Lest We Forget - Monsters
Monsters By Blood In The Sand
A slain monster lies in the sun. Eyes and teeth are scattered among festering wounds. The beast has seven legs and five faces. There is no giggling now, or bravado. There is only despair.
I cannot walk away, my boots wont move. I taste blood as I bite through my cheek and cigarettes are lit. Still no one speaks, our fear screams in silence and I want to run.
I pick out features of humanity. Fingers, ribs and toes. The bodies now as one, lumps of meat clinging to a spine. I walk away as the sky darkens and a naked soldier lies face down next to a road, his boots still laced.
My breathing is ragged as I look at him. I then glance back at the monster and I struggle to get air. Everywhere I look there are dead children. I close my eyes and spit out blood.
As we leave I cannot form words. I think of home and see my street littered with fallen soldiers. I look at a photo of my son, his eyes are shut and I imagine him dead and a sob escapes my lips.
Embarrassed I crawl into my hole. I watch the shells flash far away and listen to the dull thumps. I sit down and rock back and forth and I speak out loud... 'I don't want to die'
Lest We Forget
Nine nine nine, the phone rings. 'Emergency which service do you require?' a female voice, metallic uncaring. Flashes in the night sky and I am there again.
'Fucking all of them, and make sure Plod has guns. I'm going to kill someone.'
Silence, then a cough. The woman composes herself and sighs.
'Hoax calls...' I cut her off mid sentence. 'Fuck you love, fuck this country, fuck the world. Tell them to bring guns.'
The television had shown troops in yellow swarming across a desert. Hazy green images, night vision. Tracer spiralled into the sky and my mind broke. My girl was 8 months pregnant. New life grew in her belly and children were dying again, because we are at war again.
I walked away from the news, out into the world and made a phone call. I couldn't breathe and my chest pounded. Small arms cracked in the distance, in my mind; then children ran past giggling. I screamed at them.
'Stand To'
They laughed some more and I ripped off my shirt. 'Fuck off... DO IT NOW' The kids ran and I fell to my knees. I didn't know what year it was and I thumped the tarmac to prove it wasn't sand. A cigarette and a moment to reflect, time to think.
An old lady wandered over. 'Are you OK love?' I shook my head and pushed the burning cigarette into my face. 'They're all dead' I started to laugh, got up and ran. Fear filled my veins, ice water. I found a bar.
Walking in unable to think straight. I must be dreaming. Kids are dying and folk are laughing, playing pool, drinking cold beer. What year is it? I ask a man and he laughs at me, they all do.
I am semi naked, burnt and frightened. I see a mans face, tattoos and anger. Fear becomes blurred and violence erupts. The pub is now silent and I am insane with terror. 'Where's my fucking weapon?' Blank faces, blue lights.
Two female Police officers ask to speak with me outside. I nod and allow them to handcuff me. Outside men are waiting, yellow jackets and flashing lights. I'm pushed into a wall and it hurts.
In the Police Station a Sergeant asks me my name, I ask him what year it is. He tells me to stop being a prick. I ask him again. His patience is worn and he tells his men to take me to a cell.
They want to take off my boots. I see a dead boy, one boot shredded. Dirty toe nails, thick black hair and no face.
'You're not having my boots'
A fist slams into the side of my head and my wrists are twisted against the cuffs. I scream and punches rain in. I cry out as I get beaten. On the floor now, kicks and more punches. I vomit and choke. Darkness comes.
I wake up, more fear. Panic now sets in, so I bang on the door. 'Shut up you dick' unseen voices taunt me, as I plead for water and my meds. I need the pills that stop the terror. 'Help me...'
I am given a cup of water. I beg the hand delivering it to call my Doctor, call my mum. I need my pills. Laughter and words are what I get 'Not so brave now are you?' I'm told to piss in my cell, so I fill the cup.
I bang at the door, again and again. Discipline, the will to go on, I still have this. The hatch drops and the Sergeant speaks 'I'm getting bored of you sunshine' I launch the piss at him, howling a war cry.
They leave me on the floor crying, broken. More fists and boots crashed in and I am ready to surrender, all fight now gone. I go inside my mind. I pick up a severed hand, cold and stiff. I wave it at the boy with no face and dirty toe nails. The car full of dead people has a flat tyre and I laugh. Who's going to change that?
