Carer Day - But I Might Die Tonight

A potted history of 60 years of disability rights

Carer Day didn't go too well this week. I didn't want them to come at all. I hadn't got to sleep the previous night until about 5am - a not-at-all uncommon event. I must've spent about 3 or 4 hours pacing. I'd kind of got fixated on the prospect of my forthcoming Atos Healthcare de-benefitization, and I think I was desperately trying to think my way out of the awful reality of what's in store.

De-benefitization is nothing new to me

De-benefitization is nothing new to me. It's been pretty much the story of my whole adult life. And the main reason I've been homeless for most of the last 15 years. Even under the old benefits regime I had trouble doing the necessary paperwork and attending the necessary interviews and medicals - first the sickness benefit/dole would stop. Then the housing benefit. Then the letters from the landlord would start, followed by the eviction notice. The same patten over and over again.

Cartoon by Jon Appleby

Anyway, I'd managed to get up at 10.15 am, just in time to leave a scribbled note on the door saying I was too unwell to let them in and please just go away...

I need drugs

I was in a state. Have been in a state for about 2 weeks. I need drugs. Lorazepam to kill the anxiety and Zopiclone so I can get a bit of sleep to get a chance to give my fractured mind a chance to reset itself...

So that we can start the whole, anxiety building to sleep deprivation building to the inevitable mental collapse, process all over again.

Driven the work-a-day area consultant shrink to despair

The senior learning disabilities consultant, whom if I'm lucky, I get to see once every 3 years, knows from personal experience, how serious de-benefitization is. I was lucky the last time it happened. I just happened to have an appointment with him, after having driven the work-a-day area consultant shrink to despair.

Rang the social security office in Oxford there and then

He pulled out all the stops. I was homeless at the time, and didn't have an address - he got a nurse to use the LDP's address on the forms and personally rang the social security office in Oxford there and then - while I was in the consulting room.

By cuntish Job Centre Plus worker

You see Dr Ibrahim has lost more than one patient to death by cuntish Job Centre Plus workers. He's a very nice man, totally hamstrung by even more cuntish health service administrators and managers.

A giant of a man waylaid by jabbering monkeys who think they know better than a man with 43 years in  mental hospitals, from Poona to Oxford, under his belt.

Lying in bed paralysed and suffocating

But anyway, I'm rambling - I'd actually started out to tell you all about what it's like to be staring death in the face, in the middle of the night, when a fit fills your mouth with vomit and you are lying in bed paralysed and suffocating.

However I'm done for today - I was supposed to write this on carers' day, four days ago. In fact, I had promised myself I would write a post, no matter how short, every single day. I'm not doing very well. I'm a bit fucked in the head you see: not mentally ill, mentally disabled by a brain that didn't grow quite right.

Trapped in my own head with a fucked-up brain

It's a nightmare I can't wake up from. Trapped in my own head with a fucked-up brain that wants to kill me, just to ease its existential angst.

It's a constant battle to stay alive, and I am utterly convinced it is a battle I am shortly to loose.

Have a nice day, y'all.