NHS Incompetence Strikes Again

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty-Four)

After a day of my partner calling up various parts of the psychiatric services, and MIND charity, and a few other places, we discovered that the situation I’m in should definitely not exist and I’ve been fucked about. It’s nice to hear, as I was beginning to doubt myself. My partner called the team leader of the care co-ordinators, and long story short we know what’s going on:

The psychiatrist makes the call regarding funding, and that is the current issue. Apparently while I was in acute care, the psych in charge of my care deemed me a good candidate for inpatient care and funding. The next one I saw, after discharge, decided otherwise. So, I have to convince her that I’m a good candidate and it would help me. That ought to be fun.

I’m also going to ask to return to aripiprazole, and come off carbamazepine. Aripiprazole helped with the depression in addition to the mood stabilisation, and carbamazepine appears to be doing fuck all. I also intend to remain on quetiapine. I don’t think I’m in a stable enough place to risk fucking about with my primary mood stabiliser.

I am feeling truly, hilariously shit at the moment. The whole situation has left me feeling completely disillusioned and fucking miserable. I am, in person, very verbose and with a fabulous cut-glass British accent that makes most people (seem) to think I’m a whinging upper-middle-class white girl with very little wrong with me. On paper I look a fairly obvious candidate for help, but the moment I talk people listen to how I talk rather than what I’m actually fucking saying.

So fucking fed up it’s unreal.

My partner needs to go back to work, we can’t afford her being a 24/7 carer. I managed to self-harm with her in the same room as me. So when she eventually has to go, I’m going to be on my own, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.

As it is, my partner has a training course starting in September at the opposite side of London. This has many problems. One aspect is that, for travel purposes (and affordability, and safety) we are going to be staying with my parents. I have a very difficult relationship with my family, especially my mother, and this is so not a good thing. I also have group support sessions three times a week at my side of London, and I can’t really travel or be alone at the moment, and my mother has already said she’s not prepared to commute. I have no clue how to work around any of this. Other than fall on the perpetual mercy of friends, which makes me feel like a constant burden and general imposition on other people’s lives.

I’ve already noticed people pulling away from me. They don’t do it on purpose, but nobody wants to talk about their problems or their lives with me, because they don’t want to put any stress on me when I’m vulnerable/struggling. But to be honest, I just wish people would talk to me. About their problems, about their jobs, about how shit their lives are. Anything. Absolutely anything. I am so lonely, and feel constantly betrayed by the people I’m supposed to be able to trust professionally.

I fucking hate the mental health services in this country.


What is Life

(Or: At Home – Day Fifty)

Started a personality disorder support group today which was – wait for it – actually really helpful!!

I know, I know, the shock of me positive might finish you and myself off, but no genuinely. It’s a weird environment, but I think it’s one of those ones where you get out what you put in. I intend to start going as a point of regularity and importance. You never know, it might do some good.

Spoke to my lying care co-ordinator. I’m less inclined to actively murder her now, which is good, but I’m still pretty pissed off. The lack of response from my assessment she flat-out admitted was her fault – the email got sent to the wrong person, but she still could have dealt with it – and refused culpability on the lying front. She didn’t deny lying, though. Is evidently not keen on referring me to other treatment places, but fuck that, she’s my care co-ordinator and I want to be referred SO hopefully there will be some progress. If I haven’t had written confirmation from her by next Tuesday that I’ve been referred, I’ll kick off. Again.

It is so fucking boring to be in constant mortal combat with the people who are supposed to be helping me.

Oh, and I need to see a psychiatrist (because, you know, suicidal thoughts and transparent mood instability is a bad thing and reasonably urgent, FOR GOD’S SAKE IS THAT NOT OBVIOUS) which will hopefully happen next week, but amazingly, there is only one psychiatrist in my entire area actually working for the next fortnight. I appreciate that holidays happen in August but Christ almighty, did nobody think this through when GRANTING holiday?! I worked in an opticians, as a fairly low-placed salesperson, and wasn’t granted holiday leave over CHRISTMAS when the place was DESERTED because other people got priority because PRIORIES ARE IMPORTANT IN PEOPLE-SERVICE INDUSTRIES.

Is this just me? Or is this just an amazing, extraordinary institutionalised ineptitude that seems to hit me at every single one of the worst possible moments?

And my grandmother is starting chemo, and I’m not allowed to tell my parents (because they’re estranged and both sides would probably murder me).

*headdesk* sometimes my life feels like a comedy sketch in motion.

Being An Inconvenience

(Or: At Home – Day Twenty-Seven)

I’m currently trapped in a strange twilight zone and cannot escape. Send help. If you can actually get to me. Which is debatable.

Today involved perfect examples of highs and lows. Highs: dinner with my partner’s family, which I loved (esp her brother-in-law, whom I get on with extremely well and feel like I might have something in common with). Lows: I freaked out while going shopping and wound up with lorazepam and a very tense bus ride while I tried to work out living with the volume turned up.

Legitimately, that’s how it feels, when I get overwhelmed. Somebody has turned up the volume on everything. Sight, smell, touch. I am blinded, deafened, olfactorily assaulted all in one very unpleasant go. And I don’t get any warning, nor any explanation. Joy of fucking joys.

Saw my care co-ordinator, who I suspect is a little busy and distracted. I still think she’s god’s gift to healthcare, but it didn’t have the usual calming effect I’m accustomed to. Perhaps I’m just a little too highly-strung today. I’m getting very used to being A Problem, somebody’s Problem, so I suppose today being A Problem for her was too much. I’m A Problem who changes hands from time to time, maybe she’s hoping the Complex Needs Team will take me off her hands a bit. Or a psychiatrist. Or anybody, really, it doesn’t matter so long as The Problem gets handed off safely to somebody else.

As you may be able to sense, I’m getting fucking fed up of being bounced from person to person to organisation to person and back again. Last time I checked, I did in fact have a personality and some sense of autonomy, but you wouldn’t know it to look at me right now. I’m like a cat. Lots of people are very fond, but the responsibility lies with whoever is the owner, and if the owner is busy then somebody else looks after said cat. I’m a fucking cat. I have the same autonomy as a very pissed off cat, who can piss on things and be grumpy but basically is beholden to their home and their owner and has very few places to go without being hit by a car.

Extended metaphors notwithstanding, I’m not having a great day.

For example: partner is a working actor. Currently not working, and so is able to care for me. However, this remains true basically so long as she doesn’t have a job, in which case I am no longer convenient, and get passed along to the next person. Same with my parents, who are looking after me, unless they’re on holiday (as they are now) in which case I’m an inconvenience, and get passed along. Like a pass-the-parcel with no layers, an ungrateful crazy bitch and no present at the centre.

I should say that I am hugely grateful to the people taking time and energy out of their lives to look after me, especially my partner – but I know I’m a temporary inconvenience. And honestly, I just want to go away somewhere where I can stop being an inconvenience to everything and everybody around me. You never know, maybe I’ll even develop an independent personality of my own. We can but hope.