Writers Block….

I’ve been a blogger for a good few years now, I don’t know exactly how it started, before I became a blogger, I thought it was a ridiculous waste of time, I didn’t know why anybody would  want to read my ramblings or why I would want to make reference to a fleeting thought in the future.  I never kept a diary as a teen, purely for the same reasons… Looking back now, that was a big mistake, my blog continues to prove popular and heaven knows how my readers would act to a puberty struck, love lorn disabled girl who’s trying to work out who the hell she is.

These days as a young woman, I use blogging as a form of therapy, I suppose in a world were sometimes it can be hard for me, even as gobby as I am, to make people take me seriously.  Blogging allows me to tell you how I’m feeling without interruption or deviation, and lets me get whatever it is that’s bothering me off my chest. My Blog doesn’t mind me having an off day, I don’t have to fake a smile when things are hard.  I’m honest, sometimes too honest.

My blogs aren’t meant to be an educational feature in your life. I don’t write fact, I state opinion, my opinion, and sometimes the masses believe I am wrong other times the comments of support are overwhelming, it’s a comfort to know that someone, somewhere is listening. I don’t want to change your life, just talk about mine.

I wouldn’t say I am an ambassador for disability, I hate it. Really most of my blogs are about it but doesn’t mean it defines me.  I have never suffered from writers block because I don’t have to think about what I’m saying when I blog.

That was until this week, when the ability to write concisely and coherently left me.

It wasn’t for a blog, it was for a document relating to my job, I had to, in the first instance recount how my Work place is focussed on providing Disabled People in the community with training and work opportunities.  This wasn’t a problem, and I confidently set out with my well rehearsed shpeel

Then came the why we do it bit.  Why do we do what we do? This was trickier than the first bit.  I didn’t want to make it sound like I was a sad case, that this job was given to me through pity or that my other disabled colleagues were employed through pity.  We are not. I know this, but everything I said, drafted, typed out sounded like the opening piece to camera for Children in Need.

I don’t want anybody thinking that a disabled girl who doesn’t make any sense has written this, I want them to think the girl who has written this is full of drive and passion and doesn’t feel an ounce of patronizing sympathy for the fellow work force.

And then there was my testimonial, how have I grown as a person since taking the job on, what has my sole input done to improve the business and what has this employment done for me personally.  By now the writers block had gotten a strangle hold and was starving my brain of any inspiring thought.

As a result, what kept being written and deleted was a load of nonsensical horse shit, like a deeply love sick girl, who is faced with a break up from her one true love, saying anything, writing anything that would be convincing enough to make you believe it was all going to be fine.

I was frustrated, It never happens when I blog, and that compared to this, was unimportant drivel, If I stopped blogging tomorrow, you wouldn’t miss it. Or if you would you’d soon get over it, but this, this was important. So why was it so hard to find the words?

Maybe it’s because I’m to be the ‘face’ of my work and the poster girl for all our objectives. The words that I write are something that I will be judged on, they’re goig to read that before they meet me, and if there is one inkling that I feel sorry for myself or the way my life has panned out, it some how gives clients, suppliers and customers the approval to feel sorry for me too.

For me, my work is a constant hurdle for me to aim at shooting over, I need to prove to everyone that I haven’t been employed through pit but because I am bloody good at what I do, with or without the chair.

I crumbled under the pressure, never have my words been so important and I felt like I was failing.

 

Maybe I should have just directed them to my blog!

For Sam…

Would you consider yourself you be a kind person?  I’m a big believer in being nice, maybe it’s because I’ve grown up knowing that in today’s society spite lives not to far under the skin of the human condition.

Difference breeds fear and fear is an uncertainty.  Many are uncertain of how to act, help or behave around difference, and this uncertainty is responsible for ignorance and a culture of unkindness, of course, I understand and realize that this unkindness, although it exists, is rare.

It’s still nice when people, do the little thing to make sure, I’m alright.  Sometimes they’re just doing the job they’re paid for but yet they do it with a smile, and don’t make me feel like I’m a pain in the arse, most of the time I do, so it’s nice to think that sometimes people understand no matter how fleeting the level assistance is.

Back in February I went to see, The Darkness a band who I love, I’d spent the whole winter unable to get out due to weather and the Darkness Ticket I had was a reminder I was in for a good time.

