Accessibility, Grief, and the Long Road Back
Content Note: car accidents, medical trauma, non-epileptic seizures, pet loss, predatory sales tactics, discussions of safety, grief, and autonomy.
Welcome Back to the Cryptid’s Den.
Come in.
You can set things down here.
Tonight the Den is quieter. The lights are low. Luna Bean is stationed at my feet like a sentry with fur and opinions.
This is The Crippled Cryptid.
A quiet corner of the internet where disabled lives are allowed to be complicated, unpretty, and yet still deeply loved.
I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid. Accidental cyborg.
Occasional chronic illness and disability advocate.
Someone who lives in a body with opinions and a service dog named Luna Bean who enforces rest with alarming efficiency.
Luna is part guardian, part shadow, part “hey, you don’t get to ignore that.”
If I try, she hits me with her sharpest Cattle Dog side eye and a sigh that screams, “Mumther. We are not debating your poor decision-making skills today.” Like it is my full government name.
M&M is my constant. My best friend. The one who holds the world steady when I can’t. She’s also a fairly elite car DJ. You can say, “I need rock n’ roll,” and somehow she knows the exact song your nervous system has been begging for. Or the perfect Noah Kahan song. Or Sleep Token. She’s amazing like that.
This space exists for the days when survival is the whole task.
For love that shows up even when everything hurts.
For the kind of adventure you chase even from Bed Jail™.
For telling the truth without turning it into a performance.
If you’ve been here before, I’m glad you came back.
If this is your first time, you’re welcome here.
The Lunatic Café is open.
On today’s menu: Car Shopping. And how it makes me feel.
A Little Context Before We Start the Engine
If you’re new here or need a refresher, here are the chapters that led to this one:
- 🔗 The 2023 Car Accident (someone t-boned our Jeep Renegade)
- 🔗 The 2025 Accident (someone hit our Jeep Cherokee four blocks from home)
- 🔗 Why I Want to Drive Again
I won’t rehash everything. Some ghosts don’t need another spotlight.
But you should know this:
I have been in two car accidents in three years.
Both caused by someone else.
The first was in Chicago in 2023. I was on my way to a cardiology appointment for my POTS. I never made it there.
Instead, the tow truck driver dropped us off at a Starbucks six blocks from the appointment, where we waited for my brothers to come get us. The manager working the counter saw we were having one of the most traumatic days of our lives and comped the peach green tea that I stared into, stunned. And the strawberry acai refresher that M&M clutched like a lifeboat.
The second was in 2025. Less than four blocks from my house. That one lives down the street now. A landmark I never asked for.
Two collisions.
Two sets of wreckage.
Two moments where my nervous system rewrote itself without consent.
I am still picking pieces of myself out of twisted metal and insurance paperwork.
In December, I began having seizures. They are non-epileptic. Which sounds reassuring until you realize that it also means there aren’t clean answers.
They are not taking my license.
Which means I am back to square one.
Car shopping.
And I need to say this clearly:
I hate car shopping.
The Predatory Circus
Car shopping feels like walking into a shark tank wearing a name tag that says “Commission.”
The second your tires hit the lot, they descend.
What do you do for work?
How are you planning to afford this?
What payment structure are you thinking?
Can we run your credit right now?
You haven’t even driven it.
You don’t know if you like the steering wheel.
You don’t know if the transmission sounds like it’s chewing gravel.
And they want your social security number.
Even if you say you’re paying cash, they push financing. Because financing benefits them.
It does not feel like help. It feels like pressure.
Online is worse.
You click one listing and suddenly your phone becomes public property.
Hi, is this Sky?
Hi, we have something similar.
Hi, are you still looking?
Hi, can we schedule you today?
No.
No.
No.
You block one number. Then another. Then another.
You unsubscribe.
They email from a different address.
You decline.
They send flyers to your house.
And when you choose another dealership, some of them act personally offended.
After trauma, that kind of persistence does not feel neutral.
It feels like being cornered.
It feels like being treated as a walking commission check instead of a human being trying to feel safe again.
