Get thee on the scrap heap..I think not without a fight

This is too important - not my words today but a link to the excellant broken of britain blog. a call to action, if we dont make enough noise then we have much to looseplease click below: thank you

The Broken Of Britain: 'never fall ill, never grow old, never become disabled', for if you do, not even Labour will speak up for you.'

well perhaps a few words of my own too..

You may think I'm being reactionary, your too tired, you just want to get through the day and don't have energy for more. imagine then a world that looks like this.

Dear Miss Fibro,

you are not entitled ESA (Employment support allowance) because you have been claiming it for 12 months, we feel you should now be fit for work - even though your condition will not get better, we feel that makes no difference, this is to encourage you to get a job.

In addition to loosing your ESA entitlement, you are no longer eligible for extra support to look for work, that is only available if you are on a qualifying benefit. As you are not deemed disabled, or sick you will be lumped in with everyone else

You application for disability living allowance will now be processed under the personal Independence payment, under the guidance we feel you are capable for being independant, and although you do score some points all of them are low. there fore you are no longer entitled to receive it.

An occupational therapist will be in touch for you to return all the aids and adaptations you currently use, as you are now fit for work and do not need extra help. Our budget is limited and we can only help people who have been judged for support.

an 8 week course in managing your condition is available. medication and relaxation will help you mange, til then take your pills - you are no longer entitled to free prescriptions either.

Yours sincerely the Government.

scary huh? but entirely possible that's why I'm shouting loudly and trying to be one of the many voices campaigning to get a better deal and understanding