February came and we arrived at the venue, I like gigging because Disabled People use different entrances at smaller venues, and in my head I like to pretend I am a megastar.. We queued at the back door, the man I had a crush on at the time was there too and had blanked me, I was doing my best to act cool…

After a while the door opened, and this man dressed as a security guard said ‘Are you cold? Come in…’ He held the door open as I wheeled through.

‘Hello’ He said ‘Are you Sisters?’ he said looking at my Mum whilst giving her a wink….

‘Come on, Lets get you in there’ he said.  We followed him and his colleague through the throng of the crowd… batting away anyone who stood in the way, making sure we got in the lift.

He asked me about The Darkness, and spoke to me directly instead of my Mum and Sister.. Making jokes about the ridiculous Health and Safety that sits hand in hand with a disabled person.

‘If there is a fire, you know already this lift will not work.’ We will get you out first but it may not be dignified but you will be fine’ he stated.

He made sure we could see and said if I had any problems, I was to direct it to him. He’d sort it.

In the brief respite between the support act and the main event, the security guard came back, and asked if I was OK, if I could see and if I needed a pint from the bar, I’m fine thanks, I replied.

‘Nobody’s giving you problems?  He said,

‘No’ I said… I had an inkling this was leading to a pity speech.. And braced myself. ‘I’ve managed to keep the odd balls away’ I continued….

‘Oh I know what you mean, I have struggled with my heath’ he said ‘I won’t go into what but people who know wrap me in cotton wool, I have to retire from this job I don’t want to… I love it. I know what its like.’ he said.

I nodded, not knowing quite what to say.. Was this man trying to empathise, he looked the picture of health and I didn’t really ask for his life story..

‘Have a nice evening’ he concluded. ‘Come back soon…’

After the gig, He helped me down the stairs we explained pleasantries and then he was gone.

To you, it may seem like that level of help was nothing, part of the job… nothing special, you’re probably thinking why have you made me read this.. this is not a blogging highlight.

Having someone on hand to help out even with the little things, can be a great help, it means that just for a while I don’t have to worry about the boring disability related stuff and get on with the enjoyment of a gig.

He probably doesn’t remember me, I didn’t know his name but, his kindness that night, will be something I remember for a long time. It’s sounds silly, doesn’t it?

Fast forward to May 2013. I get up on a Monday Morning, convinced it was still Sunday and turned the news on.

There was story about a man from Wolverhampton. I was convinced I I recognized his face when all of a sudden I remembered he was the lovely steward who made sure I could see everything when I went to see The Darkness in February.

I was so sad to hear he’s now got stomach cancer and only months to live. He was repeating the words he said to me all those months ago, as he was recounting the ordeal of telling his friends and family about what his final wishes were to be upon his death.

I felt so sad and suddenly I felt guilty for thinking he was insincere and patronising.

There’s a reason I always try and be nice, You never quite know how much your kindness will effect others, it doesn’t matter how low and sad I feel about my life, If I’m nice I might be able to give some body that feeling of happiness when kindness strikes.

I got to find out the name of the man that helped me out at The Darkness Gig.  His name was Sam.  I also learnt that today was his Birthday, and his terminal tumours have shrunk slightly.

I smiled as I swallowed the hard lump that was in my throat. This news has stuck with me all day.

Thanks Sam, if more folk were like you in this world… The world would be a better place…

 

KINDNESS IS MAGIC

The Big Reunion…..

Today I got an invite to revisit my past.

 

I’m talking about a School Reunion.  When you leave School, that last day is filled with good wishes for the future and promises that you will keep in touch with the people who in my case you’ve known for a lifetime…. You feel nervous, because you’re free, knowing that in a few short hours, life will begin. Proper.

 

Life moves fast, you make new pals find your path in life and more often than not, the friends you have fade just like the memories of your School Days.

 

Personally for me, the fact that my School Chums and I aren’t as close as we once were is the biggest regret. There is only 7 of us out of my School friends who are still alive, the rest have sadly past away.

 

We do School Reunions, they are otherwise known as wakes.  Every time we see the last of the remaining gang at a close friends funeral, we promise to make more of an effort.  Of course these are empty promises and we all find ourselves at the next persons funeral, promising the same damn thing in a viscous circle fuelled by grief.

 

My memories of School, are painful to revisit.  I realised over the years that my Mum and Dad were right, School was the best days of my life, but most of my friends I shared my life with, and who became like family are mere ghosts.  I wish with all my heart that I could tell my friends about my life without them now, I’d ask for advice like I used to, I can only hope I’ve done them proud.

