,
6 tweets,
2 min read
Read on Twitter
I want to write a bit about poverty, and what it does to your brain. I couldn't do my #SocialistSunday lists yesterday, because I couldn't think further than hunger, and the worry of not having a penny in the bank. My mind was full of how to feed the cat, and my daughter.
For the last 10 days or so, the only thought on my mind has been "Can we make it to next Monday? Will the electricity last? Will a bill go out when I'm overdrawn and wipe out next week's money as well?" I've been tired and stressed, and so tired of being stressed.
It's been the last thought on my mind at night, and the first thought that greets me in the morning. I've snapped at my daughter, and the days have dragged by like a punishment. When I got the all-clear from my cancer, I felt like every day was a bright and shining gift;
I promised myself I'd treat every day as exactly that, something wonderful and unexpected, because I really thought I was going to die. It breaks my heart that now I have to wish my days away, that they're full only of struggle and worry and fear. I'm alive but it's not a life.
And it makes me fucking angry, when I'm not so sad I can hardly bear to draw breath. I can't see any point in treating disabled people like this, other than frankly wanting rid of us. I think my government wants me to die, and that makes me angry and afraid.
I don't have any conclusion, because I can't see a way out. I hope for a General Election, but that seems so far away and the day to day grind is so ehausting and relentless. I'm so fucking tired, my strength has been worn down and worn out; there's no light anywhere.
