The DWP are not fit for purpose. They are actively doing all they can to prevent people with disabilities and chronic health conditions, to the point of criminalising being ill.
The government along with the collusion from the BBC, ITV, C4 and Channel 5 have vilified everyone on benefits ….sorry entitlements or in actual fact the payout from the National Insurance premiums which we all pay.
Most claimants are genuine, but if seen out without a wheelchair are judged to be defrauding the country. Given that there are a significant number of hidden disabilities can you judge without being their doctor? No you truly cannot. Yet people readily choose to do so, looking at someone for a brief moment had believing they know their entire life story.
It’s basically a system forcing such guilt upon people, that they can no longer cope and attempt, sadly too often succeed in taking their own lives,and even then are judged to be selfish, or taking the easy way out.
Disabled people live every day despite in most cases their main issue being physical, with anxiety and depression brought on by the pressure society now places upon them to be seen as being ill.
Fascism and National Socialism target the disabled early on, because it is so easy to dehumanise them to the population. Even my own adult children echo their mother’s (my very ex wife) words, and simply see me as a useless cripple that should just shuffle off and die. And they represent many people’s views upon those unable to continue to work due to health.
It’s an extremely cruel system, and identifies how much of a sham the system I paid into for several decades before I had no choice but to leave my career, the role I had worked for, tye pride I had in my role, the extremely good wages, the choices I had every day and the respect from others and more importantly my self
My career was my life, but now my life is generally looking from my living room window at greying skies.
I do have days of some small remission, but these are not often, I cannot plan around them, and often am now too nervous to embrace them. To me being disabled in the UK is an endless prison sentence with now parole.
Tag: #depression #grief #loss #anxiety #suicide #chronicillness #chronicpain #disability #TheChildWithin #kindness #cruelty #ptsd
Validity or invalidity?
Validity or invalidity?
Every day this government and its minions, the vile beaurocratic drones of the very un-civil and cruel services destroy lives a bit more, mine included. My tipping point is beyond close.
When people can no longer live their lives due to their wicked immoral behaviour, do we just lay down and die? Or will there be a point where some of us fight back in kind?
Why should these disgusting excuses for politicians, for civil servants and public employees get to dictate whose life has value and whose does not.
It’s not just them though is it? We live in a society where suddenly it is acceptable to use people’s life challenges against them. To see their illness as weakness, and their inability as laziness or even criminal.
Why should people with disability and chronic ill health feel so criminalised and completely worthless because the media, the government and sadly their peers, including so called friends and even family identify them as such?
I am a chronically ill disabled person who tries to identify as a valid human. No more and no less.
On my good days, or rather the few manageable days, not actually good, not ever pain free, not remotely easy, I may go out, try to behave and act ‘normal’, maybe even to onlookers seem like I am almost happy, possibly committing the offence of portraying someone who on these rare occasions is guilty of presenting as enjoying life.
Sadly though there are too many people who know just how ill I am, some of these people that have even very recently tried to discredit me, by reporting to officialdom that I have dared to leave my house, that I have been seen smiling, that I have interacted with a few other folk face to face, that I have gone beyond the unwritten yet imposed barrier that should be recognised as my, imposed by their judgement, prison.
These people sadly were once counted as my friends, but then when we had a disagreement, at that point it seems, they showed their true colours.
They are people who are fully aware of my daily challenges, they know beyond doubt that I live in constant pain, that I cannot focus, often even to the point of holding a conversation without losing my point, they know I have had two recent and severe heart attacks, they know I had angina before that, they know I have uncontrolled diabetes, that i try to keep some control off through my dietary restrictions but more so insulin, they have seen the effects upon me of a hypo and know this same diabetes killed my young brother. They know I have crohns disease which can cause me to soil myself, means i at times need pads but also means i am on medication that removes any immune system I may have, that i have had to subject my body to chemotherapy drugs, and live with the detrimental effects of those.
These are people who know I have limited mobility, that I am physically unable to undertake the most basic of tasks. These are folk that also know I have neuropathy – nerve damage due to my diabetes, I have fibromyalgia and even say they understand this because they too or their partners suffer from it.
They are fully aware I have PTSD from holding my dead kid brother (he was 18yrs my junior and like a son).
They say they know and supposedly share the feelings of hopelessness, loss of reason and all too often the very real wish not to be alive any longer, that the all too often killer, depression brings with it.
These are people who know a lot about me, they are fully aware that illness stole my job, career my role, they often stated (when they needed something), how they recognised how hard things are.
They said they realised how illness steals your relationships, especially with family. They know I not only lost my reason to be here, but in doing so, I lost a very well paid career, had to give up a comfortable life style to survive on virtually nothing. To have my life dictated by what those nameless office workers decide I should be allowed to do, when I am not lay immobile in my home, unable to move or even reach the toilet.