So yes. I am probably getting a Google phone number. One that exists purely for dealerships. One I can disconnect the second “are you still looking?” turns into harassment.
Maybe a separate email too.
Because I know they are feeding families. I know it’s their job.
But this is my life.
My body.
My trauma.
My money.
No should mean no.
My wellbeing matters too.
Disabled people are allowed to have boundaries in consumer spaces.
Why “Four Wheels and Rolls” Isn’t Enough
I’ve heard it more than once:
“If it’s got four wheels and rolls, it’s good enough.”
Not for me.
For me, a vehicle is infrastructure.
I am disabled. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user. Some days I use a cane. Some days a rollator. Some days a wheelchair because CRPS has decided negotiations are canceled.
Mobility aids are large. Necessary. Non-negotiable.
Then there is Luna.
She alerts to seizures, migraines, heart rate spikes. She needs space to work. Space to lie safely. Space to do her job.
Space for her gear because, all of that is important too. And it takes up space.
When I say I need something specific, I am not being aesthetic.
I am being accessible.
Northern Illinois and the Ice Argument
I live in northern Illinois.
Winter here is unpredictable. Ice is not.
Disabled bodies do not always get to wait for clear roads.
Sometimes you have to go to the doctor.
Sometimes the ER is not optional.
Sometimes staying home is not safe.
Four wheel drive is not about looking outdoorsy.
It is about peace of mind.
It is about knowing that if I have to leave, I can.
The Jeep Conversation
I want a Jeep.
That is the simple answer.
After my 2023 accident, insurance put me in a 2021 Jeep Grand Cherokee Trailhawk for a month. It was powerful. It was capable. It felt like steering a small yacht.
After my Renegade was totaled, we moved into a 2015 Jeep Cherokee Trailhawk.
And here is something that matters:
More than once, I’ve been told that M&M and I likely would not have walked away from the 2025 crash if we hadn’t been in that Jeep.
That vehicle left us alive.
Scarred, broken, worse for wear, but alive.
I will not post the photos. You do not need that image burned into you.
Just know it was bad.
Bad enough to leave scars that don’t show up in pictures.
The Wrangler was the dream once. The main character car. The one The Compass loved.
But dreams and practicality are not always aligned.
My heart keeps circling back to the Renegade.
The Car That Felt Like Me
[Insert photo of my Renegade here]
That car was the first one that felt like freedom.
I drove it to Canada.
Back to Illinois.
Out to Utah with M&M to see Citizen Soldier.
Down through Denver.
Across the Midwest.
It was the first car I road-tripped in. The first car I slept in because I wanted to. The first car that felt like mobility instead of machinery.
It fit my aids.
It fit Luna.
It fit me.
But there is something else I haven’t said out loud yet.
Whatever car comes next will never have Bear in it.
He will never sit in the back seat.
Never sigh dramatically at traffic.
Never supervise the GPS like he’s the regional manager of road trips.
Pet loss is never easy.
There is something about buying a new car and knowing one of the passengers who made the last one sacred will never ride in it.
That part hurts.
The next vehicle will carry Luna.
It will carry M&M.
It will carry the Yard Yeti.
It will carry whatever playlist we build for the drive.
But it will not carry Bear.
And that grief lives quietly between the seats.
What This Is Really About
This is not about brand loyalty.
It is about control.
Car shopping makes me feel hunted.
Driving makes me feel autonomous.
Those are not the same thing.
There is something sacred about choosing to move forward.
Not recklessly.
Not blindly.
Deliberately.
Every listing I compare.
Every dealership number I block.
Every test drive I refuse to schedule until my conditions are respected.
That is not giving up.
That is not letting two accidents decide the rest of my story.
Choosing to drive again is my way forward. Someone else choosing not to would be just as valid.
But I am not done.
Driving forward is not denial.
It is defiance.
If today was heavy, you didn’t carry it alone.
If today was quiet, I hope it stayed gentle.
If you’re here, you belong here.
Love you. Now say it back.
–Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability, honesty, and a little chaos.
🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
There’s never pressure to donate. Staying counts.
If you’d like to support the long road toward stability and mobility:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
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