I’m struggling, I seem to be having flare up after flare up and I am very conscious of the approaching colder months and the extra pain that brings.

As I said I am struggling, I have no interest in anything and I could easily spend all day in bed. I’m tired of waking up in pain everyday and going to bed the same way, the truth is that I don’t want to be doing this and I wouldn’t think twice about ringing the bell and leaving this painful existence but my life belongs to my family and so I will keep going.

Now along comes another blow, a brown letter in the post from DWP and I didn’t really need to open it to know what it was for! It sat on my lap and it was as if I could see right through the brown envelope, I felt my self sink lower in an instant and as I tore open the envelope I saw those three letters P i P.


Yes my indefinite award for DLA now means nothing, the government have done to me what they are doing to all the other disabled people who felt secure knowing that their DLA was sorted and they would never have to worry about it again.

What people don’t realise is that these payments don’t pay for luxuries, these payments just allow to survive day to day with a disability. A lot of people use their payments for a car on the motability scheme and when for some twisted awful reason they fail to get PiP, they lose that car and become housebound again, its not easy for them to use public transport and if it was there certainly isn’t a bus stop or train station on the doorstep of every disabled person.
Others like me use those payments for other costs. We use the money to top up our rent and no its not because we live in a luxury property, I need a bungalow and the rent on a bungalow where we live is above what the governments housing benefit cap is, I wish it was a luxury property but we share the property with a colony of mould. This means that if I don’t get PiP, we will be homeless.

I do my best to try and keep my pain levels low, I avoid stress and I avoid basically doing anything, I do nothing day in and day out. This brown letter has pushed my mood even lower than it was and so my pain levels then creep up even further.

I don’t care that David Cameron bends the rules for his super rich friends, I don’t care that David Cameron smoked weed when he was younger and I certainly don’t care that his chums persuaded him to shove his penis inside a dead pig.
I care that this government is making life even harder than it already is for disabled people, I care that a man who once cared for a disabled child has forgotten what a strain that can be and I care that the people of this country voted him and his buddies into power.

By Zechariah Richardson

Over 50, disabled, husband, father and gramps who reviews products and writes blog posts about his life, beekeeping, gardening and whatever pops into his brain!

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