Karrie Higgins

Disability March

The morning after the presidential election, I was lying in an MRI machine at the NIH Clinical Center in Bethesda, hypnotized by clang clang clang, like the drumbeats when I marched in the streets my last time in DC. Two weeks after 9-11, anti-war protest, surrounded by riot police in Edward R. Murrow park, paddy wagons parked on the periphery, me, Manic Pixie Epileptic Girl on high alert: seizures look like resisting arrest, motor deficits like non-compliance, like drunk or drugged or dangerous.

karrie_manic_pixie_epileptic_girl_2 Karrie wearing a long, red wig, lying naked in a white, tiled, walk-in shower as though she has fallen. On her legs: bruises. Pink disposable razors are scattered around her, and in the corner sits a pink suitcase. On the soap shelf sits a prescription bottle with the cap removed and lying next to it. White text overlaid on the image reads: Not Your…

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