Tag Archive: Housing


At Home

I have been in my new home now for a week and a half.  I’m sleeping on the sofa because the bedroom is full of boxes, and I have the radio on a lot.  I can’t have the tv on at the moment because I have to find my Freeview box.  I’d rather find it than buy a new one but in reality it might be like looking for a needle in a haystack, it could be at the bottom of a box that ends up going straight in the shed.  The nurses on the Assertive Outreach team have been helpful, yesterday they put my table together for me, so now I can eat sitting down instead of standing in the kitchen.

The gap in the kitchen for the washing machine is too small by 2 centimetres, so at the moment I am waiting for them to contact me to visit and assess the job to have it widened.  They have been making excuses about why they’re not getting in touch.  My Moving Forward worker has been trying to get them to contact me for about 3 weeks now.

I’ve been feeling ill and very lonely.  I was with other people in hospital for two and a half years, I’ve got used to being around people, even if most of the time I felt I was being bullied.  I’ve forgotten how to cook nice meals, and the kitchen is so small I have to close the kitchen door to get into the fridge, and there’s not much cupboard space.  I had to have one big cupboard with lots of shelving taken out because it was in the way of the fridge-freezer space. Gone are the days of eating in the kitchen, now I have to eat in the lounge.  There is really only room for one in the kitchen.  Whatever was wrong with my old flat, at least it was huge in comparison with this.

I left hospital with about eight big black bags full of stuff which are still sitting in half of the lounge.  At least as a bungalow there is no noise from upstairs, which is good, and so far the neighbours are quite quiet.  I wish someone would play some loud music, that would give me permission to do the same, at least occasionally.

I fell asleep this afternoon, and I dreamt that my grandmother was lying in bed behind me with her feet intertwined with mine.  I dreamt I thought that I didn’t want to lose her and thought about going to the doctor for her.  I actually lost her when I was 16.  I don’t remember I’ve ever dreamt about her before.  It seems like a huge coincidence that I dreamt about her on Halloween.  Tommy Boyd said that when pagans celebrate Halloween they remember the dead, people they have lost.  I was afraid that my grandmother had come to collect from the other side, and that maybe I didn’t have much longer to live.  Just because it is Halloween . . . .

I don’t know how to finish this.  I’m not a very good writer so I suppose the best thing would be to acknowledge that and just finish it here.

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Doing Something Different

Today I am doing something I haven’t done in a while – I am sitting in a pub using The Cloud to download.  I have been limiting myself to what my dongle can do, which isn’t very much and is very slow and hit and miss.  Last night I tried to download some Decameron, a folk group, and only one track downloaded successfully.  I have now managed to download the whole album.  Really I wanted Parabola Road from way back, but it isn’t on Napster anymore, which is a pain.  What made me come over was wanting to download some Noam Chomsky, one of his latest lectures, When Elites Fail.  As he says, the easy answer is just get rid of them, but the working answer is harder.  I look forward to listening to this when I go back to my bedroom.

I have a move in date for my bungalow now, it is 15th September.  Unfortunately part of the flooring has been pulled up.  They say it was probably dangerous but it looked fine to me.  I’m going to need some time to be able to replace it, so I hope they are not in a hurry to get rid of me at Broomhill House.  My CPN Jennie Wainwright is looking into a charity for me, and I am going to make another application for a budgeting loan.

There are some great blogs that I am following, they make me feel really boring in the way I write.  I just read an entry from Beyond Meds, about the Red Tent groups.  I wonder if they have them in the UK.  She also talked about yoga and ecstatic dancing groups, as alternatives to clinical approaches to mental health.  I am very much in favour of this approach.  She talked about sound healing as well.  Michael Mish is into that, he studied something called Tama Do.  I miss him.  I had an email correspondence with him for about a year but he broke it off.  He felt I had tricked him.  He said sometimes you try to help people but it goes wrong.  I still listen to his music, I often play I Can Heal to fall asleep to.  I love all his music.  I wish he would get back in touch.  The latest I knew he was trying to sell his house so he could go on the road.  Funny, here’s me needing a home and him trying to get rid of one.  He says on the road you realise how nice people can be.

