Doors continue to be the passages to social dramas that leave me profoundly alienated.
My friends tell me "it's about respect", so I should let people open doors for me, and I'm so bewildered by this that I don't think of asking what they mean.
Respect? It is respectful to me to ignore my wishes and foist unwanted help on me? or maybe it's respect for me to break out into a shit-eating grin and offer thanks for what I did not want? (and for what I see as a trap.)
Or maybe I don't know what the word means in this context. Maybe it's some usage that comes from the Godfather, and by not showing it I risk violent reprisal.
How about some respect for my mad door-opening-from-the-wheelchair skills? I did have to re-learn how and practice to get as proficient as I am. No one's interested. I've have people tear the door out of my hands in their eagerness to help. I cannot read a restaurant menu in order to see if there's something on it that I want to eat at a price I'm willing to pay without someone opening the door for me. Really? Doesn't that seem a little pathetic? I'm just standing around, not making eye contact or anything, waiting for someone open a door for me? Seriously, if I weren't in a wheelchair, you'd think I was a doormat!
And that gets me to a large slice of cognitive dissonance practiced by people around me. When I pull myself up a hill in the manual chair, I have moxie, I'm an inspiration. When I try to open a door by myself, I'm letting down western civilization in a big way. Actually, these are both every day acts, completely normal. Admittedly, I don't want to get up at 7 on my day off and go up a hill on the power of my arms. But people in all walks of life, and rolls of life, get up and exercise for their health... Why should I be different? Why can I not be permitted to live my life as I see fit? Why does my very entry into public space mean that I am no longer a person, but a symbol?
I've never been good at social forms. Abstractly, I can understand that these are little rituals, with assigned roles, that act as social lubricant. Just greasing the wheels of our day-to-day interactions where we're signaling something about our being on the same page. In practice, I want everything to be "real". Well, I can walk--um, roll--past the the homeless guy panhandling. It gives me a sort of helpless feeling, not knowing how to cross that divide, so it's more comfortable to just go on. So, maybe my only way to be "real" in the door meetings is to try and tell people that I don't want the door opened. That I'm not pan handling. I want to do it myself. I want to feel strong and effectual. Instead of helpless. "Impotent." I'm not helpless, dammit! Don't you dare look at my mode of locomotion and even think I am!
Upshot: Just so you know, if you do open a door for me, and you only get mumbled thanks--this is why there's no eye contact whatsoever. Because having help foisted upon me leaves me staring into a vortex, a long tunnel of pain, despair, bitterness. Because a horrible emptiness rises from my belly. Because I am alone, I cannot rely on anyone for anything important. Because I am reminded that I am no longer a person, merely the occupant of a wheelchair. Because my dreams, my independence, my wishes have been crushed beneath wheels as cruel as tank treads. Because empty social forms are more important than anything I can lay claim to. I do not want to look into the face that diminishes me. I do not want to thank the person who pushes me into a mental box.
