0 comment Friday, July 4, 2014 |
Welp, even though it seems the DLA letter is lagging behind the award amount (which is already in my account) I am now on the books as officially disabled and I am getting what is (to me) a shocking amount of money.
Yay. I guess.
Don't get me wrong; this is a good thing. Finally friends can park close to shop entrances without having to struggle along after a long day and better still, can get my son into shops and things without having to panic and try to keep him out of traffic. It's good that I finally will have the funding to get better mobility for myself. I am getting aids for round the house and personal care (and a shower which I can actually use; I've been unable to bathe except in the sink for a while now). It makes getting a Disabled Facilities Grant for the house easier as well. It's opening up so many doors which I have been trying to ram open with begging and a crowbar.
And yet, at the same time - well, it sucks. I'm so used to struggling desperately to do anything that devices or assistance to make life easier for me almost feels like I'm taking advantage of the system. How mental is that? There's a part of me that says to myself "I can walk though! I could technically have a bath." Yes I could - step after agonising step, bent over and trying not to cry because I know I have to keep going to get the groceries today as we're out of food. Technically, I could roll myself somehow out of the bath, hopefully not hurting myself in the process and then drag myself over on hands and knees to pull myself up by the sink . I could, and have, forced myself to cook a meal only because I realise I'd been too tired to eat the whole day.
It's never occurred to me that these things can be made easier, and that I deserve for them to be easier. That's what it's there for - to make like easier so I don't have to struggle. It feels a bit...hm. I guess I've gotten used to have to be incredibly stoic that anything else feels like it's being handed to me on a silver platter. Being so below the poverty line has just been a fact of life. It's not like I'm about to go splashing out on cell phones and Argos-bling but I will be able to buy fabric to make my own clothes - I'm down to one pair of trousers now after all. I can manage to do things without having to count every single pence and have to decide as a result I can't do it after all. There's this thing called "quality of life" I've sort of forgotten about.
And yet...even though there's people out there who think I'm getting a free ride, there's nothing free. I've just paid for this by having four hours of energy a day. I've paid for it by no longer being able to lift weights, walk for ages without feeling pain, taking my son wherever, whenever, cook all I want to, when I want to. No amount of cash is going to give me energy or the ability to walk totally without pain. It will make it bearable - and maybe even manage to give for some bright spots as well where I can even enjoy myself.
Making the most of things, making do - none of that is worth a spit if you're not able to do it with a smile, and I'll manage. So for all those people out there who work the nine-to-five as I once did; thanks. Someday, I hope I can get back to work myself and support you if you ever get where I am now.