by Sue Cullen
Okay, I think it's finally happened to me. I think I've got that horrible thing that we writers get.
The thing which makes you sweat with frustration and question your own ability as a writer for…….a second.
Yes, it's that dreaded thing called writer's block.
Maybe it's the added pressure of writing to a deadline which causes the brain to freeze and the mind to go blank.
I'm sat here at my desk, desperately trying to think what I can possibly write about 'communities.'
It's just come to me, why I find it so hard to write this morning. It's not that I've lost the ability to write, it's the subject.
I asked my husband last week what I could possibly write about communities. His answer… whatever you want, Sue…write about being a part of the disabled community….
So there is the answer to my problem. I haven't got writer's block, thank god.
If I'm honest, it's the subject I've got a problem with.
I hate to admit I have become a part of the disabled community. I hate the magazines which come through my door inviting me to disabled outings.
To admit to myself that I am disabled, that I do have a blue badge on my car, to enable free parking, that I can get discounts at the theatre and tourist attractions… is to admit the truth of my situation.
I am disabled. I always will be.
If only I could learn to accept it.
I recently organised a charity event in Liverpool and had really good bands playing, under the title ACOUSTIC DREAM.
I was talking to a friend who, after an accident, only five years ago, was left confined to a wheelchair.
We spoke of how life becomes different overnight. How people react towards you, how you become invisible and how your opinion on anything doesn't seem to matter anymore.
People avoid you like the plague. If you ask somebody the time, they'll answer the person standing behind your wheelchair.
We talked for a while, laughing about the effects the medication has on your brain etc..
When you lose the power to move, you are given medication to stop pain in the parts of your body that you can no longer feel.
I don't know whether it is the drugs, or just a part of the brain, desperately wanting to cling onto the body. You start having dreams.
These are no normal dreams, they are much more vivid in colour and sound, so clear it is like watching a movie in your sleep, a movie you don't ever want to end.
My friend dreamed he was running, I dreamed I was a dancer.
We, my friend and I could not say whether this was a cruel trick of the mind. The brain showing you moments from your past. The past you have to let go of. Or was it us gathering strength from our dreams by being reminded of all that we are and all that we could have done.
I don't know.
I do know that I named my charity nights ACOUSTIC DREAM for two reasons…
ACOUSTIC, after my love of music
DREAM, as dreams are the one thing illness can't take from you.
see you next month.
suecullen@merseymail.com