Seven

Yesterday was seven years since the accident that left me paralysed, its just another day but this year was hard. I didn’t show it obviously, it’s pretty much ignored by family and friends (Wife and kids excluded obviously as I consider it harder for them than me), which to be honest is better so there is no false bullshit for the day.

The past eight months or so have been really hard. I’m being screwed by Everest the conservatory company, almost all of the contractors I’ve paid to do the works on my new house have done a shit job and I’m having  to get others to come and sort it out.  This has  put me in a real down state and I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the Army days. I miss it, I try not to but I miss it.  Guys I thought I’d stay in touch with for the rest of days, guys I classed as my family.

The thing is that I soon think about the tragic waste of life watching a young, intelligent and happy bloke take his last breaths and having the medics pull the poncho over his face.

Carrying another equally young, bright and happy bloke off of the transport plane in his coffin and  being one of six to carry him again to his final resting place.

Standing through so many repatriation ceremonies at Camp Bastion in Helmand Province.

Standing up for the blokes, none of which bother with me anymore.

Random shit on the television that seems to upset me, some of it really so.

People who are so monumentally fucking stupid and downright cunting rude and ignorant that cause me to shake and grind my teeth.

Outbursts that I simply can’t control, it’s like a fucking bomb going off and I can’t help it.

I think of how because I try so hard to be patient, tolerant and sympathetic people have taken advantage and fucked me over, really taken the piss but it’s not just me, it’s my Wife too.

The time is coming where I know I’m going to blow and the fallout will be massive, I mean fucking massive.

I’ve read back over what I’ve done and how I’ve kept my chins up, that’s why I wrote the diary in the first place but this is different, this is a struggle I’m finding hard to negotiate.

The man the fuck up pills have lost their kick, the brave face is flaking, the shits getting heavy on the shoulders and shits wearing me down but the timer is on countdown and the pressure cooker is well on its way. I just wish I knew what will happen when it goes because the way I’m feeling and thinking and have been for the past 8 or so months, I really don’t think there are limitations to what I might do.

Fucking good luck everybody.

Out with ABF The Soldiers Charity.

One of the charities that assisted me in purchasing my Overlander was ABF The Soldiers Charity. Last week some of the staff from London and Exeter travelled to meet me so that they could see how it allows me to go out in to the forest and the fields which would simply not be possible in either my manual or powered wheelchairs. We went to the woods where we regularly take the dog for walks and the kids to play, Castle Neroche, where Naomi the photographer could take a few shots of me using the Overlander which the press team could use in their fundraising campaign.

The weather was much better than first thing in the morning when it had been raining REALLY hard, to the point that I had messaged the London team to check that they wanted to make the journey but they had and as it was the gamble had paid off. The forest floor was obviously holding the remains of the mornings downpour but this only aided in showing what the Overlander was capable of. To get the Overlander to the forest, my Dad had come up from Bournemouth to help me which was even better because it was actually the first time that Dad had seen the Overlander in the environment that it loves and gave us a chance for a catch up whilst we were all out.

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Thanks for reading.