Persuasive Essay On The Disability

“No walking on your feet” the doctor ordered. I’m confused by the doctor 's orders, I wheeled my chair out of his office.
From there I rolled down to the boardwalk. I sat, alone, watching the ocean waves crash against the shore. While I watched the sun slowly set on the ocean. The waves were pounding the shore with the rhythm of my beating heart. I was beginning to realize the ramifications of living in a wheelchair, no dancing; no high heels; no hiking; no beach-combing. The waves rise up, curl, then crash; drawing back into the sea. With each crash, it seemed to pull a piece of my life out to sea, no more. . . no more. ...
I couldn’t sleep. What going become of me. My first have to do is to find a way to support myself. At the Unemployment

My next stop is the Social Security office. “To meet the eligibility requirements, ‘a person must have an injury or illness that is expected to last more than one year.’ I 'm sorry but at this time, you are not disabled enough". Responded to the receptionist.
“Being stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, is not enough! ”
A couple of weeks have gone by, with my savings depleted, I am one paycheck away from being homeless. I 'll have to apply for food stamps. Everything when smoothly, no one argued with me or made excuses for why I wouldn’t qualify for the program. The worker reviewed my application and granted me, $100.00, a month. That isn 't a lot considering the price of food these days, but at least I won’t starve.
Now, the month is drawing to a close, if things don’t change quickly I’ll be homeless. With renewed hope, I attempt to battle another windmill, another government entity. At the Housing Authority, the receptionist, once again explains the rules. “First, there is a six month waiting lists. For you to become a priority, you must meet at least one of these qualifications: Have you been displaced because of a natural disaster? Are you pregnant or have children? Have you been diagnosed with a mental illness? Are you a veteran? I don’t suppose you are

I am not. But what I am is falling through the cracks in the system.” I have battled my last windmill and lost. “isn’t it the responsibility of agencies like yours to help and be supportive in times of a hardship? Am I invisible? Doesn’t anyone care what happens to me?” I ask.
For many homeless people, it is some strange turn of events causes them to lose everything. Then after months of rejection, they begin drinking and doing drugs. Eventually, the emptiness sets in so they begin talking to themselves. They don’t have anywhere to shower or get the mail. Eventually, they lose touch with society.
Just when I thought all my hope had been exhausted, a friend, offers to let me use his camper van for the summer. I am no longer homeless, just un-domiciled. A home is more than just four walls. It is a place to feel warm and wanted. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe. In my back yard, you 'll find my camper.” Will comforts me as he hands me the keys. “Feel free to come and go as you please.’’ I’m tired of eating cold sandwiches, day after day. Although, I have noticed that a lot of people stop at the co-op after work to pick up something for dinner. Maybe someone will, at the very least, buy me a cup of hot