Trying To Get Tickets To The ERAS Tour As A Disabled Person

TW: Mentions of ableism, severe depression, suicidal thoughts and ideation.

Us international Taylor Swift fans have been waiting for The ERAS Tour to come and visit us for months and finally, we have dates! (Through some bizarre twist of fate, the announcement, the registration, the extra dates announcement, and the opening of resale tickets all occurred while I was at therapy, so I don’t think it would surprise anyone to learn that I rescheduled the sessions that were booked for the days of the actual ticket sales – thank god for my very understanding therapist).

So the tour is coming – possibly the most exciting event of next year – but before I could be excited about that, the ticket sales had to be navigated. And given how horrific the US sale had been, I was – at the very least – very apprehensive. I hoped that, after the previous fiascos, this sale would be smoother but, having witnessed the anxiety and misery and disappointment, I couldn’t help but worry that this sale would be just as bad, with the added hurdle of trying to get accessible seating.


Having pre-ordered the Midnights album during the period in which it granted you a code for tour dates, I had access to the ticket sales a week earlier than the ticket sales for which you had to register. That was definitely helpful, in some ways at least. In the week leading up to this first sale, my Mum and I spoke to the Wembley accessibility people several times, trying to get the most accurate information about getting tickets through them. My Mum had to actually make the calls since making a phone call is something that is a real struggle for me as an autistic person, especially when the phone call has high stakes or I have anxiety about it (I can handle other forms of communication – I just can’t gather enough information from just a voice to keep up a conversation in real time and the anxiety of screwing up just makes the processing worse and the whole thing snowballs until I become non-verbal or descend into a meltdown). So Mum made the phone calls and we tried to get the clearest picture we could, but the information changed with every call and, on the Friday (with the tickets going on sale on Monday morning), they still weren’t sure of anything. They were really only certain of one thing: they were very, very aware of how high the demand was, part of the reason why they were so reluctant to commit to any of the information they did have. It was very stressful and I spent the weekend consumed with anxiety over whether or not I would be able to get tickets to even one show, having hoped to go a couple of times with different friends and family members. The dread I felt at the thought of not getting to go was paralysing.

Most people don’t seem to understand the intensity of my emotions. Technically, it could be part of being neurodivergent or mentally ill but it’s always just felt like part of me: it’s me, hi, I feel everything at 500%, it’s me. I feel every emotion with my whole body; it’s just always been that way. And people have always been weird about it (especially when it comes to loving Taylor actually – I’ve been mocked and harassed for years for being a fan of hers, often for reasons that completely baffle me). It hurts – and that hurt is very intense too – but I’d always rather love things, regardless of what people say. Taylor and her music (and seeing her live) are and always have been so important to me, getting me through hard times and bringing me such life affirming joy; as hard as it can be, it doesn’t surprise me that the thought of not getting to see her live after waiting so long feels like a lifeline being cut.

Monday morning, I woke up so anxious that I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t do anything. When the time came, when the online queue and phone lines ‘opened,’ Mum rang the accessibility number. It rang and rang until it went through to an automated message before hanging up. We tried again. And again and again and again. We kept getting the same message and we were still calling when the queue moved from the first of the Wembley shows in June to the first of the Wembley shows in August in the early afternoon. We were still calling as the clock inched towards five and the closing of the phone lines. I’d been sitting with Mum, unable to do anything and on the edge of the meltdown all day. I was exhausted, in pain, and swinging between misery and rage, in tears over how awful the experience was. It was (and still is) so desperately distressing that it seemed literally impossible to get a ticket for accessible seating, to access the concerts as a disabled person. It just felt – and feels – like yet another part of the world telling us that we’re not worth the effort, that we don’t matter as much as everyone else. It’s a deeply hopeless feeling. And as if the situation wasn’t hard enough on its own, I’ve been struggling with suicidal thoughts and impulses for a while now and between the dwindling possibility of getting accessible tickets and the crushing display of ableism, those thoughts were only getting louder and more difficult to block out.