Then I scream. Over and over. Men come in and walk out and still I scream. A woman holds my hand and I scream. My Doctor sits in the cell so I scream at him. As I shuffle out I look at the Desk Sergeant. I mouth a word at him and he looks to the floor, 'Soldier'
A message to us all from Casdok
Dear Bendy GirlI recently went to a fascinating talk given by Neil Coyle Director of Policy of the Disability Alliance (DA). Their aim is to break the link between poverty and disability.
Some of the talk was around the background of where we are now and how the Dynamic Benefits led to the creation in Government of the 21st Century Welfare and their principles.
As you know the ‘potential improvements’ to our benefit system include a Universal Credit – a one size fits all model. A savings generator rather than to transform people’s lives and tackle poverty.
No mention of support, genuine job opportunities, supporting employers, sustainable or even enough work etc etc (Statistics can be found here).
We are all in this together! Disabled people did not start in an equal position. Disabled people are twice as likely to live in poverty already.
So Bendy Girl I sent Neil Coyle your The Broken of Britain (A collection of real life stories) website which he said was very useful and he would be happy to add something to the site when they launch the research on DLA. (Dont worry i will remind him!)
So if we could urge people to send you their personal stories it could help make a difference.
Neil also urged that we all of course work with local councillors and MPs to highlight the impact of the proposals.
ACT NOW has put together an Impact Assessment report regarding the proposed cuts in public spending on people with Autism.
Disability Now warns of hard times ahead.
I recently went on a one day Campaigning course – here is a brief summary of my notes which may help anyone wanting to take any of these issues further.
Good campaigns run by local people can make make a difference.
You need to ensure your aims and objectives are clear and concise.
SMART - Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Time-bound
Gather accurate information and evidence to support your case.
Examples include personal stories, questionnaires and surveys, good practice examples and relevant local or national statistics.
Timing is important, find out when to start influencing the decision makers.
Lobbying your local council. You can influence your council in a number of ways:
Contact your local Councillor. Use the Opposition. Use the Local Paper. Submit a Petition: Lobby the Leader, Executive and Cabinet, and use your local MP Locally and Nationally.
Use local media. When it works well, local media can be extremely useful in advertising your campaign to a wider audience. It can influence key decisions made by a range of people including, local councillors, MPs, business people and even help change public opinion.
It’s all in the first sentence – you need to sum up as much of your story in one sentence as possible and answer the questions: who, what, when, where, why and how. This is a great way to check if your story is news. If you can't sum it up concisely in a few lines of text, then perhaps it's not a news story.
Have a good sound bite. You can either put this in a quote in a press release. It can capture the imagination and get you more coverage and impact.
Letters to the editor. The letters to the editor pages are some of the best read pages in local papers. If you do send a letter, brief friends and colleagues so that when your letter is printed, they can respond and keep the story going. If the newspaper receives a number of letters on one issue, then it might prompt them to do a news item or a feature.
Phone-ins.These are the radio equivalent of letters to the editor.
Campaign stunts are effective way of getting media and public attention.
C and i will have to think of something! Any ideas?!
Hope all is going well Bendy Girl
Love Casdok xx
Behind The Scenes
I think I'm having a breakdown. Sounds dramatic doesn't it? To be frank, it feels rather dramatic too. I'm physically disabled and usually, aside from the psychological issues commonly found amongst those misdiagnosed as malingering attention seekers I don't usually have any significant mental health problems. But at the moment I do.I started to get more sick than usual a few weeks ago. Mid The Broken Of Britain launch I was hugely optimistic that for me personally, things were coming together on the work front and that the prospect of being able to work from home was a realistic one. A week of putting in the equivalent of full time hours, all work done either from my bed or lying on the sofa made it very obvious that it wasn't a realistic plan, although I am still hopeful about working part time from home. Fortunately I figured this out for myself before my friends had to intervene, but I've still had several stern lectures about how working from bed is not resting and one friend quite firmly informed me that if I did not stop he would be coming round and removing my laptop to enforce rest. I stopped. Vomiting and diaorrhea are difficult enough for all of us to deal with, but D&V for hours all night, every night tipped me over the edge. I could see the shock on my GP's face when I saw him last week even before he expressed his concern about the amounts of facial weakness and general rubbishness I was exhibiting. I have gastritis again, connective tissue disorders being one of the trigger causes.
Despite tripling the dose of omeprazole I take the D&V has continued. So has the excruiciating upper abdominal pain. On the upside I do now have a really pretty collection of empty Gaviscon bottles, I'm swigging it straight from the bottle like a low class alcoholic and waiting to hear back from my GP about what to do next. I've had gastritis before and it's pretty horrible, but the additional impact of stress upon it is not pretty.
