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In 1972, I was 11 years old, and having a gloomy day in hospital. I was waiting to see my mum by the entrance to the children's ward. There was always a feeling of hope and dread. Life had battered me so much already.

I had pain and was often frustrated. But worse was the confusion and abuse inflicted by adults, some of whom were in charge of me. The abuse was sly, unexpected - the slow chipping away of confidence and a burgeoning self-belief as I paused on the troubling threshold of adolescence.

Back then, I was told, at least once a week, that it would have been a blessing for my family - and for me - if I had not been born. Less suffering all round. After all, everything in my life was doomed with suffering.

So I am familiar with the doubting stabs of where do I belong? and why am I alive? Those words are thorns that I have felt pierce my life ever since.

I feel them again now, as we find ourselves at the precipice of another private members' bill - the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill - due to be debated in Parliament on 29 November, which states that a person requesting assisted dying must be expected to die within six months.

If it wasn't so threatening it would be farcical.

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Stephen Unwin delves deep into the intellectual traditions and cultural mindset that produced the Nazis' 'wild euthanasia' of people with disabilities, and finds we have not yet put those prejudices to rest

Stephen Unwin

Legalising assisted suicide (as I term it) is so yesterday. So before disability rights and activism. So much the outdated 'medical model' of disability.

When you dig deeper, those behind the headlines on 'compassion' are often the privileged few, determined to set out an argument that represents the height of individualism. An argument that is perhaps not quite what is claimed - in this case that the campaign to change the law is only for the terminally ill.

So much evidence I have seen demonstrates that this is not the case.

When I was critically ill last year, it was suggested that a 'do not resuscitate' (DNR) notice should be put in place for me. Since that time, my life has been a yo-yo of new pain and depths of frustration. But do I think I'd be better off dead? Of course not. Through friends, networks of support, and love, I kept hope. And I still do.

I worry that allowing the slightest relaxation on assisted suicide could lead to the likes of Canada's medical assistance in dying (MAID) programme for those with a "serious illness, disease, or disability", including those in a "state of decline that cannot be relieved under conditions that you consider acceptable".

As actress and disability rights activist Liz Carr's BBC documentary Better Off Dead? demonstrated earlier this year, under programmes such as this, there can be an emphasis on people choosing assisted suicide rather than asking for support through social care - with subtle encouragement leading you to believe that you are a burden.

This slippery slope is my big concern as such laws can lead to the literal ending of someone's life, in my view, in a way that is harmful and horrific - because it devalues all human beings (outside of the most narrowly-defined exceptions).

I am so tired. Do I have to say again that I am a specialist in pain and suffering? I do not want to live with an ultimate threat of coercion hanging over me - coercion that many of us already live with on multiple levels.

Like the arguments against capital punishment, how many innocent people are we okay with dying through coercion supposedly for a greater good? Except this is not for a 'g...