That title could just be a new personal motto for me after this weekend. I’ve spent the last two days at a local music festival, and as much as I enjoyed the music and the banter with family and friends, I found that one bugbear made itself particularly known – and somewhat tarnished the whole experience. Other than the fact that we had to camp in a tent, leading to very cold arms at night even in the sleeping bag, there were obviously an awful lot of people there. For someone in my position, this causes a problem that is initially minor, but which subsequently leads to a major loss of marbles.

The regular festival-goer will find that the relentless crowds are easily navigated, and that even a small gap can be slipped through relatively easily with very little risk of bodily contact. On the other hand, the disabled, wheelchair-bound festival-goer (and there were many) needs a gap at least twice as big. Politeness and care go a long way when reaching any destination on a festival site, and the vast majority of people are all too happy to help clear a path – I thank them for this. Some people make this approach very hard to maintain after an hour or so, particularly when they might have had a drink or two. In such a case, it might take a little more than a “please” and “thank you” to get through. When this starts to happen more frequently as the day goes on, it starts to drain you. You get more and more frustrated, as well as tired, because you’re constantly thinking about trying not to hit or obstruct anybody as you go on your way as inconspicuously as possible. As the agitation builds, so does your general attitude at that particular moment. You become grumpy – I saw someone I knew last night, but my greeting wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as it could’ve been because of the effort I was having to put into simply getting around. That made me feel bad, and slightly angry because this happens to me in any public situation where throngs of people are involved.

It might just be one of the worst things about being confined to a wheelchair, now that I think about it. Once I recognised just how much it affected my mood last night, I had some trouble properly enjoying the later acts. I was riled slightly more by those bumping into and brushing carelessly past my chair, especially seeing as I’d taken so much more care around them. Whilst I realise this might sound self-centred, there are occasions when these opinions are difficult to restrain, and I apologise – but maybe one day I should give someone a taste of their own medicine. Maybe when I’m in a crowd at some point in the future I should go for the gap, regardless of its size – and they can see how they like being “brushed past”.

Mason

Today I received some news that was both surprising and shocking. I won’t go into detail, but this happened in the middle of a fairly busy restaurant just as my food touched down on the table. This meal, delicious though it was, turned out to be one that I finished quicker than I would have liked, thanks to the fact that I began shaking uncontrollably as soon as said news reached my ear.

No matter how hard I tried, I just could not get through a single mouthful of spaghetti carbonara without it sliding this way and that on my fork, and dangling helplessly before my waiting mouth. To say that I was also speechless would be the understatement of the century – I still can’t put into any real words what my thoughts and feelings were, because they were all in there somewhere. I told my friend that an apt visual representation of my mind at that moment would be the spaghetti left uneaten on my plate. I would have thought that, even by this early stage in my life, I’d experienced every emotion, negative thought or state of confusion. Maybe I have, but at that moment they were all packed together so tightly that I just couldn’t distinguish them from one another. The magnitude of the impact the news had on me taught me something.

I could be stating the obvious here, but it seems to me that even if you are the most learned human being on the face of this Earth, there’ll always be something hiding in the catacombs of life that could scare you in a way you never thought possible. Regardless of any effort, you could find yourself completely unable to explain what you are feeling because your brain is totally stumped. And that’s OK, because it goes without saying that sometimes you need to keep it all to yourself in order to process it. We should all know that. On other occasions, however, bottling it up most certainly isn’t the best option at all, and I’ve found that out myself. Had I found out this news alone, it would have knocked me for six and left me potentially very upset, but I’m thankful I had the “bubble” setting of the restaurant – alongside my friend – to make the blow softer. I just have to make sure I know how to deal with any future serious panic situations, because if a reasonably-priced Italian meal couldn’t help me, I’ll have to find something else that will – a personal safeguard from within to untangle the bacon-laced pasta of life.

Mason

Tomorrow is my 18th birthday, and I’ve just had a slightly tense discussion with my Mum and my brother about what we should do for the day. Eventually, we decided that – first of all – we’d go to the cinema. Even though it’s not his birthday tomorrow, my brother seemed to be initially reluctant to follow this idea. He essentially pointed out that, because I’d be turning 18, I should probably be doing something more worthy, and I assume that somewhere in his mind were the words “party animal”.

