Be Careful My Friends

Wow, the things you have to go through to try to get a little help from the government. We, as people, work from early ages until we can barely walk anymore. We pay into the system for years; but when it comes time to ask for a little in return, we are like thieves, having to prove ourselves.

We have to prove we are United States Citizens. For me, they already know that I am because I am already receiving disability and had to show my card many years ago. We can’t tell how much cash or monies we have. We have to send through the mail, paper work that shows our bank account numbers. If there are any peeping mail box people out there, how much easier is their task finding out who I am , by opening up a piece of my mail.

You have to send copies or sometimes originals in the snail mail. You have to show marriage licenses, divorce decrees. I am surprised I am not asked what brand of toilet paper I purchase.

It is a difficult process. Many eyes see this paper work, and you shake in your boots, and chew on your fingernails, waiting to see if you qualify or may be one dollar over the limit. I don’t like doing this thing of asking for extra help.

I don’t like living off of government programs. They want you to be on the verge of poverty to get help, so either way, whether you get the help or not, you never gain anything above the poverty level. I tell you, getting older or being disabled or handicap, is not my favorite cup of tea, but what are people like me supposed to do?

I can’t stand well enough to work out there. My fingers tremor too much to do fine detail work. I can barely sign my name because of the tremors. I am already embarrassed that I offer very little to the family that I am residing with. These people are trying to survive in life already, before a family member moved in.

I try to provide for my own breakfasts and lunches. I keep extra food on hand in case I can’t chew or swallow, or perhaps there will be too many carbs in their supper meal. This way I can fix a can of soup or have a peanut butter sandwich.

Parkinson’s can interfere with eating and swallowing. Add a false plate on top and suddenly eating becomes more of a burden than a joy. I choke quite a bit, so always make sure I have a glass of some kind of liquid sitting beside me.

To tell you the truth, when my brother died, my life sort of went with him. Thankfully, I got Parkinson’s after he died. Thankfully, my energy levels were better than, and thankfully, I could walk much easier than now using a cane or a scooter, but I have a sadness that seems to remain since he left. I do have days where I see lots of sunshine, but I have other days where I feel like I am in the way, or being a bother. No one has told me that yet, it is just my own feelings. Life got rougher for me. Being independent is now a thing of the past, and that saddens me, as I always looked at myself as a survivor.

It is my fault I receive very little help from the government. I stayed home as a young person. I was a mommy. I already said this in another blog so I won’t repeat myself, but the pay off, is very little monies when you get old. I worked seasonal in my antique store, and so didn’t get a retirement going either.

Be careful, young people. Set some goals, get accounts opened for your old age. Don’t count on the government helping you make even near what you did when you were working. I am not angry. I can’t go back and change things, but I see the damages now and can’t do a thing about it.