A Gilded Cage Is Still A Cage.
0 comment Friday, July 25, 2014 |
This will be my last entry in this blog. It's run its course...and in a way so have I.
I'll just out and say it: after much soul-searching and realisation that no, the council really isn't going to help me and no, the LEA really HAS denied our son going to a special school and yes, it IS actually getting nearly impossible to walk now and, probably, ATOS is going to put me through the appeals process before I get a scrap of funding to be mobile...my son is going to live with his father in September. Possibly sooner as I don't think I can make it through summer break. Gone, the garden. Gone, the house. Gone, the child.
End. Done. Game over.
I have "been strong" - for years I fought for my son's education as ex was too busy working/shaggingwhoever to be around for it. I have hung in there and tried not to give up, tried to keep working at home even when the evidence was quite clear working was probably the last thing I should be doing. I have done everything I could, transforming a crap house into something decent and running all about trying to make various arrangements to at least attempt to have a normal life. But with all the cuts which are currently happening it's becoming more and more clear to me just how much is disappearing; transport to and from school being cut, anything to "prevent family breakdown" is now gone, refusal to move me to a more suitable house, DLA for self, potentially DLA for child....all gone. What I contributed to when I was working, thinking it would be there when I needed it, has all quietly been axed, and nothing remains.
In utter bogglement, I have discovered that my social worker seems to think the reason my son goes off in school is because I'm abusing him at home. I'm ...well, speechless. I cannot believe that the triggers which I would have thought even a blind weasel could pick up (hell, even the ex picked it up in the minutes that the examples would set sprog off and he's not that observant) are ignored, and instead there are constant questions about where child goes on weekends, about him coming into school angry (the explanation that this may be because he HATES school is ignored entirely), and querying about whether ex would take child in if need be. I have been attempting to warn ex that the questioning is obviously going in the direction of shifting all blame to us rather than to the school but I'm ignored. Actually, I'm pretty much ignored no matter what I say to anyone I find.
Is ex the best choice? No, not really. But in this case, I'd rather the devil I knew than the devil I didn't; putting my child into care means hell would have to freeze first. Nevertheless, I predict after about three months of full time childminding ex will hire a nanny because he "can't cope". Sprog will be raised by a stranger and I will only get to see him once a month as he won't transport my son down to see me. Once a month, for one day, I'll see the only thing that kept me going for seven years when everything else fell apart.
But I cannot think of what else to do - the one school we looked into as a good possibility, the transport isn't there to get him to it. And even if it was there, how do I get through the half terms? The summer breaks? More and more evidence crops up that this damn disease has put so much stress on my liver and kidneys that there may be some damage. Discussions of pads and, if need be, dialysis, are kicking around. And that's only what the most common symptoms imply: there's all the fun stuff they haven't found yet. What chances of me surviving through six weeks of Wumping whilst having to go for test after test, observation after observation? If I had a shred of help, I might have been able to...but I don't.
I am applying for sheltered housing - chances I'll get it? Slim to none, but I won't be able to afford this house anymore, and it's too large for just me. I might even need to rehome my cats, which will just kick the pieces of my already broken heart, but I'll hope and pray I don't. I've been homeless before. It isn't pretty - I don't think I could do it again and survive, but if it comes to that, I want to get my son clear, even if it's dubious it's the better choice.
For seven years I sacrificed everything I had to raise my child, and I will be left with nothing. If there's anything to "be strong" about now, it's the bloodymindedness to just keep breathing in and out. Quite honestly, there's nothing to live for. Offer me no platitudes and chin-up speeches. You have no idea how hard I've been sobbing whilst I've been typing this. My heart is shattered and I cannot even possibly conceive of it ever coming together again. And unless you have EVER been right where I am standing, do not tell me it will. Don't you fucking dare.
Yesterday on a forum I belong to more and more disabled parents made the announcement that their own lifelines had been cut and they didn't know how they were going to manage; housebound, bedbound, paralysed, didn't matter - they are not the mythical "most vulnerable" we hear about so much but have never met. One woman wrote what I can only presume was her suicide note. I'm pretty certain the organisation volunteers tried to contact her, but we received no news on whether or not she was all right. I can only assume the worst - she wasn't asking for help because she knew, just as the rest of us do, that there isn't any. She was saying goodbye to us, and to her three children.
I'm not that far gone...not yet, but I cannot deny the possibility hasn't surfaced now and again. I force them back as I know the stress is making the lupus-brain-involvement worse, but since I have yet to convince a GP I have lupus I have no drugs to treat it with. Not even sure with my dodgy system more medication is the ticket anyway. Too many questions, not enough answers, no matter the urgency.
This is not a post I want to write. This isn't the way I wanted this blog to end. But I post this as my testament to what Big Society has become, and what it costs. This is what the cuts look like - a former legal professional and athlete reduced to biting her lip so hard it bleeds so her child upstairs won't hear her sobs as she goes over the paperwork to send him to be raised by strangers. Broken and aching in every joint in a way no medication touched any longer, she plots out how to spend the rest of her days rotting away out of sight of the public eye.
This is the truth of cuts. Cuts bleed. I'm lightheaded from blood loss and begging for a transfusion - the public walks over me, mutters something about scroungers, takes a photo on their mobile phones to show their mates on Facebook...and keep going.
I've nothing further to say.