drive each time–It was worth it. But now my car wouldn’t start and I began to have a meltdown that I tried to conceal when returning to my room. The apartment appeared empty, so I screamed and sobbed loudly. Anytime I tried to confide in people about how frustrating to was to fill the prescription I was often met with life suggestions. Like maybe, I shouldn’t rely on something so difficult, there were better options for ADHD treatment that were not illegal after all.

I did not even bother mentioning the fact that I was narcoleptic, that was even more misunderstood. People would often attempt to introduce me to the unknown frontier of sleep, and how important it was to not drink caffeine before bed and get enough sleep. I never felt well rested, even if I sleep enough, too much, or too little, it was all the same. Surely I was mistaken, and perhaps a better diet would assist me. Recommendations to go vegan were frequently thrown my way. Even when I told them I was prone to anemia. Even if I told them all the things I tried to be more natural, all the time I spent in a healthier life, and how that made no overall difference unless I could be awake and alert. Even though I spent 2 years without amphetamines or without even missing them, I was labeled as being dependent. When I was struggling to get the paper prescription the people regarded me as a starving addict needing her fix.

I felt shame. My struggles were only met with criticism and scrutiny. I was a drug addict no matter what I did or thought.

My flesh felt stagnant and dried into leather. My tongue was raw from the impulse to chew on it, the dead space provoked strange voids and reactions to stay awake. My flesh craved pain, nothing extreme, but sensation of burrowed nails and pressure. I cupped my hand into the pointed edge of my bed post and massaged the bones. My flesh felt dead and begging for validation. Times like this I wondered how far away death is from sleep.

I found sanctuary in my room and the Sandman’s pull became louder. The sands were warm and free from time’s laws. The white noise echoed into my head while my vision tremored into five fragmented rotating pictures, each having a gravitational pull of their own. The fragmented images grew larger and coaxed my skull into submitting to my pillow. I found less logic in being a warrior for my basic needs, that which are not arguable for others when hungry or thirsty. My fear of sleep was dismissed and outright ignored, I questioned it and began to wonder if sleep had been my true friend all along. The Sandman promised me peace and acceptance; it was delivered each time I spent adequate time in the sands. I didn’t want to believe in “fantasy” but it seemed preferable than “reality”.

I resided myself into the warm sand. The grains had a gentle vibration that felt like a slow heart beat strumming my skin. My eyes fluttered as the particles tickled my lashes and the grains returned to the collective. The waves gradually painted my flesh with more grain and solidified its form with moisture. The sun was a dimmed beige that faded into the faded desert rose sky. Despite the sand’s warmth, I began to feel chilly, but he knew and attended me with his own blanket.

Major Project Rebecca Hinson and Stephanie Rizzo

Word Count 1704

Write up:

For our major paper project we decided to write a “Found Poem”. We wrote a collection of shorter poems that travel through the life of an individual with mental disabilities. We tried to express as many mental disabilities as we could to portray the different types of mental disabilities and the variety of symptoms. We focused mainly on depression and anxiety. As 2 people who have dealt with mental disabilities, this assignment means a lot to us. It was nice to be able to express some of the emotions we feel in a poetic way, while connecting to our readings this semester. However we don’t claim to know the extent of each disability, we just want to highlight some of the struggles. We also wanted to highlight the lack of visibility of these people in our society.

For our poems we mostly wrote them from our own point of views, but we incorporated lines and pieces of works that we have read this semester in 384. We did this by first breaking up our poems into 7 parts. Each poem represents 10 years of a person’s life.  For example, our first poem is from the perspective of a child less than 10 years old, and our last poem is from the point of view of an older individual, around 70 years old. We then looked through the syllabus and pulled out the works we felt would be a good fit for each poem. After that, we read all of the works and pulled out the lines we felt matched what emotions we were trying to express.

The first poem is a representation of a child with anxiety and phobia of the darkness. We tried to show that even young children can develop severe mental illnesses. There is no such thing as being ‘too young’ to be anxious and that’s the main point in this poem. The child experiences hearing voices in his head when in the dark. The line from Symptoms, by Laurie Clements Lambeth, “The cure is rest, they tell me” represents that most adults don;t understand mental disabilities in children and tell them to ‘just go to sleep’ or ‘stop being scared’. Adults sometimes don’t understand that these feelings are things the child cannot control.

For poem 2, we focused exclusively on depression. Depression is such a common issue in teens and young adults. We felt it was important to highlight this. The speaker talks about feeling disconnected from the world and always feeling alone. There are many different reasons an individual could feel this way, but the most important piece we wanted to discuss was how many people have these feelings. As a society we need to check in on each other more, make sure our friends, family, colleagues, coworkers and neighbors are doing okay. A simple “how are you today?” could go a very long way.