Tuesday was more of the same, just with an awful day and awful night’s sleep under my belt. Mum and I were glued to the sofa again, calling over and over and over. Morning turned into afternoon, another show disappearing. Wembley Stadium had tweeted a response to the criticism on social media: “Due to unprecedented demand waiting time for Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour Disabled Access is longer than normal. For those unable to wait on the phone we have a call-back system.” Seeing that filled me with the urge to throw my phone across the room: when we’d spoken to them, the ‘unprecedented demand’ was the only thing they had known about. I wanted to scream.

The night before, a friend had suggested looking at Twitter to see if other disabled fans had posted about having a similar experience. I didn’t remember her suggestion until the afternoon but once I did, I went searching and found my experience repeated over and over. On one hand, it was reassuring because I wasn’t alone but on the other, here was this huge number of people who weren’t able to get tickets because Wembley’s accessibility department wasn’t doing its job. I spent the afternoon tweeting back and forth with this group of people: trying to find a better way, sharing different phone numbers that different people had had success with, updating each other on our progress, sharing the successes and the miseries and frustrations. One fan, Faith Martin (she wrote a great piece for Metro about what the experience was like was disabled fans), spent an amazing amount of time trying to help people get tickets, long after she got tickets for herself; I really appreciated her support and encouragement. (I’m sure there were other fans doing this, helping other fans for other UK venues but Faith is the person I saw doing this, the person who helped me.) Having that little community in such a fraught time was comforting; I’ve never had anything like that before.

Eventually, just before the lines closed for the day, we got through and were finally, finally able to get tickets. When my Mum hung up the phone and triumphantly announced that we had tickets, I collapsed back onto the sofa and burst into tears. I was overwhelmingly relieved but also totally overwhelmed by the exhaustion and anxiety making my hands shake, by the excruciating pain in my limbs, back, neck, and skull. But most of all, I was just completely overwhelmed by how hurt I felt by the ableism of the process (especially compared to the ease of the online general ticket sale), by how little my very existence meant to them even though I was paying them for the space I would be inhabiting. God, you know it’s bad when you’re paying to take up space and still no one cares because of the ‘inconvenience’ you present. I was pleased – of course, I was – but all the other big emotions were drowning it out. I knew I’d be thrilled later on, once I’d recovered from the unbelievable stress of those two days.

And it’s true. It took a couple of weeks to fully return to my day-to-day state but now that I have, I am really, really excited. But having said that – and I know I’ll say it a lot over the next year – I still feel hurt by how Wembley handled it all, how they treated their disabled patrons. I’m hurt and I’m angry and if there was anything I could do that would affect any change, that would be more than me simply shouting into the void, then I’d do it. Without a second thought. But if there is, I have no idea what it would be. So here I am, sharing my experience about, if only to remind people that this sort of thing – and worse, of course, much, much worse – happens every day. Even the processes set up supposedly to help us are failing us, and worse, hurting us.


I’ll leave you with what I tweeted after I got my tickets: “I knew that getting #ErasTour tickets would be hard but I didn’t expect the level of ableism. By making it so much harder for us, they’re essentially telling us that we aren’t as important as everyone else, that we don’t matter as much, and that was deeply, deeply upsetting.”

And here are some of the articles that have been written about this, including the experiences of several disabled fans. (Note: please don’t read the comments sections of these articles because the dismissive, ableist bile coming from people – most of whom are totally missing the point – is honestly painful and there is no reason to subject yourself to that if you don’t have to.)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