 

The people who are left, I don’t really know.  There are a few that, I used to hang out with, one who was obsessed with me and another who told everybody I was dead. (I’m not) So the prospect of going fills me with dread.

 

People will ask questions, and we will all be in competition, Are you married?  Kids?  Well paid job? Everybody expected great things from Lucy Wood and the reality is that the glory days didn’t last. What an anti climax.

 

The news of a reunion made the pangs of missing my friends that much stronger than normal, I will not be able to shake the feeling of there’s something missing from my life.

 

I’ll be going to the reunion, not because I want to but because I don’t want to live with anymore regrets, these people may be burkes, but we are all more than School Mates we are a family

 

People like us we’ve gotta stick together, Keep our head up, because we know nothing lasts forever…

 

So Here’s to the damned, to the lost and forgotten

Wish you were here

 x

Doin’ it for the ‘rents

I’ve never been molly codelled by my Parents, I have never been treated any differently to my younger Sister outside of the house I may be seen as different, or a bit special, but in this house, this family I’m no different at all.

 

My Parents laugh in the face of people, who whole heartily belive I am a Saint, that I couldn’t possibly be capable of thinking about anything naught never mind acting up, because I can, and let me tell you punishment was far worse than your average grounding, that most of my other able bodied teenage pals received because when I was naughty, I was subjected to four day guilt trips, that consisted of the silent treatment.  Utter hell for a chatterbox like me.

 

It worked though. I learnt my lesson.

 

I have always tried to make my Parents and Family proud, for me I feel that responsibility more than most because you see, this life isn’t the life the Parents wanted for me.  They never dreamed that I’d face the difficulties I do.   We learnt from an early age that we would have to celebrate the small victories just as much if not more than ever.

 

I’ve recently had a wet room and new Bedroom installed into my house, these are just the start of vast improvements to our house, which will mean I become more independent, this has already improved my ability ten fold and every time I appear from the shower unaided there’s a cry of ‘Well done Darling’.  I can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous.

 

It isn’t these tasks where I feel the pressure of Pride though, It’s the standard milestones where I get nervous,  because I’m not your standard offspring.

 

At the age of 16 I gained GCSEs, I went to School with others who were like me, we were supported and encouraged at every turn, I knew I could do it.  Then came college, again, with support I achieved more than was ever imagined and passed with the eqivelent of 3 A levels at B Grade.

 

Then came Uni… and added pressure, the First of the Wood clan to attend Uni and I hated it, bullied, ridiculed and mocked by a small minority but stuck in there not for me but for my parents. Determined to let them see me in that gown. And they did.

 

Then came the BBC years. Amazing for all of us, when I got the news the job was mine my Dad cried, I hadn’t seen my Dad cry since the Dog died one Christmas Eve. Unfortunately the joyous BBC period of my life wasn’t to last, and I have if I’m being brutally honest found myself struggling to get back into my stride. I want to make my Mum and Dad proud, showing that despite everything, I’m doing OK.

 

My Sister is a Special Constable for the Police, has a boyfriend and works hard.  And then there’s me, with a modest job that doesn’t pay much, working hard, no boyfriend and no sodding sight of one.  It’s sometimes hard for me to see what on earth anybody would be proud of, not now anyway.

 

I know that my Parents are proud of me, of course they are. It makes me cry when they say they are, because secretly I feel like a massive let down for them from the word go…

Qualified to Roll with it….

I am by definition Disabled.

I am qualified, in a subject that isn’t nationally recognised, nor did I want to be qualified in it, I haven’t had to sit an exam.  There is no piece of paper. I went to the University of Life and I have a Masters Degree in Disability.  It is a degree that instead of opening door often closes a few.  There are 5 things you need when you are studying for a Blue Badge Degree.

I have honed a skill to be patient, when you rely on others to assist you in the tasks that you take for granted, Patients is a skill you learn quickly and fast. It will take you twice sometime three times as long to make a cup of tea, get dressed and go out but it’s something you must learn to accept.  We are not Superhuman we are a faulty version of a regular human, we need help. Without patience we are screwed.

I am fully skilled in ignoring hatred, this took me a while to master, and I’m not, by any stretch trying to tell you that I am still always successful at it, but I do laugh in the face of hatred. There will always be a moron in your life who hates you with every fibre of their being, whether your disabled or not this will happen.  I am qualified in not giving a shit when others rise to my defence.

