In my case it stems from the situation we live in and also more so from the fact that I’m quite difficult to get along with.
I don’t mean to be because I love people but I have these very exacting standards which I think are quite hard to accommodate.
I’m bullshit averse and would rather have no friends than many acquaintences who toe the “lets keep it superficially tidy” line. This means I have few friends.
All the ingredients of my life which should make for a breathtaking social whirl are negated by the fact that I am fighting an unwinnable war for kindness and compassion over popularity and cynicism.
I don’t make life easy for myself and I don’t make life easy for other people and this fact has plagued my address book my whole life.
I like it simple. I like to know where I stand. I leave other people in no doubt and this unfortunately is the problem. Truth is a currency that isn’t accepted everywhere. I’m not saying that I’m right in the things I’m asking for.
Maybe disabled people should be everyone’s justifiable target. Maybe removal of benefits or enforced free labour for disabled people on benefits indefinitely is the way to go.
Maybe killing new born babies because of disability which apparently burdens society and the families they are born into is the “new abortion”. Maybe jokes about Harvey Price wanting to “fuck” his own mother are hilarious.
Maybe retard or window licker or spazz or mong is the new idiot. Maybe even though it’s replacing an abusive word with another abusive word it is reclamation. Just a word right. Come on uptight people Chill the fuck out. They never do any harm at all words- that's why most people make silent rallying speeches promoting racism and homophobia and sexism though the medium of mime.
Maybe all disabled people are scroungers and fakers and therefore all government policy branding them as the same and backed up by tabloid propaganda is ok.
Maybe I’m a self serving patronising, publicity chasing, politically correct, free speech curbing attention seeking asshole.
I dunno. Maybe. Definitely not on Thursdays though that's my spa day.
I know I’m tired. I know I miss my mum and still can’t breathe normally when I think about how I wasn’t there when she died. I know that. I know that when I went to see her afterwards I collapsed by her bed and kept saying sorry over and over again.
I know that my girls face an uncertain future . I know that they statistically run the risk of being abused and more than likely become the victims of crime because of their disability. I know they have been bullied as children and will be again as adults.
I know that this government like every government will pay lip service to the needs of disabled people whilst systematically deconstructing the structure of the system which tenuously supports them now.
I know that Society becomes more perfection focussed with every passing day and what little ground has been reclaimed for diversity is being lost as we scramble to name and blame.
I know that. I know too that today I can’t stop crying because what I’m hoping for seems further away than it has ever been.
So today is one of the days a month where I let myself acknowledge the feeling of hopelessness that has stood beside me since disability entered my life.
That hopelessness taps on my shoulder, when people driven by an odd agenda attribute motives to what I do that bear no relationship to the facts.
It also that surfaces whenever we go out with Emily and run the gauntlet of comments and stares and jeers and verbal abuse or spend time with people who ‘don’t get it’ and make helpful suggestions with little interest and the hopelessness that settles around my heart when I switch on my TV and watch smug cunts make jokes to baying crowds.
Disablism for money isn’t a noble pursuit irrespective of the costume of free speech you use to disguise it.
Loneliness is a bitch but I’m not sure I mind it all that much anymore. It gives me more time to work on my money spinning misery memoir.
Cash after all is the sole reason for disability according to David heartless fuck trumpet Cameron and his cabinet cronies.
My children according to some are my nest egg. Who’d have thought it eh?