My plans to move to Brisbane and live independently have hit another road block. Last week I was told by the Department of Housing that my application for accommodation has been ‘everything but denied’. In other words, they cannot formally say they have declined my application because the Government know me and they know my reputation. After all I have been calling the Department every week now to check on the status of my application. They know I will raise hell if they let me.
I have been actively seeking to move out of my parents home since December 2010. First I had to ensure I could receive in home support from Disability Services (DSQ), because if I couldn’t get help to take a shit or get something to eat there is not much point in trying to look for a place to live. It wasn’t until last November that I received this essential 'in home' support. That is right, it took me 11 months to ensure that I would not have to pay someone out of my own pocket to feed, dress and bath me. Now comes the challenge of having to improvise yet again to gain access to my most basic right: my own roof over my head.
When coming up with ideas about how to do anything I want to do, the question is not ‘What does it take for me to get this done?’ but rather ‘How many obstacles do I have to overcome to maintain an equal footing with the rest of society?’ Every day of not being able to live independently is a day wasted. I cannot get access to basic resources. I cannot make the ‘fresh start’ that I so badly need. I cannot foster the new relationships that I crave. I cannot take risks and I cannot enjoy my own freedom.
I wanted to move out 452 days ago. I should have moved out years earlier. But I can’t: all because I can’t take a shit on my own. It is a life that is ‘everything but denied’.