These are people, one or two, who used to even call me “brother”, as did I them, a title you will hopefully realise I see as extremely important, and not throw away, yet, decided because I saw them for who they truly are, (one a supposed ‘man’ who actually bullies women, not his own partner as far as i am aware, because he is not strong enough to face other men even ones as weak as myself, he has issues with, ) to try to get me in some form of trouble with the government and their agencies by fabrication and lies.
They believe they have a right to behave like that to anyone more vulnerable than them, because they are told every day they are, through the press, media and so many TV programmes.
These people are not one offs, they are not an isolated example, in the old days, as in prior to the 21st Century, these turncoat betrayers would be seen as the lowest of the low. They would be the ones isolated by entire communities, their behaviour would not be tolerated, they would be seen as the low life vile bullying immoral scum they are, yet now people though observing their behaviour, stand by without comment or action. It seems the morality of society has changed.
We now live in a world where the weak and vulnerable are not only easy but valid targets. Where the ill and disabled are seen as useless, or worse as frauds.
My message to people like these is please feel free to live my life, take my pain, accept that as you are, as described in your medical files frail and feeble. Please take on the role of a person without hope, of someone relying on others every day to survive.
I once spent everyday supporting people, protecting the most vulnerable, investigating the most vile, from those who would physically, emotionally or sexually abuse people, even having to interact with those who are seen by most moral folk as repugnant scum, to ensure the safety of children, of families, of women and even men by identifying their abusers and finding ways, through the courts, through law, through signposting and even through physically going, giving them the means to transport them, to assist them to escape, helping them disappear even during the dead of the night to ensure they are taken to a place of safety where their lives would be allowed to continue rather than them being murdered, raped or beaten through cultural traditions or laws.
That was my role, that along with my family was my reason, my self worth my value, not ever anything material.
Before that I drove buses, transporting people to school, work, shopping, holidays or too see friends or family.
I have dressed as a dustbin for Keep Britain Tidy, I have worked in a sweat shop in Manchester, I even started out as a care assistant at 16 looking after folk that could no longer look after themselves.
Throughout my life I have tried to matter, to make a difference. At times I hope I may have changed lives, even saved a few, whether as a social worker ,a friend or through Volunteer Riders UK. I don’t know whether I have though, because how can you measure that?
Despite trying to live a moral and kind life, to walk a path that hurts no one, I as so many others am subjected to this oppressive bullying by people who it seems feel they have a right to destroy the lives of others.
What these people need to understand though, is that no matter how much damage they do, they will never take away as much as what living with chronic illness does.
Today I was supposed to be going away with the support of my closest and best friend, Kate, who also provides me with care, compassion and focus. We both have had a challenging few years in our own ways, but she has continued to make sure I get to live a little when I can.
My anxiety, however, has teamed up with my physical issues and left me unable to go. One of the last times I went away, my brother died. The guilt I carried for not being here before it was too late is immense and consumes me every single day.
So instead of going away, I am sat writing this on my sofa, having just had a hypo because I failed to eat.
Now I haven’t written this as a woe is me. I wrote this because it is scraping the surface of my experience of life as a chronically ill man in this country, a country where all disabled people are threatened and vilified by so many , from officialdom to friends, to even family.
I can only write about my own experiences, and sadly it is one of being subjected to bullying and discrimination daily. Often from those you once trusted.
I don’t want hugs, I don’t want sympathy or favour. I want you to read this brief extract and if you too are disabled, realise you are not alone, and if you are not ill maybe consider that those of us who are,may not be the waste of air you see.
Jonesy
Rock bottom.
Trigger warning.
I have just been asked by GP to describe what rock bottom feels like.
Well right now it is wanting to not be here. Not going to do anything to make it happen but wish could stop breathing. Would truly just love not to exist.
My eyes are sore from welling up, my angina is constant, my one wish would be to have never been in this reality.
I have bizarrely right now no anxiety, because if death made an appearance I would happily look him in the sockets and talk about whatever he wanted to, as we walked into eternity.
All I have within me is pain that sends its signals across the empty void within me.
What has caused this?
Memories of holding my kid brother moments after he died,feeling the warmth of his greying skin and the sweat brought on by the resus staffs vain attempts to bring him back. Knowing I would never again hold him, that blonde haired kid I changed nappies for, I called my freddy.
From the constant pains of chronic illness, the embarrassment of crohns, the constant stress upon my body from blood sugars ranging from 2.8mml to 38mml. The shortness of breath from COPD AND asthma. The exhaustion and constant pain of fibro, the fear through anxiety, the loss of hope depression brings on but exacerbated by the realisation that I will never be the man I wanted to be, never achieve my goals, never be anything other than this shade I now am. The sudden triggers of PTSD.
From the frustration empathy brings, and the bombardment of hatred thrust into my face from people who assume to call me brother.
Most of all the cause of this hope I hold of never having to awake again is by the realisation that to my sister,my parents and worse my son and daughter all I have truly been is a weak feeble joke, an excuse of a human, a failiure as a brother, a son and a father.
As I said I am not going to take my life for I have no motivation for even that. I just scream within in the hope the void finds me soon
That’s my rock bottom.