World Cat Day 2023 – The Benefits of Cats

Happy World Cat Day! I am both deeply a cat person and a dog person, even though I don’t have a dog right now, and my cats are one of the great loves of my life so, for World Cat Day, I thought I’d research and share why cats are so incredibly good for us. But before I get started with that, I wanted to share my favourite fact: we know that our relationship with cats goes back thousands of years but some research shows that cats essentially domesticated themselves in South Asia, befriending humans for a ‘mutually beneficial relationship’ (although, let’s face it, it probably started out as an easy way of getting food). (x) And clearly, we’ve always been obsessed with them: in 889 CE (also known as AD), twenty-two year old Japanese Emperor Uda described his new cat with familiar passion: “the colour of the fur is peerless,” “when it stands, its cry expresses profound loneliness, like a black dragon floating above the clouds,” and “I am convinced it is superior to all other cats.” (x) Who of us cat owners have not described our cats in similar ways and with similar pride?


IN THERAPY

  • According to the Human Animal Bond Research Institute (HABRI), pet therapy sessions have proven to decrease isolation and loneliness, increase social functioning, and improve independence in autistic individuals.
  • Cats are being used in animal-supported therapy more and more, commonly used to treat anxiety disorders, depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), as well as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) in children as they often help to keep them calm and focussed.
  • Cats (and animals in general) act as a good ice-breaker, both at the beginning of the session or if the session becomes difficult and the patient needs a moment to breathe; they serve as a positive, calming topic of conversation, a good release valve, before getting back to work.
  • Cats are a reassuring presence, good for reducing anxiety.

EFFECTS ON THE BRAIN

  • A positive bond with your pet can increase your dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin levels, the hormones known as the ‘happiness hormones.’
  • Researchers have discovered that the human brain releases endorphins when stroking a cat and when listening to a cat purring, lowering our stress levels.
  • The brain also responds to a cat’s purring by releasing serotonin.
  • Playing with your cat can raise your levels of serotonin and dopamine, relaxing the nervous system, and the ‘happiness hormones’ are stimulated when we smile or laugh or talk to our cat.
  • Studies show that the bond between a person and their pet is linked to several mental health benefits, including reduced feelings of loneliness, reduced anxiety, and reduce symptoms of PTSD.
  • According to HABRI, 74% of pet owners say that owning a pet has improved their mental health. Studies have shown that the bond between human and animal increases oxytocin levels in the brain, resulting in feelings of calm and focus.
  • Research by the Mental Health Foundation and Cats Protection, in a study of over 600 cat owners, found that 87% felt that having a cat had a ‘positive impact’ on their wellbeing and 76% reported that they felt they could cope better with their lives because of the presence and relationship with their cat.
  • It has been reported that people with pets experience less anxiety than those without. Studies have also shown that cats are beneficial in reducing anxiety, especially in certain groups such as students and autistic children.
  • Spending even twenty to thirty minutes with a pet can trigger chemical changes in the body that reduce stress, including the increase of serotonin and dopamine levels in the brain and reducing anxiety.

EFFECT ON EMOTIONS

  • Our pets love us unconditionally which is very comforting when we’re struggling or feeling lonely.
  • Animals are so present that they encourage us to do the same, to be present and mindful.
  • Researchers in 2008 found that 44% of cat owners felt ‘a sense of safety’ when with their cats.
  • Caring for someone or something other than ourselves, that relies on us, can create a sense of accomplishment, fulfilment, and confidence. And the more confidence we have in ourselves, the better we tend to feel about ourselves.
  • Polish researcher Elzbieta Budzinska-Wrzesien and her colleagues concluded that when you have a close relationship with your pet – who shows you unconditional affection and doesn’t judge you – that relationship can boost your sense of wellbeing and self esteem. This bond can relieve stress, increase social interaction, and create healthy habits.
  • The love of and for a pet can often motivate a depressed person to keep going because they know they have their pet relying on them.

