I like to think I'm a tough old girl and few things alarm me other than the usual concerns for family or when I learn of man's inhumanity to man and his wanton selfishness. I'm no exception when I have those endless sleepless nights where the mind refuses to rest and thoughts churn round and round coming up with the worst possible scenario's to everything. There's also nights where I forcibly stay awake by choice particularly when my sight has been stable, then I'm reluctant to sleep in case my good fortune expires in the morning light. Nights like that allow me to type away till my heart is content putting all my thoughts in print. Sometimes I write stories inspired by life events or pass the hours writing endless philosophic theories each containing my imagined solutions to the vast complications of life.
I love using words and writing is a joy even though know my style of writing leaves a lot to be desired. Words are wonderful means of expression whether spoken or written and I love the concept of such a vary array of languages and expressions those fascinating dialects and slang's that only natives of an area can interpret. There's a word for everything and words allow us to express experiences, thoughts and fears, anger and pain and every other emotion. But not everyone realises spoken words aren't always necessary to communicate, sign language and dual finger spelling prove that, more astoundingly is the fact friendships and close relationships can be formed without use of spoken or written language and without the accepted sign languages either.
Years ago I met a young African family who'd moved to the area because of it's proximity to the local university where the husband was attending. The family consisted of the husband wife and three children. Both the children and their father spoke and understood English but the wife had no grasp of it at all, in a prominent English area it made her an outsider. That didn't prevent our children becoming good friends and playing together every day. The mother and I would stand outside watching the children play and exchange polite smiles. One day when I was indoors my son fell over and cut his knee, the African woman scooped him up and took him to her house sending her son to fetch me. I found her cleansing my sons knee murmuring reassurances in her own language. She never did master English and I didn't master Afrikaans yet we formed a wonderful bond and endearing friendship based on smiles frowns and gestures, we'd laugh outrageously at each other and instinctively knowing what the other meant, she'd cook for my family and me for her's, we shared some precious times together. She was a wonderful woman and taught me lessons about friendship, humanity and how communication and cultural differences don't mean barriers.
Recently sleeplessness has been quite profound and the source has everything to do with the real frightening prospect of benefit cuts. I've always rose to a challenge and come back fighting regardless to what life has thrown at me, and it's has indeed thrown a lot over time, but this time I'm starting to wonder if I have finally been beaten. Already many aspects of life are a struggle and I don't say that lightly. Disability, as every disabled person will testify, entails various additional needs and additional help requirements. But with all we're forced to deal with it comes to the point where we ask 'how much more are we expected to take?' Aren't disabilities enough, isn't dependency enough, sigma, prejudice, humiliation, inability to help ourselves and do simple things for ourselves. Pain and fear, the list goes on. Those who live with disabilities are survivors of the earth dealing with things able bodied people couldn't imagine. Sometimes I have the urge to scream at the world 'for gods sake don't increase our hardship, don't put additional financial burdens on us limiting our help even further making even the smallest thing such as a trip outside or a new disability aid an impossibility.'
Amongst the haunting thoughts that run through my mind on sleepless nights I now have the image of yet more old sick and helpless people dying in sorrow and neglect. More images of housebound disabled people unable to meet the cost of fuel bills and food bills let alone anything else. And people like me unable afford phones or internet connections that give the last remaining connections to the outside world.
Every man is born with a conscience, only the wise and good choose to heed their conscience...
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