I’m seeing an Assertive Outreach worker on Tuesday about getting a shed.  He used to work in a place that does them and we are going there.  I have no idea how much they would charge to erect it.  I saw a company that gives an inclusive price for erecting a wooden one, but not a metal one.  This might turn out to be more expensive than I can handle.   I am anxious to get my stuff out of storage, as the part I am thinking about costs me £96 every 4 weeks, and I can’t afford to be leaking that at the moment.  I have thought about getting it out and storing it in the bungalow until I can get the shed, but then heavy and awkward stuff will have to transferred to the shed and it will need 2 men to do it.  I think it is best to do it while the removals people are actually there and available.  My mum is lending me some money for the move but it still isn’t enough.  It would be far easier if I didn’t have my own stuff to move in and get out of storage.  It would be easier if the bungalow were bigger as well, then I wouldn’t need a shed.  I have got used to the idea of living there, it’s not impossible, but there is so much expense associated with it. I need a letter from the council for Housing Benefit, stating address, date of moving and amount of rent, and I don’t think they have given it to me.  They have given me a couple of folders with contracts, but that isn’t what Housing Benefit asks for.

There is one more thing – my self care isn’t good, I feel tired and overwhelmed and incapable.  Every so often they prompt me to have a shower, and last time they said I couldn’t use the kitchen unless I had a shower, so I was two days not allowed in the kitchen.  Last time the person who told me was angry with me, although it is supposed to be a symptom of schizophrenia, so her anger didn’t make much sense, from that perspective.  She also told me there was a conversation documented from that weekend that I had been asked to have a shower, but although the conversation was documented, no such conversation took place.  So if they are lying about things like that, what other lies are in my notes?

Pastures New

People who have read my blog over the past months will know that I am homeless and have been since 20th September 2011, almost 3 years.  I have now been in hospital for 2 years and 4 months, because they have had no home to discharge me to.

Today I had some good news.  It looks as if my homelessness is about to come to an end, because the council has found me a bungalow with a big garden in Wollaton, Nottingham.  Wollaton has a name for being a nice area, so I hope my part will be as well.  I also hope the bungalow will be big enough to accommodate all my belongings, most of which I have to move from London storage.  I have been told it will cost me £800 to move everything up.

The bungalow will also need to be carpeted, so I think at the moment I don’t have enough money to do both.  I will have to apply to the DWP for a budgeting loan, which mentions carpets and removals as part of what it covers.  I did apply for one before, estimating I would need about £1,000, but the offer was only between £300 and £400, so I didn’t take it up, thinking it would be months and months before anyone found me anything and I’d have time to save.  I have saved quite a bit but the extra loan would make things possible.  I pity those who can’t save.  £300-£400 was supposed to cover both carpeting and removals, which isn’t possible.  After carpeting and removals I will be broke.  The council said the bungalow would be ready to move into around the end of the month, so I still have time to make a further application.  And the hospital won’t just throw me out, but will wait until I can move in properly before discharging me.

Edit note 6th August 2014:  Today I was told that there is laminate flooring in the bungalow, so I won’t need to carpet 🙂

Moved!

I moved this afternoon at 2pm.  I had no lunch as everything was packed away, I just had a boiled egg and toast for breakfast, to get rid of the egg that needed using up by today.  I was counting on a roast dinner being provided this evening. but when dinner time came round it was just scrambled egg and baked beans on toast.  People had miscommunicated with me by calling lunch dinner.  The roast was for lunch, and I wasn’t there.  Food is provided for us here on Wednesday and Sunday, the rest of the time is self-catering.

I am worried about my food cupboard as it is just one shelf in a cupboard above the sink, and I can’t reach it.  Everything I have cupboardwise is jam packed onto that one shelf and there is a sink underneath it, so nowhere to put the things I would need to move to get at the things behind them.  Although there are 12 of us to feed ourselves the kitchen is locked longer than it is open and mealtimes are regimented into 1 1/4 hour slots after which the kitchen is locked up again until the next designated hour and a quarter.  If you miss it you can’t just eat later.  That means on days I go to see my mum I might miss two meals, lunch and dinner.

My room’s OK.  It’s got an armchair and en suite shower and toilet.  No rails for towels.

The staff seem friendly and have suggested a way to deal with the cupboard situation ie stand on a step but it’s still not going to solve the problem completely.  There is far too little space and things are likely to fall out if I try to negotiate my way around it.  Enright Close was better, this feels like organised chaos and I resent it already.  Ben is here from Macmillan Close and he is my key nurse.  I’ve got a dripping tap in the bathroom and it is really loud.  I turned it so it wouldn’t drip but it has started dripping again.  This is the stuff nightmares are made of.  I know I’m going to be really anxious here.