Don’t get me wrong, I know how hilarious and thoroughly enjoyable a wild party can be, and some of my friends probably spent their own 18th birthdays taking a similar approach. For me, however, there are perhaps a few things wrong with it. Let me say before I explain myself that it almost pains me to admit that. Why? Because it’s probably not what much of society has come to expect from people my age, and as I’ve now seen it so frequently with other people I feel unwittingly ashamed that I haven’t conformed. To make matters worse, I can’t even help this; sometimes I have no choice but to take it easy.

As I am physically a little bit weaker than everyone else, I get tired very easily – even after things like car journeys, which require little or no physical effort at all. You can therefore imagine what trying to party like it’s 1999 could do to any energy I have left. Unfortunately, it’s incredibly hard to keep up with the whole thing, and I’d almost like to apologise to any future hosts of parties I may attend for the grouchy creature I’ll be by the end of the night. Also, the consequences of a heavy night’s revelling don’t really appeal to me. I’d rather remember everything that happened upon waking than not! Maybe one day I’ll be more capable of surviving, but for now I’m easily pleased – and proud of it. A film at the cinema and a curry with family is fine by me – but let’s hope my brother will pay for popcorn too!

Mason

Anyone who lives in the UK will know that the weather is wildly unpredictable, and that at certain times of the year it can bring disruption to millions when at its worst. In the winter we are bombarded with images of snowy cars stranded and abandoned on motorways, and the devastation brought to unfortunate houses by flooding. You’d think that Brits would therefore have every right to instantly detest bad weather. Most of us probably do – but I don’t always think that way.

I’m writing this sat next to my bedroom window, clearly able to hear the sound of the rain as it beats down upon the conservatory roof. I can hear every drop, but I’m not complaining. Far from it, in fact, because ironically it seems to fill me with a great deal of warmth. I think this is because my disability has perhaps given me a heightened ability to appreciate the little things in life. It accommodates for the absence of the bigger things I am unable to do, and as a result I sometimes find aspects of life unnoticed by anyone else fascinating. The rain can be something I listen to and consider gratefully, because then I feel glad to be so warm inside when the outdoors is so unappealing. I have another such example of this kind of appreciation I want to share, because I think it exemplifies just how precise my observations can be. I surprised myself with this one!

I was talking to my Mum the other day, and at one point I mentioned that one of the smallest but most heartwarming things in life is to see a sign on a church door that says something like “if the door is open, feel free to join us. If it is closed, open it and come in.” I am not overly religious, preferring to refer to myself as agnostic, but I can certainly imagine the comfort this can bring to someone of faith. To be surrounded by such love must be amazing. Whilst there are other ways in which I could have gathered this, I was able to do so from the most insignificant of stimuli. It made me wonder what else might be possible when I’m enabled – not disabled – like that.

Mason

As I write this first blog post, the site on which it will be published is bare and most likely very boring to any visitors who may stumble across it. For me, however, it is already an achievement. I have already tried blogging twice before, and this is my third attempt at doing so, hence the name of this blog. Before today, I always dismissed it. I never had the confidence to write about my life, primarily because disability and being in a wheelchair can be about as enthralling as watching paint dry. So why – you may ask – have I contradicted myself? The answer is simple. Life brought me here.

The last year has been eventful for me, but said events have largely been far from positive, to such an extent that the document I’ve written about it for close friends currently stands at 11 pages (with more still to come!) I’ve sunk to serious emotional depths and left the counsellor’s door constantly swinging on its hinges for months on end. At this stage, I am just beginning to move past what prompted my despondency, so in this first post I hope you won’t mind if I don’t go into detail. Indeed, my mission with these first words is an altogether more uplifting affair.

I want to say thank you. Thank you to my counsellor, who helped to lift part of a weight from my shoulders over endless cups of tea (always with two sugars). Thank you to my many friends, each and every one of whom I am eternally grateful for. You helped me to forget when I so badly needed to, even when so many of you were completely in the dark about the whole thing. Thank you to my family, who despite their own frantic worries respected my wish for them not to know anything about my predicament, because they wouldn’t have understood. I even want to thank the person who is the reason for my pain for a different year that was the happiest of my life. I will always be sorry for how things ended between us, and I hope you realise that I could never think badly of you. You are my hero and memories of our friendship continue to light up my world – you are still a ray of sunshine when my life is grey.

Until next time,
Mason