Good Day, Bad day, What a Waste of a Day

I fully intended having a good day today. Went to bed shattered last night and slept until 7.15, when I woke up feeling energetic and motivated. So much so I was out of bed by 8.30, put washing out, washed the pots, walked the dogs and had another load in the washer all by 12.

I was due a visit by the (un)friendly, neighbourhood Housing (Gruppenfurer) Officer about my 'overgrown' garden. A less sympathetic, understanding and tolerant pair I've not met since the last time I got queer bashed outside The Cossack back in the 80's.

Now I have a big issue with anxiety. Also I have a big issue with threatening letters from anyone. I don't give a flying fig-tree who you are, what your powers are, or even if it is a 'standard letter'. If you threaten me by post, what you get when you make an appointment to actually meet me is someone who is angry, frustrated, anxious, afraid and, to be honest, down right bloody rude. Be prepared for all of that to double up if you admit on the phone that the threats you have made in the 'standard letter' are actually empty ones, because you don't in fact have the power to do what you threatened in the letter.

So there they are on my doorstep. Oh they were NOT coming in my house. They were there to look at the garden. To actually come in my house I would need a weeks notice, a support worker, a mental health advocate and a fucking solicitor matey. So there you stay, on the doorstep. No hospitality for you. You can't be courteous to me by not sending threatening letters, then no way can I be courteous to you by inviting you in. I know better, I've watched every episode of Buffy and Angel. I know you don't invite the monsters in.

Apparently they are very happy that I have 'made a start' on the garden and that the weeds have now been cleared. What's the timetable for completing the garden?

I was gobsmacked. I have arthritis just about everywhere and a glass back alongside a Personality Disorder (which I'm still adjusting to the diagnosis of) depression, anxiety, PTSD, Bipolar Disorder, self esteem issues, being a survivor of childhood abuse and neglect, self harm issues, a history of drug and alcohol misuse, suicidal actuation and para-suicidal behaviour and general trust issues (though I really have NO CLUE where they come from). Really? You want someone who often can't get out of bed and feed herself to give you a timeline of when her garden is going to be acceptable to you? Incidentally, I have almost no income as I am shocking with money and most of my benefits are swallowed up by deductions for bills I've struggled to pay on time or at all, so I'm trying to sort the garden on ZERO budget, negative emotional energy and the physical capability of a mayfly with fibro and you want a timeline.

Cue blank disbelieving stare.

I went into the house and produced a copy of my GP report for my upcoming employment tribunal (more of that later). This explains in great detail what my mental health issues are.

I explained as patiently as I was able (so not very patiently at all) that they should never, ever send me threatening letters. Because these make me very anxious. That all communication should be by email, as I seem to never get the 'three previous letters'. That all emails will be acknowledged by me and if they aren't, should be resent. That I need help, not threats. That they asked me when they signed me up for the tenancy if I had any health issues, which I reported as they were known to me at the time. The housing Officer who signed me up was actually embarrassed and um'd and ah'd shuffling around on the spot when I spoke openly about my mental health. At no point did they offer me help or support with my tenancy, benefits advice, or available support for vulnerable tenants.

Why ask the damned question if there is nothing they are going to do with the answer, or is it simply a tick box exercise to prove they are caring landlords? Don't ask if you aren't also offering help, because I'm not going to improve your stats for nothing. You get extra money for hitting targets. I'll have some of that please, it is technically my money after all, as I do in fact pay council tax, and quite a high proportion of my rent.

So after they had gone, which was immediately after I terminated the meeting because I was about to get shouty out of sheer fury and frustration that they just didn't understand the stress they were putting me under, I sent them an email, asking what their expectations were with regard to the garden, as originally I was told simply to cut the grass on the front and clear the weeds at the back. Oh no, they said, its only if it gets overgrown again then i will have to contact them and give a timescale for when it will be done.

Erm, can I just explain again that if it gets overgrown again, its because my mental and physical health will have declined again, and there is no chance of me being in any state whatsoever to communicate with Herr Housing Officer, let alone advise when I will be able to get on top of the garden. How is this difficult to understand? Its not a won't communicate, its a can't communicate. I'm not uncooperative because I'm awkward (although to be honest for you two I would make an exception), I'm uncooperative because I am unwell, and I'm not ever going to get better. Would you be this unfeeling with someone who had become a wheelchair user? Had terminal cancer? Alzheimer's? Was just plain old? So why is it acceptable when someone is mentally ill?