I was then asked what I thought would make things better or help. Medication, counselling, the crisis team?
In truth……nothing
Death of my brother
Today the inept solicitor managing the case of my brothers death has informed me that because he has not done his job, because the hospital and NHS have covered up since my brothers death that the barrister, who was only provided with half the evidence due to these reasons believes there is only a 40 – 50% chance of success in the court, therefore he is dropping the case and stopping the insurance funding.
Because of the 3yr rule beyond the 28th December no case can be heard, so even with a second solicitors advice this waste of air has prevented any further action
I am therefore going to write it all. I will be including the names of the solicitor, his company, the doctors, nurses, mental health, local police and social service staff, and even friends and so called family in law, that let Robert down and were complicit in the pain he suffered and subsequent death.
I will name those who truly tried to help him to survive, his friends, the armed police team and ambulance that fought with their all to keep him alive.
I will write all I can evidence, from the original GP failings to the ward staff who did not understand aggression is a factor of high blood sugar, kidney failure and raised keytone. These staff who enabled him to walk out of the hospital despite a section, later saying they ‘lost’ the paperwork.
I have no savings, no house, no property. Nothing they can realistically sue me for.
I do have my language, intelligence and my ability to write.
I will tell my brothers story with all the names of all that led him to his end. All of them.
I have all the files to refer to.
He was failed time and time again.
Life without point
.
Waking each day from the hopes of a night’s dreams, the scars of eight hours of terror, a dark period of dark thoughts, or just with nothing, no memories, no emotions and no motivation.
This kinda sums up a stay upon this earth. This third rock at this brief point in its rotations around whatever this star is actually called by those truly in the know.
Lethargy guides the ability to prioritise, that and brain fog, the forgetting not just what to do but the how to do too.
There is no sparkle of excitement of any future one can envision. The entire meaning of being here beces so much more elusive each day
I personally tire of hate, of cruelty but mostly of apathy. I crave the ability to change this corruption dying civilisation. If you can call the human members of it civilised.
The struggle now is to find any excuse to remain, to function, to integrate. A battle physically holding the prospective tools of any planned demise, each time weighing the pro’s of being here against the balancing saving of this worlds resources by being gone.
Every day I really do feel so frustrated that up to now I have chosen to remain, promising myself tomorrow I may become more ruthless with my reckoning.
Let’s be clear, I am still here, it’s not a cry for help, it is simply my explaining how I see myself right now.
There may be new hope tomorrow, a signpost down a new path. There may not be…..
The huge grey clouds that hide all but the magnolia walls of this, my gaol along with the stark black rusting iron shackles that bind me to the breathing of what counts for air, may yet part, actually showing me streams of light sent to guide me to the promised pasture guaranteed to our children as we hold them for the first time.
The layers of dust that fill my cell like sand settling after a desert storm, undisturbed by any metaphorical movement within my dulled mind, already devoid of ant true expectation of change.
Do I feel a tear escape my painful eyes, blurring the view and in its own way giving brief distraction from the guilt held by the adult persona who betrayed the child within so many eons ago.
Do I live in hope? Does hope exist beyond the irony of the Peak village who’s name gives lie to the word?
How will tomorrow be? Will I be forced to wake once more into the landscape of some demons waiting room? To be once more tortured with thought of what may once have been but can no longer be? Or will my courage wear thin, and I use my chosen weapons to end this daily drudgery that is my meagre existence.
Foot note
This does not reflect my life all the time, it is a description of how my anxieties, my triggers, my pain, my depression manifests in my being. There are even now days even weeks that this becomes my routine, but I do escape too, and it’s those days of hope that reinforce my right to be here, to be part of this world.
The hope I have to draw upon is through the support of those closest to me, those who understand and see me.
There are no words to describe the darkest of days, this is only a prose touching upon the mixture of angst and nothingness so at odds with each other.
The brighter days this note would seem to have no bearing upon my life, but the thing about any hidden illness is we become skilled at hiding it.
All of us have our perspectives upon things like pain, upset, low mood to suicidal tendency.
Some folk may threaten to take their own lives for effect, but often even if you believe that to be the case you may not realise the turmoil that person lives with what we believe to be attention seeking behaviours are more often than not an indicator some war is being waged within that person and we may be completely oblivious to the factors they are trying to cope with.
I do at times sit with a hand clutching my insulin pens and a bottle of morphine, but each time I find a reason to bat on. Not yet ready to concede.
This is however not just my story, it is the story of tens of thousands of people in the UK living with chronic health, with grief, with poverty, with so many other triggers of that urge not to be here.
So please don’t be as quick to judge someone, stop with the collusion of press , government and TV producers who will give lie to the struggle people really do face each day.
It’s hard in a word of cruelty to give kindness and offer support. We are all guilty of ignoring people in need, but maybe the next day you ignore them will be the last.
Jonesy
#depression #grief #loss #anxiety #suicide #chronicillness #chronicpain #disability #TheChildWithin #kindness #cruelty
Jonesy, simply a human 