Saturday, September 18, 2010
I get by with a little help from my friends
Sometimes words are hard to come by, stubbornly hiding in shadowed corners unwilling to show their faces. Then othertimes they fall from my fingers, in fully formed sentences tumbling over themselves in their eagerness to hit the page running.
I'm all out of spoons, overdrawn and in debt to a bank with far harsher repayment terms than any to be found on a high street. I've been here before but this time I know the warning signs. My body has had enough and unless I heed it's red bordered demands for payment it will exact it's own.
My DLA form sits across the room taunting me. It's late, of that I'm sure but with the most recent DWP ruse of sending out just the one letter and form warning people their award is due to finish and needs to be reapplied for, with the careful caveat that 'we will not contact you again' there is no date to be broken. I did not receive the DWP's only letter but fortunately knew to contact them and ask for another. How much money is saved by this trick I've no idea, but its sure to be a whole lot less than the damage it does to the lives of people dependant upon the system without the ability to navigate it.
My printer broke. I don't know what's wrong with it, but if I'd spent as much time as it did bouncing around the back of Ben's old transit van I'd refuse to ever function again too. Those forms have to be printed off and sent back this weekend though, if not there won't be enough time before my current award ends for the DWP to make a decision. My ribs were all put back into their rightful places by my physiotherapist J yesterday, but lasted only a few hours before deciding that was all too much like hard work and concertinaing straight back out again. It was all a bit too much for me to be honest.
Fortunately, unlike the last time my body was in this bad a way, I've been diagnosed with EDS long enough to know I'm not somehow magically capable of doing this to myself in the pursuit of attention and to have friends around me who find even the idea of that utterly bizarre. So here I am, on the sofa, my feet up, trying to be good and rest. GangstaGuy, despite being on carer duty for his mum and not my boyfriend has come to my rescue. Again. He's printing out my forms and driving the 40 minutes or so to bring them to me later on. With dinner if I need it and shopping so I don't have to go anywhere. And exhortations to 'at least try to rest please babe'
So I am. But I wouldn't be able to without his support and friendship which has changed my life for the better. I tell him, but writing it down means he'll always know just how much he really means to me.
I get by with a little help from my friends.