I have learnt that Disabled People, or me at least need a sense of humour. For me laughing at this less than idyllic life, helps me. Yes I am self deprecating, I call myself the most hideous names.  I do it to cope. If I couldn’t find something about this situation to laugh at, I would die.  After all, It’s never gonna get any better. This is my USP. Smile when inside it hurts. Nobody wants to here me moaning.  Suck it up.  It’s a storm you gotta dance through.

Proving people wrong, is something I love, if anything this  is what qualifies me to defy critics, The greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say I cannot do.  It takes a strong stomach, a bullet proof heart and a cast iron spirit to be Disabled, it’s not there in every Disabled person, and neither is it constantly present with those of us who are accepting of this lifestyle.

I’m qualified to be a human, I have seen, experienced and have yet to face some less than pleasant, degrading, and humiliating things.

But I would rather be here than not.

Beautiful

It doesn’t take much to knock my confidence in life, You’ll never find me wanting to blow my own trumpet and I never fish for a compliment.  Why would you want to?  I really do struggle with seeing positives in myself.

I Don’t let others cotton on, outwardly I look and sound confidence and not many people realise the constant battle I have in my head most days, the voice of doubt is always there, telling me I’m shit, I’m useless, and very very ugly.  Somedays its easy to blank it out, and on others it is deafening.

Pay me a complement and I will graciously, accept, whilst not really believing you.  I put this down to years of watching the telly, force fed images of perfection, and then faced with a harsh reality of my life with a disability.

These people you see on TV are not only, pleasing on the eye, but they can walk. Even if I was skinny I’d never be averagely pretty. I’m never going to be what most people like.

I’ve gotten better, It got to a stage where if I didn’t at least try and be a little more positive about my apprance. It would have harmed my outlook on life and thus hampering me even further than I was.

I’ve recently been subject to comments about my apprance online, these aren’t the adoring type of comment that most girls revel in but they where directly targeted at me, and where full of the vile negativity that I try so hard to block out.

Apparently, I have enough energy in my resting face to scare small children and people of a weak stomach, whilst my hair is horrible and far to bright.

I brushed these, comments that followed off, but the reality of it is, is that these flippant comments hurt me more than you will ever know.  Boom. Within seconds the little confidence I had built over the months crumbled.

I wasn’t raging with anger, nor was I hurt, nor was I balling my eyes out. Instead the voice that dispises me so was rejoicing.  So loud it was like the Lucy Wood is a Fat Bitch could have been on my drive way for all I cared, the message was clear, I was, as suspected ugly and should from now on wear a bag on my head at all times.

In a way, I feel sorry for this individual who feels the need to inflict the negativity they are living with everyday.  It’s not good, and negativity will poision the nicest of souls.  It is these people I pity for they are the ones who know pure ugliness. I may not be a looker. But I am pride myself on a beautiful soul.

Nice try… I maybe down but, I’m on my way back.. Just wait and see

Legacy of a gobby cow

This week Baroness Thatcher, Great Britain’s most formidable Prime Minister Died following a Stroke aged 87. Some believe she is the devil incarnate, while others hold her as a true Briton. 

 

I have to admit, I hadn’t and still don’t have a strong opion of Margaret Thatcher, I was only a baby when she came to power and I was still unaware of politics when she left office in 1990.  As a woman, I admired her determination, and her self belief. It’s something I wish I had, regardless of the political side of things she had a strong mind. Anti Thatcher supporters, shall we call them haven’t wasted anytime, tell us how illated they are at her demise and the press, have had to cover this story carefully, I must have heard the phrase ‘Marmite Prime Minister’ over 50 times this week.

 

It got me thinking, about how people will feel when my time comes to depart this Earth. After all, there is a small handful of people that believe that Disabled People should be left to rot, wither and die. I doubt that I will ever be as Thatcher, but I wonder if that small minority will be satisfied that another ‘drain on the state’ is no longer here.

 

Morbid thought, but it was a fleeting one.  But I don’t want this to be a post about politics.

 

More about impact.

 

I wonder if I’ll have made an impact on this little earth, I sometimes wonder what my obituary will read, or what people will say upon my death. You see there are times, and again these are fleeting and rare, when I feel utterly useless, helpless to those in need and guilty for needing so much help myself.

 

What would the world be like if I wasn’t here? would people miss me? Maybe they’d be sad for a bit and then gradually, people will forget. I know this to be true, because it happened when my Best Friend died.