Poem 3 is different from the first two, in the sense that it focuses more heavily on physical disabilities than the others before it. We did this to show that an individual with any mental disabilities can have any physical disabilities and vice versa. We wanted to portray that all individuals are different. Some people take a physical disability and put a positive spin on it. While others, such as the speaker of poem 3, have a more negative view on having a disability. Poem 3 shows a person who has a terminal illness that is wearing their body away. The media tends to show disabilities as romanticized and beautiful when that is not always the case, as we learned from the talk we had in class with Donaldson. We chose to spin this poem in a different direction to continue the variety of disabilities that an individual could be faced with.

The 4th poem talks about the struggles of acceptance when society puts a norm into a person’s appearance. Or how even the medical field doubts you, instead of lifting you. The fifth poem is a tribute to deaf people. We live in a world where we constantly expect more from them, like reading lips or writing in our grammatical way. Society does not take the time to learn even a basis of ASL or understand how hard it is to read lips when you don’t even know the sounds coming out to begin with. It goes back to the idea that as an ablest society, we don’t adhere to the needs of the few, we only care about the many.

For the final poem, we went with a very disconnected speaker. We wanted to step inside someone’s head who was diagnosed and suffering from dementia. We drew from personal experiences of being beside the hospital bed and not understanding why they couldn’t remember something as simple as someone’s name. We wanted the reader throughout these poems to feel a connection in some way to the speaker in any form, be it connecting with the speaker’s hardships or seeing the speaker in the people around them.

Poems:

Poem 1:

I wake up, I’m always up.

I feel sleepy, I’m always sleepy.

I heard the voices again

They make me sleepy

“The cure is rest, they tell me.” – Symptoms

They keep me awake

They are really creepy

They are dark, like a cloudy sky in my head.

They make me scared

Nobody listens to me, but I listen to them

They hurt me inside

Nobody listens to me

“My time is not mine” – Crip Time

Poem 2:

Is this falling apart?

Is it just me?

Every day I fight the storms in my head

“She thinks of the 4a.m. loneliness that have folded her up like death” -The Woman Hanging from the Thirteenth Floor Window

I feel sleepy, I’m always awake.

Simple things are not so simple anymore

“I was simple enough to imagine it might be so.” -The Birthmark

Conversation is difficult

I can’t get through a single one,

It’s like nobody cares.

Stomach turns upside down, I want some interaction.

I am alone. The world is quiet.

I don’t need advice. I need companionship

“In moody sadness, on the giddy brink”- 70


Poem 3:

They tell me I’m an                             inspiration

But that’s not what I want to be.

They tell me I’m                                  strong

But that’s not what I want to be.

They tell me it’s okay to be                 different

But why do I have to be different at all?

They tell me it’s                                   never going to go away

But why did it ever have to come at all?

They tell me it’s                                   okay to be in pain

But I don’t feel any pain at all

They tell me it’ll be a few months

But why can’t it be now?

“I may not live long. When you know it’s something wrong with you and you may not live long, well then…” – Good Country People

Well then… don’t call me an inspiration

Well then… don’t call me strong

Well then… don’t tell me I’m different

Well then… don’t tell me it’ll be okay

Tell me I’m free to go

Tell me it’s okay to be done

Poem 4:

I was not particularly born this way

I was predestined to lose my arm

I was just leaning on the excavator

I was just leaning when it hit the power lines

I was in an ambulance.

The said to my wife I may not wake up

They said I may lose my legs

They said I may lose my hands

They said I’d never drive again

They said things that were wrong

I did wake up

I lost some toes, who needs those

I lost an arm, and some tattoos

I can still drive my stick shift

I am living their lies

But for some reason people look at me funny

When I don’t have my prosthetic arm on

As if for some reason I need it to be out in public

As if I need it to complete me

As if I am incomplete.

As if that body they tried so hard to fix, straighten was simply mine. – What You Mourn

Poem 5:

I am not incapable of walking if I am deaf
“Like Helen Keller?” They ask.
No, like me, like the people I went to school with
cause my parents couldn’t wait till I was normal enough
to associate with them
Helen Keller is to blame. – Deaf Blind: Three Squared Cinquain

I learned how to speak without words
It is the others who don’t know how to talk to me
It is like dancing with your hands, even if I can’t hear the music
I am not unable to hear
the word is not a hearing world
It is a world of sight
and touch
and taste
I am not limited by one sense
The world is limitless in that sense.

Poem 6:

When I was in the war I saw the most horrifying things a man could imagine

I cried tears of joy placing myself back in her arms on the day of liberation

Who was she again?

I can’t seem to remember, it’s on the tip of my tongue

Anyway,

When I was in the war I saw the most horrifying things a man could imagine.

Ella, no, Anna, no, Delilah!

How are the kids? Are they behaving for you?

Did Davey like his baseball glove I got him for Christmas?

What do you mean your name is Charles?

You look just like my Davey.

Dammit! They keep putting this thing in my arm!

It hurts, I just want to go home.

Sue can make her bread rolls

I can smell the yeast as it raises the bread in the oven

I can smell the sweet perfume she dabbed on her wrists and behind her ears

Oh yes, her name is Sue.

