Now where was I before Part 3 – oh yes, the pain. After not being able to move/bake anything for four months I realised a baker’s life maybe wasn’t to be. I had the enthusiasm and love of baking but not the physical ability to do it. This happens a lot. Think I can do anything and everything because I forget about limited abilities until I try.
But I cannot stay sponging/living off the state for the rest of my life. There must be SOMETHING I can do. If I wasn’t feeling enough self-loathing as it was, here come the DWP with their hoops to jump through, interrogations masked as assessments, the real and constant fear the payments could stop (happened once), and general poo-poohing us. All disabled people should work! Should they though? Because my pain is a lot more manageable when I do the bare minimum. And I did previously pay tax for 30 years, worked every day of my life, sometimes working 2 or 3 jobs at the same time. All of them taxed. This isn’t a life choice. The Tory Gov have provided the workshy narrative for so long I believe it. Everything I do or say in public I’m thinking am I allowed to do this? Am I allowed to live?
My wonderful ex employers and their insurance company combing through seven years of my tweets to find anything they could twist into a negative, without proper context, has left its mark. I wasn’t strong enough to challenge them (pretty severe depression) or explain myself. I didn’t know what bloody day it was because of the brain damage let alone try and decipher & explain tweets I’d sent 5 years ago. Although to be fair, they hardly found anything to twist, it was mostly other people’s responses to me and how could I be responsible for that. But apparently I was responsible. I was “garnering sympathy” by tweeting about my accident and aftermath. If you’re reading this now how very fucking dare you. The anxiety you inspired was breathtaking.
Really need to get over this or I can’t move on. But when you work for someone for 8 years, weekends, on call 24/7 and are left with disabilities and brain damage caused by their not giving a shit and they blame you, its a hard pill to swallow. But swallow it I must.
Right, where was I. Oh yes, the baking was a no go. Now what.
Started blogging my accident and aftermath. Story telling was where I thought my limited talents may lie. So many people throughout my life have said “you should write a book!” and lots of classmates in English class always wanted to read my stories. (What? Its all I’ve got ha!) But have you seen the competition out there? Everyone’s a writer these days and from what I can see, unless you’re a bestseller or have 50k blog followers you’re not going to make enough to live on.
There’s also the small problem of my wrist. I can’t sit and type all day. If I could I’d be straight back to the law firm I’ve worked for (twice!). But the not remembering the previous second might be an issue…hah! Understatement. Wrist is the currently twice the size of my left and its agony from typing this. But if I could I would, I swear (copyright George Michael).
So next on the list is can I make a living from blogging. Its always seemed easy, but is it? How will I find my audience? Who even are my audience? Find out in Part 5. Hopefully!
(I’ve typed this on a page instead of a post so that should give you some idea of what I’m up against! Currently struggling to change it!)