Wheelchair

Ah, Universal Basic Income UBI. The shiny carrot dangled by politicians and dreamers alike. A magic monthly payout, no questions asked, no forms to fill, just cold, hard cash to fix all the broken bits of your life.

Sounds perfect, right?

If you’re under 30, in perfect health, and don’t look like a grizzled biker-warlock with MS parked in a wheelchair maybe. For the rest of us? It’s about as “universal” as a secret society handshake.

I’m 66, have MS, and spend most days stuck in a wheelchair. I’ve paid my dues in blood, sweat, and taxes. The NHS and DWP have taken their cut sometimes twice through endless paperwork, suspicious looks, and a roulette wheel of meds that may or may not kill me softly.

UBI? A lovely idea until it’s a letter in the post telling me I don’t qualify. Because “universal” means universal if you fit the damn model, not if you’ve got a beard, a leather cut, and a wheelchair.

My carers? They’re battling their own health while carrying me through this Kafkaesque nightmare. The system forgets we exist, then wonders why it’s failing.

Lately, I trust AI more than the DWP. At least the machine of doom doesn’t sigh or gaslight me when I ask for my meds. It malfunctions less often and never plays favorites.

UBI might be the future, but for me? It’s another cruel joke, hanging like a flickering neon sign in a fog of broken promises.

Call me when the cheque lands.

Mr Dark

                      “The views in this post are based on my personal    
                     experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

                      “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                                 By storm and silence, I survive.”

                           @goblinbloggeruk  -  sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

Hello World, Right now, I’m in the middle of a pretty severe MS flare-up, and I have to say, it’s been a tough one. My whole left side is numb, like I’ve had a stroke—or at least, that’s what it feels like. My balance is completely off, and the cognitive stuff is intense. It’s taking me forever to type this, and my head feels like a bowl of pea soup—just foggy and heavy. Lately, the front of my chest on the left side has started to feel... weird. I don’t even know how to describe it, but it’s like electrical shocks, and the nerves are on overdrive. It’s a feeling of total “headfrack” that I’m having trouble explaining, but I wanted to put it out there. Also, as if things weren't challenging enough, my wheelchair broke down, so now I’m stuck waiting on a call from the wheelchair services. Could be a long wait. In the meantime, I’m on the hunt for a cheap secondhand Q100 wheelchair. If anyone has tips or knows where to look, let me know! sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

         “The views in this post are based on my personal  
          experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”