What Happens When Disabled People Are Seen as Disposable
They knew—and they did it anyway.
They knew cutting Medicaid would kill people.
They knew cutting SNAP and WIC would starve families.
They knew stripping support from disabled Americans would be a death sentence for some and unbearable suffering for many.
And they didn’t care.
Because it wasn’t going to affect them.
Not their medicine.
Not their mobility.
Not their mother’s heart pills, or their best friend’s dialysis, or their kid’s asthma inhaler.
It was always about power. Control. Cruelty.
And for people like me, this isn’t some abstract political debate.
This is my body. My breath. My survival.
I’m on Medicaid so I can live. So I can see my doctor. So I can breathe.
Take away my access to care, and I don’t just get “uncomfortable.” I die.
Not metaphorically. Not gradually. Literally.
If I can’t get my thyroid medication—levothyroxine—my body begins to shut down. Organ by organ.
If I can’t get my inhaler, I will suffocate.
And I’m not the only one.
Millions of us are walking this tightrope.
This government knew that.
They had the data. The testimonies. The cries for help.
They saw the numbers. They read the research.
They heard the fear.
And they voted yes anyway.
This wasn’t a misstep.
It wasn’t about “hard choices.”
It was about disposable people—people like me—being thrown away so billionaires could have tax breaks and politicians could have headlines.
This new law doesn’t just fail the disabled. It targets us.
It’s not just neglect. It’s a declaration.
And what’s worse? They’ll pretend it’s not.
They’ll say they didn’t know.
But they did.
They all did.
We are not lazy. We are not burdens. We are not numbers.
We are people. We are your people.
Your neighbors. Your family. Your friends.
We are veterans, children, caretakers, elders.
And we are angry.
We are terrified.
But we are not done.
Because our existence is not optional.
And we are not going quietly.
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