Most of the time I keep the lights off in my house. If I don’t all I see is the damage I’ve done to the walls in my chair.

A combination of a house not built for a wheelchair user, and frankly shoddy council work. You can literally wipe the paint off, believe me I have. And because I can’t work a full time job, due to a combination of my disability and the ablesim and inaccessibility of society, I’m unable to do anything about it.

Maybe if I could work, if I could earn money. If I could have more than just enough to live on, things would be different.

But they’re not different.

So I skip the perfect homes, admire the damage and try to feel less alone.

I sometimes wish the things I couldn’t do didn’t bother me, and wonder if I would live a happier or a calmer life if that were true. But they do bother me. The walls in my own home can be difficult for me to look at. The homes that are more than just houses, make it harder. So I don’t look.

In my own house, the lights stay off as much as possible. And I cover what I can, though it’s not all I wish I could, of the walls. And I try to get on with my day and pretend it doesn’t bother me, and hope that one day that’s the truth. Or, you know, I become a millionaire.