SANDY SPRINGS - It's hard to believe now, but the basement where Jon Zilles lived for five years wasn't all that bad. No sunlight made it easy to sleep late. When he awoke, he spent his days playing video games and watching TV.

But the basement soon became something else to Zilles: The Dungeon.

His rare condition was getting so bad he couldn't even get himself out of bed, and the windowless basement in his family's suburban Atlanta home became a symbol of his lost independence.

So he applied for a little-known state program that could grant him more freedom. It was a shot in the dark, but it was his shot at liberation.

The Independent Care Waiver Program was started in the early 1990s to free Georgians with severe disabilities from nursing homes. As its popularity grew, so did a waiting list for placements, now 129 long.

Advocates managed to persuade Gov. Sonny Perdue to propose $2.1 million for 150 new slots in next year's budget. They even dared press for 350 additional slots. Perdue also included another $6.2 million for services catering to the developmentally disabled, although advocates pushed for more than twice as much money.

Now they'll be lucky if they get any of it.

The state's gloomy fiscal forecast has forced budget writers to whack $245 million from the budget year that begins July 1. The cuts could torpedo projects across the state and put some state pay raises in jeopardy.

Among the initial victims: Perdue's call to pay for the new slots.

House leaders later restored the money for the programs in their draft of the budget, and the Senate added 50 more spots in their version. But Gov. Perdue - who must balance a budget - will have the final say.

"We don't know what's going to happen, but somebody's going to have to make tough decisions," said David Zilles, Jon's father.

When Jon Zilles was 11, his teachers started to wonder whether his clumsy running and shaky handwriting was something more insidious than the onset of puberty. Doctors soon diagnosed him with Friedreich's ataxia, a rare hereditary degenerative muscular disease.

A car crash at 14 left him with a broken femur and a cracked hip, and he still hasn't recovered. At 17, he traded his crutches for a wheelchair.

He savored his independence at Auburn University, where he was able to drive, cook and live on his own. Back then his condition wasn't so bad. He could live solo without support. But after he graduated in 2003 with a psychology degree, his condition grew worse. Soon, he couldn't get out of his bed on his own, let alone care for himself.

Zilles reluctantly moved into his parents' basement. About his only social interaction was his dad's nightly call for dinner.

Soon after he was accepted in the waiver program, he moved into his own condo in Sandy Springs. Now 29, he lives alone in an 18-story Atlanta condo. The waiver pays caregivers to visit twice a day to help him cook, clean and shower.

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The proposed budget cuts seem to clash with Georgia's slow but steady progress on providing services for people with disabilities.

For years, the state has ranked in the bottom in national studies tracking disability funding. Recently, to the delight of advocates, it had inched upward. And the number of young people with disabilities placed in Georgia state institutions has plunged, dropping from 39 percent in 1977 to 7 percent in 2004, according to a 2006 University of Minnesota study.

"Compared to other states, we're making tremendous progress," said Dave Blanchard of the Atlanta Alliance on Developmental Disabilities. "But we've been so far behind that it's taken extra effort to catch up."

Georgia still has far to go, advocates say. The Minnesota study shows Georgia is last in the nation in getting developmentally disabled residents to live in residential settings instead of institutions like hospitals and nursing homes.

And a report by the Coleman Institute, a University of Colorado program, shows Georgia still lags behind much of the nation in funding the programs.

There's no easy answer. Blanchard, for one, said there are "no villains" in the story. He notes the governor and legislative leaders have been supportive.

"We're not down there marching and chaining ourselves to something because there has been some progress," he said. "But people like Jon need support. And if we don't give it to them, there will be more people in institutions. We can't turn away from it - whether the economy goes up or down."

Zilles' disease is relentless. Even little tasks can sap his energy. If he drops his remote control, he must wait for his service dog Mango to pick it up. Sometimes he sneezes so violently that he falls out of his chair.

But at least he's able to live on his own. He spends his days watching TV, reading about his beloved San Antonio Spurs and serving on community boards in his tower.

In short, he's able to live a largely liberated life.

"It changed my life," said Zilles, sitting slightly askew in his wheelchair. "I could be on my own and my parents could continue their lives as well."

He pauses to catch his breath.

"It feels like I'm less of a burden."

Sunlight dances through his condo's sweeping windows, offering a dazzling view of the city - and a reminder of how far Zilles has come from The Dungeon. Sometimes he'll sit outside his balcony and sip a cold Killian's while watching Atlanta's traffic go by.

And he'll celebrate his freedom.

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