So off you go the pair of you, educate yourselves on what you can do to support vulnerable, mentally ill people in their tenancies. Its not my job to tell you how to do this. you have policies, procedures and access to the internet. Go and Google it like normal people do.

Where to Begin

Normally I would begin at the beginning.

But just where is the beginning when you are talking about your mental health journey? When symptoms first manifested? When the causes first occurred, back into history as genetics may have an impact?

I think for the sake of clarity I will start now and work my way back to the really crappy stuff.

Oh, yes a word of warning, this blog is about my journey. Everyone's journey is different. Some of what I discuss may trigger your issues, and I apologise, but I have left so much unsaid for fear of being laughed at, lied to, denied and abused, that I'm not going to hold it back. If you trigger, please check the tags before you read, then you'll be pre-warned, but do not let your fears put you off reading. I really want to share to help both myself and others understand what it really means to have poor mental health.

So back to the beginning. Well of this blog anyway.

I recently needed to obtain medical evidence for court. So I asked my GP for a short form report, just the basics, a chronology if you like. She wanted to have a conversation with me to discuss what needed to go in the report. Just mental health stuff really, just a potted history of my depression etc. OK, says she, looking down the list that is on the computer in front of her.

I've not been with this GP for long. She seems nice, and as sympathetic as the 5 minute appointments will allow her to be. But I digress.

OK she says, behavioural issues 1978. Yep, I know about those, very unhappy childhood, bullying at school, yep. Suicide attempt, 1978. Again, yes, well aware. Suicide attempt 1988 and 18 months of psychological therapy. Yes, that's good, that's what I remember. 1993, another suicide attempt, referred to mental health team. Self harm, crisis, depression. Personality disorder.

What?

Personality disorder.

I'm sorry, what did you say?

It states in a letter from your then consultant that you have an underlying personality disorder.

I'm now utterly distraught, in shock and wondering how I could have been diagnosed 24 years ago with a personality disorder and no-one has mentioned it since. No one has offered me appropriate help and support and I've had multiple episodes of self harm, suicidal behaviour and deep intractable depressions in the intervening years. I moved to Sheffield shortly after and was registered with the same GP for 14 years, during which time I suffered numerous episodes of depression, self harm and suicidal behaviours which left me isolated, vulnerable and effectively unsupported.

Not a dicky bird. Chucked Prozac and Mirtazapine at me a few times. Didn't offer me counselling, therapy, support, a clue as to what was going on. Nothing. Even sent me home with nothing when I came into the surgery begging for help. Went back a few weeks later with someone to support me and the GP admitted that she decided I was suicidal and she was worried I'd use any medication offered to commit suicide, so didn't offer me anything, but also didn't refer me for anything either. She gave me a sick note. That helped a lot, thanks. It said 'low mood' on it.

This was a pattern at that surgery. I'm in crisis, repeatedly. Chuck some meds at me, write me a sick note for 'low mood' and send me on my way. Pretty much every time. That was until 2009, when they got some extra money for providing 'holistic services'. They employed a guy who had done a 12 week training course on CBT. The guy (who I believe was a nurse, though not a mental health nurse) had no experience of dealing with complex mental health issues. He did 3 sessions with me, tore me open to have a look inside then kicked me off his service as 'too complex' for CBT and left me drifting, in crisis yet again. GP referred me to a 'specialist' unit, and after a 6 month wait, was offered CBT again. The CPN who worked with me was more experienced and better qualified, but didn't have access to my full medical records, so although she helped with the immediate crisis, again, I got no help with the underlying issues.

So here I am, again in crisis, again waiting to see if the referral I have is actually going to put me in the right place for real, long term help, and again feeling lost, isolated, vulnerable and suicidal.

I don't want to die, but I also don't want to keep living on this merry-go-round of needing help, not getting it, needing help, not getting the right help, needing help, getting inappropriate help, needing help, getting medicated but no support, needing help, getting lied to, needing help, being misdiagnosed, needing help, getting my condition played down, needing help and getting sent away with nothing.

Mental Health services are in crisis. People are dying, every day, without real, person centred treatment. One size does not fit all. CBT is not fit for purpose as a 'cure all' for every patient that comes through the doors needing help. Yes, long term treatment is expensive, time consuming, and there just aren't enough practitioners, but  have met so many people over the years who have achieved without support. By the way, this also includes me. Imagine the contribution I and all the others could be making to this wonderful, fucked up, beautiful mess of a world if we'd had real, consistent treatment in the first place?