 

When it happened, everybody was grief stricken, tip toeing around the issue. The Funeral happened and I, still to this day miss my best friend. Always will do, slowly but surely people forgot.  They forgot about my lovely friend. And now only a handful keep his memory alive, The ones who cared.

 

I hate being called an inspiration; many people tell me I am, I don’t see it. I just live life a bit different. I have faults and floors and I don’t really do anything of great world changing consequence. I wish I did. But I don’t… Sorry to disappoint

 

I don’t want to be remembered in death as Lucy Wood, the one in the Wheelchair, just like I don’t want to be referred to it in the living sense. There is far more to me than that and I am not defined by my chair.

To be honest with you, I don’t care if you speak ill of me when I’m dead at least you have an opinion at least I wasn’t a waste on this earth. 

As Winston Churchill once said:

You have enemies?  Good.  It means you stood up for something once in your  life.

 I’m not going to spend my life living like a saint, in the hope I have a legacy.  you don’t need a legacy to make people talk about you long after your gone, but even so,  I hope you keep talking about me. 

Frustration

I’m having a battle of wills at the moment.  Struggling to keep a smile on my face it would seem, I’m still remaining positive, but an increased sense of frustration is creeping in. 

I seem to be going through a stage where the simple tasks in life are difficult, things I do everyday are difficult, My motto of ‘If at first you, don’t succeed, try and try again. has turned into a more… I can’t do it. Why can’t I do it, I hate my disability, style rant. 

I have written it down, blogging helps to clear my mind. Bear with me… 

You see, my problem is this. Why can’t my legs and brain be on the same page?  Sometimes I wish my brain wasn’t as optimistically, if I hadn’t got a mindset that was so simlar to that of an able bodied person, we’d be fine, I wouldn’t rush into things thinking it’d all be fine and wouldn’t be left feeling like a idiot, when I can’t do it. 

And then I get frustrated at letting the fact that my legs are useless upset me, lets face it this isn’t a new revelation and nothings ever going to change, I need to get a grip, instead of crying or getting angry and looking like an idiot, because I fell over, or cos you can’t do a zip!  

I’ve never been very good at asking for help, when I’ve told people I can do it, it’s almost like forfilling a commitment, If I think I can do a task that’ll be of help to you. I’ll help, I won’t ever tell you I tried it and actually discovered I can’t. Instead, I’ll struggle on because I feel like I will have let you down, and letting you down, is to me admitting I’m useless. and thus reinforcing a stereotype. I’m my own worst enemy.

I shouldn’t get so wound up, I’m incredbly lucky to still be able to do what I can, but for the love of God I wish my sorry excuse for a body would give me a break and let me have a little slack, I’m not asking to walk. just make it easy on me, just for a while, what did I do so wrong, that it meant things are difficult. 

It’s days like this, I wish I could run off, away from all the barriers and start again.. But I can’t… I just gotta ride it out…. 

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; 

courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; 
Enjoying one moment at a time; 
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace.

 

 

Don’t believe your TV set…

I love the Media, for me the arts is the best way to educate, entertain and inform, watching a good film, comedy, drama or documentary and it’ll stay in your conscious forever more. Change perception and help the viewers discover a point of view that they never knew existed.

Of course like everything, there are to sides to every beast and a biased view of a topic can leave a stain on the brain, twisting the facts, getting them wrong, and make the subject appear to be more attractive than it is, in my eyes a dangerous game to play.  Too many young people want to be famous for nothing; they see the perks of fame and are blinkered to the underbelly, that’s waiting for them to slip up.

There are subjects that have historically been given a rough ride in the Media, Disability is one of these.  Time and time again Disabled People have been made to be the villains in your favourite movies, the loners in life on the outside looking in and the freaks in documentaries.

As a disabled person, I lost count of the amount of times I have been left frustrated at the representation of Disabled People within media.  My dissertation for Uni was on the very subject, and it’s fair to say that I didn’t suffer from writers block, or a bout of procrastination.

The world’s attitude to Disabled People is slowly changing more people are excepting of difference these days. There are always going to be a small pocket of resistance toward the changing face of diversity but on the whole it’s better.  If anything is hampering this progress it’s the media.

I stopped watching anything to do with disability, when it is featured, we’re made out to be a freak.  It’s very much of the ‘come and have a good hard stare at these poor buggers’ mentality.  Either that or ‘Yes, There’s a recession on, but at least your not this’ pity drive. I have never wanted your pity, sympathy or your charity.  My disability doesn’t make me brave, courageous or sad and it certainly doesn’t make me a freak, this type of press attention, is not helpful, not wanted and not needed.

