De Real World

Last Monday I had another, pointless, interview with my GP. Frankly I'm coming very close to getting shot of him. The guy really is starting to piss me off; he doesn't listen, he doesn't understand and no matter how many times I try to explain how the benefit system works (or rather doesn't work), I'm just wasting my time. 

That he's only available in my surgery one day a week doesn't help either. This is exacerbated by many factors, conditions that Lansley's privatisation smorgasbord will only make worse. Firstly the surgery, out of necessity, is partnered with a neighbouring surgery. Consequently he's available there more than here. Patients can potentially travel to either venue and be seen, but that's no good if you have to pay exorbitant bus fares to get to the other surgery which has a far bigger patient register. This means that I have to compete for time at my surgery with him with rival patients. There is no priority system whatsoever. It's a complete mess, and, having tried to complain to the Practise Manager, one that the people in charge seem unable to comprehend.

Secondly the guy it seems is either on holiday, moving house, or having a day off. Now I have no objection to any of those things, nor with doctors getting paid a lot of money. It's a difficult job. But I don't think it's much to have them work in an organised fashion so that patients can be seen!

The upshot is that if I want to discuss issues with him I have to wait about a month to be seen at my local surgery. This is fucking ridiculous. What makes it even worse is that when you have a limited window and a doctor that is not listening, it becomes a real challenge to get your message across. They have this talent for listening only to the first point you make; if you try and explain expand upon or clarity it you get cut off. Never mind trying to get someone that understands mental health issues. It's fine if you want a pill because you've got earache; they can deal with that. Anything deeper and intangible and the system fails.

So on the last appointment we go round and round again. This is the first time I've seen him since starting (and in a way finishing) on the WP. I explain to him that even the adviser there says I'd be better off on ESA. I make him aware that the adviser expects people that have mental health problems to have an adviser in attendance as well (even I know that's a ridiculous expectation to have of everyone). But he just doesn't get it. Again the programming kicks in as I try to explain that in order get onto ESA: you will have to write a sick note. Nope, sick notes  = a life on benefits = the antithesis of support. The stupid part of it is that he broadly supports being on ESA because of how it's supposed to work in respect to supporting people appropriately (of course the reality is another matter entirely). But he absolutely will not write a sick note and even seemed to think I could just self certify. The whole thing went round in circles and my head started to spin. The only concession came from him suggesting he might write to the JC+ in respect of my signing arrangements: as I'm now on the WP my signing times/adviser seem entirely random. This is not what the Work Psychologist promised both my GP and I would happen. 

I suffer from something called derealisation, had it diagnosed years ago, ironically even ATOS had heard of it (didn't make a difference). It means that at times, usually stressful/busy/hectic times I tend to 'phase out' - things start becoming unreal, like a mini fugue state. It's extremely disorienting. It makes being in busy places like, say, the JC+ on an understaffed Friday morning, difficult. When I had my regular adviser appointments, prior to going on the WP, this was circumvented because I had a fixed appointment and could be seen by the same person; I didn't have to sit in the lobby with the great unwashed (:D) and wait my turn in the dole lottery. 

I find that difficult, and recently my derealisation has been playing up (early on it was regarded as agoraphobia until a stony faced counsellor explained to me the cure for such was to be bundled into the centre of town in the boot of a car and left to find my own way home) so this morning I went to chase up the letter, to see what had been written (and to judge thus what the response from the JC might be, i doubt it would change anything). It is awaiting being typed which might happen tomorrow, but then the dear old doctor still has to sign the letter and guess what, tomorrow's his day off. I sign on again on Friday morning, I was rather hoping that might be done. Slowly the wheels to turn.

Wallflower

(A song for Lech Walessa by Peter Gabriel).

