After 10 years or more of realising I’m disabled, I’m finally going to do it. I’m finally going to apply for government assistance (benefits or welfare, you might know that as) so I can have some quality of life, and get some help for my various and debilitating care needs.

In time, I hope to be able to refurbish my house, so that I don’t have to bend–if I never had to lean and pick anything up, my back would go out less frequently, and I could reduce my reliance on strong painkillers, which would result in my having more energy and thinking more clearly. This would likely make a return to higher education more feasible, which could, in turn, eventually lead to a paying job that I could work from home (that’s the absolute pinnacle of the dream, anyway).

For my autism and social anxiety, I would love a service animal. I have never felt utterly terrified when stroking a dog, but I would need one that was incapable of jumping up, barking excitedly, etc, as my little girl is terrified of dogs… I’m only going to be able to afford an animal like that, if it’s a government-sponsored deal.

With a service animal, could I even work outside the home, one day? Not to spout a cliché, but stranger things have happened.

Most of all, my husband could feel better about his reduced hours at work (he went from working full-time to part-time, in order to help take care of me and my kids, also both autistic) and whilst he’s happy to do it (and knows we’re all safer with him here–they can’t physically attack me if he stands between us, etc) he worries an extraordinary amount about the money we have (or don’t have, really) coming in. If I could take a load off of his mind, I would consider that only fair.

He’s the reason that, for the first time in my life, all my short stories and blog entries seem to have happy endings.