The horror, the horror

While not shrinking from making a slightly scary confession, Paul Carter ultimately believes that we have, in the words of FDR, nothing to fear but fear itself

People find me terrifying. I know this. Even the one’s that pretend they don’t, and act all cool and normal and friendly, I can tell. It’s there in their eyes. An unmistakable glint of primal horror. They might think they hide it, but I can see it.

Even those who have plenty of experience of being around disabled people have it.

Some hide it better than others though. Small children for example – rubbish. If I had a pound for every child I’d made cry, right now I’d be writing this hooked up to a pina colada drip from the veranda of my beach house in Barbados.

The older people get though, the better they get. People learn coping mechanisms, and most realise that I’m not going to fracture my face if they don’t behave in a certain way. It’s quite natural to be afraid of people that are different from you. Which is why I have a confession to make. I too, am terrified of other disabled people. I’m utterly useless. Obviously through years of being involved in this community, I know the right words, the right way to do things and all that jazz, but still, lurking in the back of my mind, there’s a voice going “you’re going to balls something up” the whole time. I should note as a caveat though – this only applies to people with a different impairment to me. Other stumpies, I’m fine with. We’re all part of the same gang, I’m totally on their level. Literally in some cases, which is another bonus.

It’s always amused me how the normals think that because you are disabled, you instantly know everything there is to understand about every impairment, as if disabled people are all born with an innate knowledge of disability, presumably imparted like Superman’s knowledge of human history was at the start of the classic movie.

Recently, I had the challenge of trying to organise and look after a group of other disabled people on the set of a documentary I was producing. Apart from the two brain aneurysms and a mild stroke I think I survived. Just.

What I’m trying to say, if I may be so bold as to be serious and sensible for a moment (I know, ha!) is that fear of difference is quite normal. For all of us. It’s how we deal with it that defines us as a society. And it’s how we react to people when they handle it badly that determines whether or not things get any better. I should note that this cannot be used against me next time I’m berating someone for staring at me. As my Dad used to say to me, don’t do as I do, do as I say.