EFFECTS ON THE BODY

  • Studies have shown that the bond between a person and their pet can result in many health benefits, including decreased blood pressure and cholesterol levels.
  • Multiple studies show that cats have a calming effect on us, reducing our stress to the point that we are approximately 30% (different studies show slightly different numbers) less likely to experience heart disease. Even watching videos of cats of have shown to reduce our stress.
  • Another study showed that cat owners have fewer strokes than non-cat owners.
  • Stroking and cuddling your cat can reduce the cortisol, the stress hormone, in your body, which leads to decreased heart rate, blood pressure, and anxiety.
  • Some studies have shown that having your cat close by at night results in better sleep. Cat-owners who let their cat sleep on their bed or in their bedroom said they found it easier to both fall asleep and stay asleep. Compared to dog owners and those without pets, cat owners specifically indicated waking up fewer times during the night, as well as less restlessness and fatigue.
  • A cat purring has therapeutic effects both on them and on us. Studies show that purring falls between 25 – 240Hz, the frequency known to speed up the healing of injuries, including broken bones, damaged tendons, and injured joints. Some people have even reported the purring of their cat easing their migraines too.

EFFECTS ON LIFESTYLE

  • Looking after a pet requires the ability to create and stick to a routine, time management skills, organisation, and multitasking. These skills are difficult for many people, especially individuals with ADHD, so caring for a pet can aid in building and strengthening these skills, motivated by the knowledge that your pet needs your care and attention; tasks involving them can’t be procrastinated or skipped. Over time, these skills can be harnessed for non-pet related tasks.
  • Caring for a pet can also help to build a better sense of self-esteem and can improve how pet-owners, especially those with ADHD, feel about themselves in a neurotypical society.
  • ADHD pet owners have reported feeling great pride in managing to take care of their pets, especially on their own. Sometimes it’s the first time they’ve managed to build and keep a daily schedule. This builds confidence, which goes on to affect other areas of their lives. Some reported that getting a pet is what forced them to learn and improve these skills, which resulted in them taking better care of themselves as well.

I found an excellent story during my research…

“I have a cat and I couldn’t manage without him. Yes, he provides comfort and unconditional love, but he also keeps me on track. I used to work with chimps and sign language, so when I got a kitten, I placed a very high priority on his communication skills and on shaping gestures he used naturally. I also used food puzzles and other things to keep his mind active. He knows what time I need to be up for work in the morning. Unless I tell him the night before that we can sleep in, he pokes me awake 3 or 4 minutes before the alarm. If I space out cuddling with him, he gives me a minute or so, and then he stands up and uses his limited gestures to say firmly, ‘You. GO,’ and waits to make sure I’m up before he leaves the room. He knows how long it takes me to wash and dress. If I dawdle too long deciding what to wear, he’s in the doorway checking to see what’s taking so long. If I leave something in the oven and forget about it, or leave a burner on after I’ve taken a pot off it, he lets me know. Sometimes I assume he’s just looking for attention and scold him for making a ruckus when I’m trying to focus, but if it’s a safety issue, he won’t stop until I give up and say, ‘FINE! SHOW me what’s wrong,’ and then he leads me to the stove, or wherever the issue is. He’s most certainly the grown-up in the relationship.” (x)

MY CATS

If you’ve followed this blog for a while, you’ll know that I have five cats, all related to each other. Lucy came first and then we kept her second litter of kittens, Tiger and Mouse, and then – to even the vet’s surprise – Mouse suddenly had two kittens, Sooty and Sweep, that – for a number of reasons, including the pandemic – we ended up keeping. I love them all dearly and it’s sweet how, not only have they all developed different relationships with each other, they’ve developed different relationships with me.

Lucy is my anchor. She’s always there, curled up next to me or snoozing somewhere in the same room. She doesn’t want to be cuddled all of the time but she always wants to be nearby; she likes to know what’s happening and what I’m doing. It’s very sweet. And she probably looks after me more than I look after her: she regularly checks in with me, she follows me around, she gets anxious if she can’t be in a room with me, she’s always really pleased to see me when I reappear from behind the shower curtain, she tries to usher me to bed when it gets really late and then sits with me to make sure I don’t get up again, and so on. It’s adorable. She’s the queen of the house though and she absolutely knows it.

