As I gazed at the elevator call button Saturday afternoon, I realized that the elevator had gone out for the fourth time in the last few weeks  – my laundry would have to remain abandoned in the basement for the duration of the weekend. Suddenly, all the little tasks I needed to complete became monumental obstacles as I considered what absolutely needed to be done. Could I go another few days without restocking groceries? Yes. Was going to the library to study worth it? No. Should I stay with my sister rather than risk four flights of stairs? Probably.

You know what’s not hilarious? Crying in the stairwell because you realize that you can’t make it back up the stairs ...

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Though my knees may have felt like the Tin Man before getting oiled, the ever-present pain was manageable enough. The fear, however, takes its own toll in these moments, filling me with dread as I consider the risks posed by the stairs in front of me. With the elevator being out as often as it has, I’ve been more and more uncertain every time I go down the stairs as to whether or not I’ll be able to get back up.

As I’ve talked with campus accessibility resources about what I should do, the option has been presented for me to move, either into KMY or into a first floor apartment with an already-established group. I do appreciate the attempt to find a solution, but the fact is, we’re already almost half-way through the semester. I’m living with someone that I know I get along with, and I shouldn’t have to go through the painful process of packing up my entire room and moving into a new space because some hooligans think it’s hilarious to shove trash down the elevator.

You know what’s not hilarious? Crying in the stairwell because you realize that you can’t make it back up the stairs after walking your dog. It didn’t feel funny then, and it doesn’t feel funny now. I’m lucky that I’ve only ended up in that situation twice now (in the apartments; I’ve also gotten stuck on the top floor of the VA building, but that’s a separate issue). I’ve been scared of going down the stairs because of that exact scenario every time the elevator has broken down. I can’t speak for others in my building who struggle with the stairs, but on my best days it feels like someone is holding a hot plate to my knees as I climb my way to the fourth floor; on my worst days it feels a bit like being drawn and quartered – you know, that old execution technique where you get dismembered by horses.

I hope the next time someone thinks about vandalizing the elevator, they consider what it might feel like if their bones were trying to rip themselves apart, if their joints and tendons felt as though they were being torn out of their sockets. I hope they consider what living in constant fear of that pain might do to them, knowing that it will happen, but not knowing when. I hope they consider me and every other person they might be pulling the rug out on when they break the elevator … for fun

As much as anything else, this is about dignity. I deeply appreciate the people who have helped me through some of the worst days here, but even if it’s appreciated, needing helped up the stairs makes me feel like my dignity has been stripped away. It’s humiliating.

The campus has started community billing for when the elevator breaks down in an attempt to discourage people from vandalizing it, but the elevator has broken down twice since community billing started, so this clearly is only doing so much. I understand that facilities are doing what they can, but if people are causing the issue, is there no way we could install cameras in the elevator? Really, any solution that isn’t also punishing the people who need the elevator would be much appreciated.

I’m just so, so tired.