Five years ago I visited my father in hospital to see him on life support with Pneumonia. When I came back, I heard three local twats shouting abuse at me as they walked by. They didn't know where I'd been; maybe it would have made a difference to their attitude. It's been five years since I discovered there are some where I live that think I'm an alien in a place I'd lived since before they were born. An alien in the sense of being the local oddball - I'm guessing; I've never had the chance to discuss their perceptions with them of course. I'm a figure of fun deserving of mildly cruel nicknames and ridicule. They tell you how to behave, behave as their guest.

Today I visited the GP to help sort out my pursuit for an Asperger's Diagnosis. A convoluted process that will take time. I also explained the stress of dealing with the jobcentre and of the panic attack I had. He said he'd write the Jobcentre a letter. Well that's fine, but what good can it do? The system is the system and unfortunately doctors just don't understand it anymore than JC advisers understand anxiety. Anxiety caused in part by abuse from the ignorant. Now we are facing more ignorance: government ignorance. The colour of anxiety is the same; it is the colour of desperation soon to breed anger.

He doesn't want to sign me onto the sick. That's understandable - who wants to be sick? But it's not motivated out of well meaning in the purest sense, but only in the financial sense. That is, people want what's best for you through the lens of capitalism. If I sign onto the sick my chances of securing work are lessened, while work is the great panacea to a man's weaknesses: his vices, including idleness, fecklessness, worklessness.

So he doesn't help me out of a sense of what's best for me as a human being living on this beautiful world. But as a cog in the relentless wheel of capitalism. He is concerned for my economic worth, not my human worth. That is the greatest tragedy of the sick. We regard sickness benefit as a second class life and why should we? If someone can't work, even for a time while they get the support they need to straighten out, cope and move forward, why should that be less of a life? But it is only thought of as such because people are paid such a pittance on benefits that they can't do much (excepting health related restrictions).

What a stupid way to look at life.

The Noose Tightens...

Week 12, now the fun begins.
After waiting the extra 15 mins (for no reason it seems) having had my sign time needlessly changed I go through the motions once again. A list of jobs is paraded before me most of which are unsuitable for reasons of experience (or the lack thereof), transport and location. These factors seem to be something the JC just cannot process. Of course I'm just seen as refusing work, but if I don't have knowledge of the building trade or the only means of public transport doesn't get me there on time. What can I do when it's pointed out that I can get in at 9am (as is evident that I can by virtue of my presence at the jobcentre right now) therefore it must follow that I can get in any time.
Then my next time is booked. Again this seems to require some change in the process. Out comes the green appointment card, indicative of the seriousness of this next appointment. I'm booked on the 10th (hoo-fucking-ray) at the incongruous and inexplicable time of 2.20pm even though my signing time is 9-15am. Why? Who knows, even asking seems to indicate an unacceptable level of curiosity. Apparently the advisor that awaits my pleasure is only available at that time. The wheels move slowly as I try to explain that I might not be able to get in at that time. I can't say for sure as I don't have the timetable to hand and neither does the jobcentre who subtly point out that others come from where I live so, again, what's the problem. I have no idea who else local to me travels to the JC in question, but it's quite likely they have alternative methods of transport.
Then the fun begins: the advisor then offers me a time next Wednesday and my stress/anxiety kicks in. I find myself shrinking inside my own mind watching as anxiety autopilot takes over. I flat refuse that appointment, quite politely and calmly, but I just refuse refuse refuse. It's now quite clear to the advisor that something ain't right with this boy. She seems genuinely concerned, but the system is the system and not much can be done anymore than I can just switch off my anxiety (that's why it's anxiety) and do whatever whenever it's required. She inputs some data onto the system for the advisor and the original appointment is left as is, even though I've no idea how I'm going to get in if the buses aren't running, but rules is rules.
Why is there no discussion of what might constitute a suitable appointment? They get snippy when you say that travelling in on a limited bus service is difficult; as if you are inconveniencing them. It's ridiculous: they don't consider keeping the regular appointment that I clearly can manage but insist on seeing someone that's only available at a certain time. Then, when you have a problem with that (and you aren't given any advance warning or asked what time would be suitable), the system falters like a broken train. Ridiculous. Again.