Tiger is my snuggle buddy. Up until recently, she’d come for a cuddle now and then but she was usually too busy exploring the garden or playing with the other cats (plus she does have a favourite spot for snoozing). But after I went to the US and then Germany, it’s almost like she realised that she really doesn’t like it when I go away – I think all five cats got very comfortable with my Mum and I being home all the time since the pandemic began. As soon as I got home, she was all over me and ever since, she’s been coming to me for long cuddle sessions multiple times a day. It’s very cute, especially given how independent she was before. I’m certainly not turning her down, even if her tail is a weapon of mass disruption.

Mouse and Sweep are my floofs. Sweep has always been Mouse’s baby and they are definitely a bonded pair, which is a gorgeous thing to witness: they are curled up together all the time and even in the summer heat, they lie as close together as possible without touching (although Sweep often reaches out with her paw to touch Mouse, like she’s reassuring herself that she’s still there). Sweep frequently runs to Mouse for reassurance after something traumatic happens (the most traumatic thing to ever happen to her is the unexpected appearance of the window cleaner’s brush) or runs into the room, calling for her. It’s so cute how much she loves. She’ll rush up to Mouse and flop down on top of her, getting as close as possible, something that I’m not sure Mouse always appreciates. Mouse has always been the most skittish of the pride but she’s getting more affectionate and playful as she gets older, which is lovely. And we’ve started trying to teach them all tricks, mainly for our own entertainment, and Mouse has definitely been the fastest to pick them up. And Sweep is the complete opposite. I’ve started referring to her as ‘my little neurodivergent baby.’ I don’t know if there’s any proof that neurodiversity exists in any species other than humans but it seems unlikely that it’s just us; I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s only so obvious in humans because neurodivergent individuals are forced to live in a neurotypical society, something that animals don’t seem to have, certainly not in the same way. If those pressures aren’t there, then maybe neurodivergence doesn’t manifest in the same way. Anyway. I think of Sweep as neurodivergent because she seems to think and process completely differently to the other four, like they think in words and she thinks in pictures – or the cat equivalent. She still struggles with the cat flap, she doesn’t seem to understand how doing tricks works at all, she likes to hide away from everyone but has her special bond with Mouse, she seems to experience a lot more anxiety than the rest of them… I don’t know. She’s just very different to the others, not that we love her any less.

IMG_8027

Sooty is my baby. She’s always seemed to think of me as her mother, even when she was a teeny tiny kitten. I wonder if that’s because Sweep and Mouse are always so entangled but whatever the reason, it’s adorable and I’m not turning down her affections. She always wants to sit on the sofa with me, demanding that I stretch out my legs so that she can stretch out between them; it’s her favourite spot. She’s also very playful and she and Lucy are a particularly playful pair, although she’ll play with anyone who will engage with her. She still feels very much a baby, Sweep too, even though they’re four now (which seems unbelievable to me but then I guess the pandemic really screwed with our perception of time) and that’s very sweet. I kind of hope she always will; I think she’ll probably always be my baby (although, to a degree, they’re all my babies).

IMG_2898

APRIDEOFCATS

To avoid overwhelming people with cat pictures on my Instagram, which is focussed on me as a singersongwriter, I created a new account, aprideofcats, so that I could post as many as I wanted. It’s as much as for my own entertainment as anything else. I stopped using it for a while – when I was struggling with social media in general – but I’ve recently started posting on it and having a great time, trying to choose between the ridiculous amount of cute pictures that I have of them.


So there you have it: concrete evidence that cats are amazing. I’m just kidding, although I do love cats and my cats in particular. I think it’s fascinating that just spending time with animals – and in this case, cats – can have such dramatic effects on us and our health, physical and mental. I hope this has been interesting and fun and if you liked the cute little faces of my cats, please do follow my cat instagram: there will be plenty more photos of them going up.

