the concept of liminality and being disabled: an essay
as a disabled person, i identify a lot with liminality. both my neurodivergences and my chronic pain/fatigue make me feel liminal.
first, the definition of a liminal space or thing. there are many different definitions, honestly. some would say it's a transitional place, like a hallway or a train station. some would say it's a place where a key detail is altered, like empty playgrounds at night or abandoned school buildings. some would say it's the terror of something bad happening.
my definition is a combination of all these things. the things i consider liminal are usually empty, devoid of life, or a snapshot caught in a time of someone's life that is now long gone. you are alone. you are the only one, and the image continues being nothing without you.
i have always felt disconnected with others, like there was a glass wall in between myself and everyone else. or that everyone else was in some fucked up play, and no one gave me a script. no one even told me my role. there is a certain emptiness in it, when you're too much for most people. you may have friends, but you aren't many's favorite. you are someone to hang out with when no one else is around. you are a transition.
plus, there comes the feeling of being Wrong, like something is irreparably and awfully wrong with you. you are broken, you are awful, you sre ugly and unwanted. people are always watching, waiting for you to mess up. you are a spectacle.
i became stuck in a set time, whether it be the past, present, or future, sometimes all three. there was only time, the past when things were easier to ignore and the inability to understand gave a certain peace. the present, where there is often pain or fatigue to focus on. the future, where you hope things get easier. get better.
for many around me, i feel like a transition. i am a friend, but most times my friends eventually leave. my friends talk about college, jobs, hanging out, driving, and yet i am left behind. i am unable to do this, so i am alone. i am a transition, i am liminal. i am a spot in time, and i am frozen without someone's eyes on me, without being looked at. if i am not a part of something, do i really exist?
as my symptoms worsened, a lot of hobbies became inaccessible to me. festivals and fairs i loved going to became impossible, i could no longer speed in circles on rollerskates without a care, i could no longer get the feeling of flying on a swingset, i could no longer climb a tree and sing songs in the branches. i still can't. in many ways, i feel left behind by the world, like i don't really exist. the person in the mirror isn't me, the body isn't me. i am alone. i am liminal.
in conclusion, being and growing up disabled is uniquely and scarily lonely. you are often a transition for others, a point in time that becomes forgotten due to your abilities. you are stuck in a constant 'now' that only changes when you matter to someone. the feeling of liminality connects with disability in a way that feels like looking in a mirror.
