I've been swamped and dealing with issues, so I didn't even read this set of articles on BADD until today.
So, yeah. In answer to a comment by M.E., I am a Quenchista and I am disabled.
I am also one of the "invisible" disabled - I suffer the unholy of triad of anxiety disorder, which in my case veers around the two peaks of agoraphobia and claustrophobia.
Maybe I didn't feel like posting at first because I thought, "Duh, who doesn't know I'm disabled, I think I must talk about nothing else sometimes." I also am sick of talking about being sick. I try to go without thinking about it, but you know how well that works.
Right now I have finals for my Arabic class. The stress is getting to me pretty badly for some reason; I switched non-crazy medications a while ago and hormones are notoriously destabilising. I sleep all day despite pretty hard attempts to move that back to the evening and I have a hard time being productive. That I was able to spend this morning memorising 8th century poetry was a great victory for me: I got half the poem down, which I haven't been able to even look at for the last four weeks.
So. I feel like I hate my disability. I accept it, mostly, grousing all the way, but I really really hate it. It made me a better person in some ways: I am compassionate because I have suffered. I don't feel like it was worth it. My life is a wreck, I cannot do the things I want to do. Plus I have nightmares and am afraid of the night time.
I feel like half of an adult. I feel unloved and unlovable. I am turning into an asexual old woman thirty years early, and it's because I am afraid of cars and public transit and crowds because some bug destroyed part of my brain.
Not pretty words for BADD. I am in a place full of anger and frustration so often. I apologise like it is a way of life for my failings. I am lava, the anger and fear radiates off of me and burns others and I hate it. My brain is broken and all my workarounds are unreliable. I am out of control - that's what disability means, right? loss of control - and my disability is obsessed with control, triggered by loss of control and no amount of practice or letting go makes it better.
So: I am a Quenchista, I am disabled. And I am angry and afraid.