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14)

The Resurgence of My Body-Focussed Repetitive Behaviours

TW: Mentions of Trichotillomania, Dermatillomania, and self harm.

Over the last twenty months – the period dominated by my latest depressive episode – my hair pulling has been much less of a problem, something that tends to happen when I’m really depressed; it’s like I’m too depressed to pull. I guess that’s something to be grateful for while incredibly depressed (scraping the barrel but it’s something, or at least not nothing). But, over the last few months, my hair pulling (and other BFRBs) have returned with pretty frightening force.


As I said, it’s been a long time since I’ve been seriously pulling at my hair. But in the last couple of months, the urge has come roaring back with relentless intensity. Whether this is connected to starting the Phenelzine again, to beginning the escape from The Great Depression, or something else altogether, I have no idea but it’s a frustrating and exhausting to be back here again, back to pulling so much and so often that I have constant pain in my shoulder and arm. It hit me a while back that it will, in a couple of months, be ten years since I started pulling, which has been a pretty overwhelming realisation – I never thought it would become such a permanent part of my life.

I also started picking at my skin, which isn’t something I’ve ever really done and certainly not to the degree that I pull my hair. Frustrated by the imperfections of my fingertips, I ended up compulsively chewing on the callouses that had recently developed on my left hand (coming out of the depression, I’d started playing the guitar again and the callouses on my left hand – my string hand – had begun to reform); it got so bad and I’d gone through so many layers of skin that I couldn’t touch anything without pain. How they healed, I have no idea. I was also picking at my nails and the skin around them. My fingers were a mess, raw and painful and I ended up going through multiple packs of plasters in my attempts to stop. But, of course, I’d start picking at them as soon as I took the plasters off so they really did take ages to recover, and it was even longer before I could play guitar again.

And as if both of those behaviours weren’t enough, I was compulsively scratching at a half healed self harm cut on my face. It had started to heal but then suddenly I couldn’t leave the scab alone, reopening the cut and eventually making it bigger and bigger. I wasn’t trying to stop it from healing exactly but in my mind, the uneven, ‘imperfect’ edges needed to be fixed and so I kept trying to smooth them out, make them neater, make them symmetrical, or… something. It’s completely illogical because I was just making it bigger – just making the wound worse (and at this point, it really was a wound) – and more likely to get infected but I couldn’t help it.

I just could not stop myself. I tried so hard – trying every strategy I’ve ever used, every one I could find on the internet – but I still felt like I was losing my mind – and I mean that literally – if I didn’t do it, a feeling that got worse the longer I tried to stop myself. In the end, I always broke and my fingers found their way back to whichever of the three was their favourite at that moment in time. And it was always worse if I was extra tired or extra stressed. The only way to in way curb it – the behaviour if not the compulsion – was to cover the skin I was attacking, plasters over my fingers and a dressing across my face (that one was harder and less comfortable to explain). That didn’t stop me trying, constantly fiddling with the edges of them, and my hair bore the brunt of that coping mechanism. I ended up buying a hat that I could tuck all of my hair under but even with all of that in place, the urge to pull or pick got so bad sometimes that I simply gave in to it. Sometimes it was just too hard.

(On the left: before we found the correct dressing // On the right: in the early days when I’d only chewed on two callouses)


Jump to a few months later. My callouses finally healed and, after a period of using the wrong type of dressing before switching to a better one, my face recovered for the most part too although there’s still a scar. With those ‘imperfections’ ‘perfect’ again, hair pulling has become the main problem again. The urges are less than they were but still pretty relentless – perhaps a side effect of restarting the Phenelzine after all? – and I’m so fucking tired of the whole thing. I don’t know what to do, how to stop; I’ve seen so many people say that it’s not actually possible. But I don’t want to live like this. As I said, I don’t know what I’m going to do but I think I might try hypnotherapy; I’ve heard that some people have had positive results. So I guess we’ll see. Ten years is long enough.