I’m tired. It isn’t a physical tiredness as my sleeping pattern is fine. My tiredness comes from within. It is a tiredness from battles won, battles lost and battles that still need to be fought. That’s life as a disabled person in Ireland.

When you are a child these battles are fought by your parents. They fight for a right to be educated, the right to proper health care or appropriate therapeutic intervention. These are the voices you hear calling Tom or George. The voices that make you angry. The voices that bring tears to your eyes. The voices that do not have time to be tired. But I am tired.

I’ve fought every step of the way. Bus pass. Fight. Education. Fight. Any tiny little aid. Fight.

This was in the 1980’s and the last time the country decided it had no money to spend on a large section of society. Times moved on but fights kept coming.

During the boom years, the fight wasn’t so much for myself as I was slowly establishing myself as paid up member of society. The fight was to ensure our new found wealth might be used in conjunction with good laws to end the need for fighting.  There was hope. There was cash. There were choices to be made. We don’t need to re-hash history but when the money was spent and the dust settled, we saw very little had changed. The Emporer had no new clothes. 

Our wealth went chasing houses and appartments not building supports for fellow members of society. We lost our heart and we lost our soul.

I laughed when the Troika arrived.

It served us right. We gorged ourselves and we’re paying the price now, When the household charge came through the door, I stumped up the cash... The country was in a hole so let’s try to get out of it.

When I heard about the cut in for 16-18 year olds, I forgot how that helped me pay for taxis here and there. It paid for that extra pair of shoes that I went through in two months. The extra costs of disability. I forgot all these things. I thought “well, maybe they can wait til 18.”

Disability rights have fallen down the political agenda and now it’s not just my shoes that are worn out. Politicians have found other causes to make their names with. All aboard for Eamo’s last great civil rights dance-a-thon.

My tiredness ignores friends who have become parents of disabled children. They have begun their own journey towards tiredness and my fighting spirit can’t support them

Is that selfish? Is it guilt? Or should I accept that my time as firebrand is over? I really don’t know. Am I copping out or being a realist?