One Little Tweet…..

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today,
I wish, I wish he’d go away…

When I came home last night at three,
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall,
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door…

Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn’t there,
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away…

This poem, which I always loved and thought a little funny is what I have become along with the many “irritating ‘hangers-on’, ‘scroungers’ and ‘parasites’, that should just “get cancer or something and die”. Invisible. Ghosts. On the periphery of society, annoyingly hanging on to life and hated, ignored and derided by some and ridiculed by those who allegedly lead and represent us.

One little tweet is all it took to hit home to me that, sadly, I am not able to live up to the name of this blog and rosabovitt. I have just become what I am labelled ‘them’ (spit). Initially covertly spat at just in thought. ‘The scrounger’ (spit). ‘Parasite’ (spit). Ill? (spit) Unemployed? (spit). It is no longer covert and has become part of the narrative of communicating with or more often now at us a new lower class. I see derisive laughter at besting the ignorant public, ‘the public don’t realise we gave away control. Ha ha!’. Now it has become abusive and discriminatory, not just in rhetoric but in actions and attitudes and is being thrown around in public forums like confetti.

Last night, in the early hours of the morning, I cried and couldn’t stop. I never cry. I finally fell asleep at 5:30am. I woke up at 9:30am crying and had to go and hide in the bathroom because I don’t want to worry my husband any more than he is already. My mum also lives with us and I have had to tell them both that I have a very upset stomach today so that I can excuse the amount of time I am spending in the bathroom. I just can’t stop the grief that keeps overwhelming me. The catalyst for this moment was something I came across on twitter. I often roam the internet at night reading random stuff when I can’t sleep. It helps to distract me from the aches and discomfort I seem to constantly have.

I didn’t realise and can’t come to terms with how worthless to myself and the rest of humanity I have become. I always had empathy and compassion for others and have always supported the notion that we must protect the weak and ill and assist where we can.

One of the reasons my mum came to live with us is so she wouldn’t be a burden on anyone else in later life and for me and my retired husband and her too pool our resources so that we could afford to keep a roof over all our heads and help each other with our age related and in my case unfortunate condition. My mum is 77, my husband is 71 and I am 51. I am the only person here that is in receipt of one supporting benefit (for now) and both husband and mother pay tax. I pay for my prescriptions, eye care, dental care and vat on most items out of my meagre benefit. I asked for no financial help with housing or disability issues as we are managing and didn’t want to be any more of a burden on my fellow countrymen.

The other things about me are: I grew up poor and worked from 14 years old until I couldn’t anymore; I had a stiff upper lip and was proud of that. I never cried about anything no matter how bad. I have no children but I have brothers and a sister dotted about the country with their own jobs and families. They pay tax without complaint into the pot that is bailing out the banks along with my mum and my husband.

Today I wish I could give back my benefit and leave this horrible country. But I can’t all I can do is cry without pride or worth.

I never cried when my husband had a heart attack and was in hospital for weeks. I was just so grateful he survived with the help of the NHS.

I never cried when I was diagnosed with a primary lymphedema on my upper right side.

I never cried when I had to completely change my life because of the repeated life threatening infections I kept getting.

I never cried when my specialist nurse explained what I had to do for the rest of my life to manage my condition.

I have never cried at the constant pain and discomfort my condition causes me.

I never cried when I was refused Incapacity Benefit knowing that no matter what was said I couldn’t work as no one would ever employ me.

I never cried when I was told what a hard fight it would be to appeal the decision for benefit support. I wasn’t happy when I won I was just grateful and relieved.

I never cried when they sent me for my next medical assessment despite feeling petrified at what they would rule. Once again I was grateful and relieved when they assessed me as unfit for work.

I never cried when I found out how much money (over £5,000) had been conned out of me by a bank on a paltry loan.

I never cried when they refused to pay it back.

I never cried when the consultant told me I might have kidney cancer and they were waiting for the scan results to decide if I would lose a kidney.

I never cried when the news I got was good news my kidney was fine but I had bladder cancer.

I did cry from the excruciating painful spasms after my first operation to remove the bladder tumour.

I never cried when I was assessed as fit for work without a medical assessment whilst receiving chemo therapy for cancer.

I never cried when I spoke to the DWP about the cancer treatment and was bluntly and grumpily asked “Is it terminal yet? If not you won’t get anything”.

I never cried when I had to appeal that decision whilst being treated for cancer.

I never cried when my mum had a heart attack. I just helped her to recover with the help of NHS doctors and nurses.

I never cried when my husband was diagnosed with COPD.

You see I can’t let my family see how devastating it all is.

I have never cried at any time over the past 2 years when the consultant has repeatedly told me the cancer has come back. I just join them in the joke that it’s only a clown fish and not a shark this time. Yay! I would hate to make them feel bad about it – it’s enough that I do.

I never cried, despite the pressure of having to fight for my right to compensation for being conned out of approximately £5,000 plus interest whilst dealing with the stress of fighting bladder cancer.

I never cried when I won my case in October 2013 but still didn’t get anything.

I have never cried during the past 8 months, despite the stress of trying to force the bank to follow the Ombudsman ruling and pay my refund. Still not received.

I never cried this year when I found out that whilst fighting cancer I had missed the destruction of the NHS and the welfare state and being completely shocked to discover it.

I was speechless but I never cried when I saw a back bench MP taunting the Labour Party over the destruction of the NHS and enactment of the H & S Act 2012 with ‘It’s too late we’ve done it! Ha! Ha! Ha!’ on live TV.

I almost cried when I listened to the tape of the Minister laughing about her ‘excitement’ in dealing with the ‘hire wire act’ that they have made of the NHS and doing so ‘without the public realising’ they had given control away. It was quite devastating to listen to but no I still didn’t cry.

One little tweet on twitter and my life has changed forever.

I now know that off-hand comments like “get cancer or something and die” expressed by unthinking people, in anger, spite or as a cruel joke especially on online chat media have become the crumbling ethos and arthritis ridden backbone of this country.

I am devastated. I have no state. I have no worth. I have no pride. I have a passport that says I am a British Citizen in name only. My birth certificate that says I was born here, which I keep in a little box, the country with a name I was proud of, now has no meaning for me.

The grief for the loss of my culture and nationality is overwhelming and I have no one to tell because it isn’t fair to burden my family with this.

My next cancer check up is due in July, the anniversary of the birth of the NHS. I very much doubt if I will get that appointment without complaining as, I now realise, I have become one of the ‘get cancer and die’ parasites that are so hated in this country. I really wish I could oblige but sadly I still have responsibilities, so I have to find that stiff upper lip from somewhere for my husband and my family as we are all we have to rely on in this alien state – perhaps I am actually the alien – they just have nowhere to dump me.

The silly little tweet:
Tory Press Office

The ‘silly little tweet’ that devastated and destroyed my belief in this country’s values is not of itself the cause but is just another, and for me, the final nail deliberately hammered into the coffin. It has of course now been cremated without ceremony along with the NHS, human rights, morals, care, dignity, integrity, empathy and compassion. Some faceless public servant, also living off the state, deals with all that #britishvalues rubbish in a very speedy and muscular fashion.

Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more….I have nothing to offer this country but I do have a nice plastic smile to offer my family.


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