Able bodied people start to belive the press and it leaves me frustrated. That nobody ever questions if the rep we get is true.. Most of the time it isn’t!   Not many people have a disabled people on hand to check factual accuracy. They take it as verbatim.  People for example are now more likely than ever to believe I am Undateable

Earlier this week BBC Three aired ‘A Special Kind of Mum’ a documentary that followed two Mums who happened to Mothers.  I saw one of them interviewed on BBC Breakfast and she seemed to have a healthy attitude to life, despite her problems this wasn’t stopping her, she was in no way a person who wanted pity. She was a Mum first and foremost everything else was secondary.  I was nervous that she’d have been made to seem like we should pity her and thus encouraging the same treatment for everyone else.

I decided to watch it and promised myself that if it wound me up, I’d turn it off and let it go…

What I watched, was the most positive piece of TV I’d seen in years, infact I think I’d only ever seen one other documentary, Don’t Drop the Baby, that followed Disabled Comedian Laurence Clark as his Partner and him had a baby that was as positive.

A Special Kind of Mum, didn’t use Snow Patrol, to emote the feeling of sadness, nor did it make it seem like we’re always happy about the situation we are in, the balance was perfect in my opinion.

It showed that normality isn’t so far fetched, that we are able to live an average life even when the odds are stacked against us. We don’t go round saying we are brave, there’s far more important things to be concerned with.

The programme finished and instead of an angry rant before bed, I was a lot more positive.  Dear I say it, I felt proud of my crippled limbs, I maybe a bit broken, things aren’t always easy, but bloody hell, I’m determined.  The show made me want to keep trying, and restored my faith that one day… just one day, the world won’t pity us as much.

It’s true what they say don’t believe everything the TV tells you.. It’ll make you believe it’s your friend and then mock you when times get rough.

You can watch a Specail Kind of Mum on Iplayer here  http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b01rlxk2/A_Special_Kind_of_Mum/

My one wish…

According to sources, today is National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day. I was born 8 weeks prematurely and was diagnosed with Spastic Diaplegia Cerebral Palsy or CP short.

Encyclopaedias explain CP as…

Cerebral palsy (CP): is a group of non-progressive, non-contagious motor conditions that cause physical disability in human development, chiefly in the various areas of body movement.

Talking about disability always encourages the terms ‘brave’, ‘inspiring’ and people trying to tell me ‘I’m a fighter’. Before we start, with the slow mo montages accompanied by Adele, Snow Patrol or Cold Play, I want to dispel the myth that the world I live is any less unfulfilled than that of my able bodied counter parts.

Yeah, OK so somedays are incredibly tough, some days everything in my crippled body hurts and some days you do find yourself fighting to keep a smile on your face. These days are rare and fleeting, It could be easy for me to wollow and encourage symapathy from others, but it wouldn’t do me any good.

Cerebal Palsy is a huge beast, and it’s effects aren’t the same for every single person, some have a milder form than I, infact it’s on my down days that I envy these people, there type of CP means that there right hands a bit wonky, but they can walk. It sometimes is difficult to see how these people are even in my boat in life.

And then there’s others. Who are worse than me, who cannot walk, but in addition cannot feed themselves, for who communication is unbelievably hard and who can’t do half of the stuff I am able to do. It’s these people, who keep me going when life gets tough. My life is not that tough. If they’re managing then what the hell am I moaning for?

For me it’s not focusing on the stuff I can’t do that gets me so down from time to time, but the pure frustration at times. I don’t like things hampering me and unfortunately Cerebral Palsy and being an impatient sod have never sat comfortably.

The fact that, I can’t tie shoe laces, have to have help with my personal care, that I cant do Maths, Can’t sit up straight because my balance is rubbish and the fact that all these problems would be solved if my CP wasn’t mine, would frustrate me if I dwelled on it. So I don’t ever, let myself mope.

My college lecturer once described my frustrations as ‘ There’s an invisible Lucy who stands next to you, when your slowed down she gets mad and starts rowing with you’ She had it bang on.

I could sit here and write for 4 more pages about what I wish for myself, but there’s no point wish for what I want, when what I want will never be possible, at least not in my life time.

If I could ask for one thing this National CP Day, it would be to not pity, don’t feel sad, treat me as your equal – Maybe then we wouldn’t need an awareness day at all?