My wife’s name is Sue.

She was the prettiest thing that walked through the doors of my daddy’s drug store.

Just let me go home! I just want to go home.

I’m not causing a scene you are!

“You watch me though you are discreet. I must be something to see.” – Obviously

Sue isn’t dead.

You aren’t my children.

Who are you?

Who am I?

Rebecca Young’s Major Project

For this project, I researched the representation of typically marginalized groups within children’s literature, focusing on the representation of disabled individuals within the texts. As a future elementary teacher, this topic is incredibly important to me. As we have discussed ourselves in this class, literature clearly acts as a channel by which social ideals are reinforced. When regarding children’s literature specifically, the intended audience of readers are also more susceptible to these ideals than most older individuals. In addition to this, the representations children see in early literacy definitively impact their lifelong self-image as well, especially for those who may not be fairly represented. Thus, this topic is of great importance to me both because of my personal connections and because of its broader implications.

In completing research for this project, I started by looking for studies which showed disability representation of any kind in children’s literature. I then further examined the ways in which disability was represented within the literature that did include these groups (i.e. were they positive representations? Did they reinforce any specific perceptions of disability? How diverse were the representations?). To narrow my research for the purpose of this project, I primarily looked into award-winning texts such as those which have won the Caldecott and Newbery awards, as these are considered books of the highest standard. Additionally, these noteworthy books are marketed to educators as the best materials we can be using, and are resultingly often the ones which fill library and classroom bookshelves. Because of this, these award-winning books hold considerable influence over what children are being exposed to in their daily experiences with literature. Unfortunately, however, several surveys of this literature suggest that an alarming number of award-winning children’s books lack disability representation.

According to numerous articles published in the fields of disability studies and education, it is overwhelmingly clear that children’s literature lacks proper representation of disability. On the most basic level of analysis, this literature simply does not show characters or situations involving disability or disability rights. Additionally, much of the representation seen is actually reinforcing negative stereotypes of individuals with disabilities. This is seen in books where disabled characters are mere background illustrations, are entirely dependent on non-disabled characters, or simply act as a tool for non-disabled characters to use in finding personal growth, etc. These trends can be seen in both Caldecott Medal- and Newbery Award-winning children’s literature throughout the last century, as well as in miscellaneous children’s literature as a whole. Admittedly, the findings which show this largely focus on what they consider the most common forms of disability; however, the represented trends also apply to the field of disability representation as a whole. While this data is troubling, though, these studies did present the potential silver lining that these trends show a positive increase in representation over time, meaning that representation may be continuing to increase.

After completing the above research, I wanted to synthesize my findings into a more approachable presentation than a standard research paper. To do so, I decided to write my own children’s books which address these issues; the three attached books are the result of these efforts. I wrote each book with a focus on a different general field of disability: Nadiya’s New Book, Tommy’s Adventure, and Sometimes address physical disabilities, mental disabilities, and mental illnesses respectively. While the main character of Nadiya’s New Book does have specific, recognizable traits of disability (i.e. being shown in a wheelchair), each book was written to be purposefully ambiguous to an extent. My goal in writing characters which displayed somewhat vague representations of disability was to ensure that they could be relatable to many individuals with varying disabilities. For example, mental disabilities are represented primarily by what other individuals say about Tommy, such as calling him “retarded,” or by Tommy himself stating that he “thinks differently” from others; nowhere does Tommy mention any of his specific symptoms or diagnoses. As a result, I hope that a wide variety of readers could identify with the books, as opposed to only a single disability being represented in each.

In addition to including broad representation of disability in these books, I hoped to increase awareness of the lack of representation of disability in literature as a whole, as well as to reinforce general normalization of disability. In Nadiya’s New Book and Tommy’s Adventure, the characters explicitly reference the overall lack of disability representation in books. Nadiya is specifically addressing that she can’t find characters like her in her library books, while Tommy explains that people don’t read or write stories about him. While Sometimes does not explicitly address a lack of representation in literature, it normalizes mental illnesses and explains that it is okay to live with and discuss them. By bringing these topics of discussion into the content of my books, I believe I am further reinforcing positive representation of disability, in addition to simply giving disabled individuals a literary presence.

This project was ultimately a great combination of research and creativity paired with the goals of representing real needs in the world. Through my research, it became abundantly clear (as expected) that the disabled community is being represented unfairly in children’s literature. Not only is this a simple disservice to the community, but it acts to perpetuate the marginal position disabled individuals hold in society today. By synthesizing this information into the three attached books, I hope to not only increase exposure of these issues, but to combat them as well, eventually leading to a fairer representation of disability in our children’s literature.

Word Count: 928

As a note, the aforementioned books are not attached in full to this post. Due to difficulties with scanning all of the pages, only a representative selection from each book are attached here.

Nadiya’s New Book Pages

Sometimes Pages

Tommy’s Adventure Pages

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