It would all be much easier without having to deal with the bureaucratic nonsense hidden from healthy people. The stress of my DLA reapplication is still hanging over me, my current award expires at the end of this month. This morning I phoned the DWP to see how things were progressing, as if the award is not renewed in time all my other benefits will be dramatically reduced until it is. DWP staff get a terrible press, but apart from 2 incidents which spring to mind I've always been treated kindly and respectfully in my dealings with them. I'd particularly like to thank Gemma for taking the time to check my claim this morning and to reassure me that it is with the decision maker so likely to be decided upon before my current award ends. She was also able to reassure me that there has been no request for additional information as I provided statements from my physiotherapist, my carer and my policeman friend as well as my GP's part of the form so a decision is likely to be made without my needing a medical.
I've had to avoid the continuing news about cuts to benefits, but yesterday it finally dawned on me that the reduction in Local Housing Allowance from 50% of average area rent to 30% of average area rent will put me at higher risk for homelessness than I'd previously thought. I'm very fortunate, I am educated and privileged and have friends who will not allow me to end up on the streets. Even with that security blanket I'm terrified. My current Local Housing Allowance is paid at £90.90 per week, and leaves me with approximately £80 rent shortfall to make up each month from my other benefits. If my calculations are correct, which I cannot bear to check as I want to believe I'm wrong, then my LHA will drop to £54.30 a week when the rate is changed to 30% of local rent. That will mean my rent shortfall increases from approximately £80 per month to nearly £250 per month. My need to be wrong on this is preventing me from confirming these details and I become hysterical every time I see Grant Shapps on TV insisting that it is wrong to pay £21, 000 a year in Housing Benefit.Whether or not it is wrong to do so is being used as a smokescreen to hide the true impact of the cuts to Housing Benefit.
Over the weekend I received a letter from 'Choose and Book' reminding me to make an appointment. Unfortunately I haven't received the first letter from C&B with a password and details so entered into one of those Kafkaesque bureaucratic nonsenses when I tried to phone for an appointment this morning. I spoke to C&B who informed me that without a password they couldn't make any appointment. I begged them to find a way around this, or to ask for an appointment to be made directly through my local hospital, but neither was possible. The only way I can make an appointment is to phone my GP's practice and they will have to provide the details of the password taking up their time and mine. Then I have to phone C&B back and will be able to make an appointment. Hopefully. As last time I tried to use C&B there were no available appointments, clinics or doctors and so I just gave up and threw the referral away. I'm tempted to do the same now but have no rheumatologist and desperately need specialist input as does my GP to deal with the current health problems. So, having already phoned my GP practice this morning to try and make an appointment I will have to waste more of their time chasing up this issue. The phone call with C&B left me shaking and exhausted. Were I elderly, or perhaps not diagnosed with anything and unsure if I really needed to see a specialist I would have given up and not bothered.
I have abandoned any hope of getting an appropriate wheelchair from the NHS. It is too difficult and a battle I have no energy to fight. Fortunately a fellow blogger is kindly putting together an application to the Motability Trust to see if I can get a power wheelchair or scooter from their charity. It feels like begging, and as my considerate friend applying for me knows only too well, I would never have been able to write such an application for myself.
Things are so dire that I have found myself considering approaching Social Services to ask for a support package. I was already terrified of Social Services having personal experience that there is no situation Social Services can't make vastly worse, so it is indicative of my current desperation that I would even consider it. I lost my care package when the local authority rationed care to critical and substantial only under the previous Labour government and given that care is set to be even more tightly rationed I know that even if I could deal with the trauma and stress that goes hand in hand with being assessed by Social Services I will not qualify for any support.
Of course, an appropriate wheelchair, a care package and less hassle in aquiring support from the NHS would all combine to make it more likely I could work from home. But, in this austere climate of cuts none of those things will happen, and like many disabled people who long to work I am pushed further away from that aspiration.
If assisted suicide were available in the UK I would be seriously considering that as an option. Not because I want to die, or because my medical condition is so disabling I can't bear to live with it, neither of which could be further from the truth. But purely and simply because the stress and fear of navigating the system during the Coalition's bonfire of the benefits is more than I can bear.
NB: For health reasons I am still not able to check/respond to my email properly. Apologies for the delay in replying. If anyone wishes to reproduce this post elsewhere please feel free to do so so long as there is a proper link back to this original blog.
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