Moving Again

I’ve just been told in my review meeting that tomorrow I have to move to a place in Nottingham called Broomhill.  I understand it has 10-12 residents all sharing the same lounge and TV.  Bang goes choice and privacy.  Here it is 4 people in my bungalow.

I have a Tesco order I need to cancel on the advice of one of the staff there who says I should wait until I see how much space I have in the fridge.  I’m not really looking forward to this.  Just when you’re getting on all right where you are they decide to move you.  My nurse Jennie says I might find it upsetting as some of the residents are more ill than I am.  Her husband works there as a cook.  It was him who said I should cancel my delivery.

The idea is to build up my time in Nottingham so I become eligible for housing there.  I’m still waiting for someone from Housing Aid to make some sort of decision about something, she seems to be taking a long time.  Jennie suggested I should email her and ask her how long she thought her decision might take, but I did that about 2 weeks ago and she didn’t answer me.  Jennie thinks it is rude of her not to reply.

Anyway, so all change all over again.

Hopefully it will be nice to get back to Nottingham though.  I’m going to have to sort out a disabled bus pass because there is no way I can afford bus fairs at the moment.  In Newark I have never needed to use a bus.  I’m only a 10-15 minute walk away from the town centre.

Another worry is that someone said they had had a note of some sort to say I am not eligible for Housing Benefit.  I hope that is a misunderstanding.

Interesting Week

It was my birthday on Sunday, I was 53.  I got 3 birthday cards, 1 from one of the women who lives here, 1 from the staff and one my sister sent to my mother for me which I got on Monday when I went to see her.  The staff bought me some presents, a snood and gloves, some Laura Ashley smelly stuff and some Milk Tray chocolates.  My mum gave me some money.

On Monday I got a call from Guinness Housing Association about a house in Bacup, in Lancashire.  They sent me an email with an outside view.  I made a mistake, I thought Bacup was in Derbyshire, but I must have mistaken it for Bakewell, because Bacup is in Lancashire.  The outside view is lovely, rolling hills and everything, white house in the middle of a terraced row.  I was a bit nervous about that, these days I am not very tolerant of noise and I want my home to be quiet.  Contrarily I have also wanted to be able to sing in my home, but I think those days might be over.  On the other hand it would be nice to think they were not.  I can see it in Bulgaria, but not here.  Even Bulgaria will take me some time to save up for.

Last Tuesday, the 19th, at the Managers’ hearing, Dr Moldavsky told the panel that I had talked about going to Bulgaria but that he thought it was unrealistic.  I brought that up with my allocated nurse yesterday and she told me he hadn’t said that at the time, but that we would have to talk about it.  I don’t know why he has suddenly decided it is unrealistic but he seemed to want to present it as a symptom of mental illness.  I resent him deeply, and especially the fact that he took that position.  He asks me questions to which I give short but adequate answers, then he eyes me in silence before asking me something else.  Every time I answer him he eyes me in silence, as if what I have given him is not enough or as if it is plenty to uphold the diagnosis.  He does not respect my boundaries because if he did he wouldn’t interpret them the way he does, as indicators of mental illness.  They have been dragging me emotionally through the same stuff with the same kinds of questions and disrespect for nearly 18 years.  Surely I have the right to say ‘no more’, but he won’t see it that way.  He wouldn’t tell me what part of the world he comes from but I suspect him as coming from a culture where people cow tow to professionals and where women cow tow to men.  He doesn’t see me as having the right to reject what he wants from me in terms of self disclosure.  I have the right not to disclose my pain and vulnerability to people who are going to define it in ways I fundamentally disagree with.  I hardly ever see the staff unless I need to ask them for paracetamol or Peptac for indigestion or heartburn, and they always on the surface accept my answer that everything is fine, and last week they said I had neither declined nor made progress, but I don’t think there has been enough engagement for them to make that assessment.  They thought it was positive that I accepted the injection, but I only accept it for fear of the consequences they would visit on me if I don’t.

I’m going to stop now.  I am writing in the lounge where a male nurse has just come in and called me darling and is cutting someone’s hair for her.  He is showing her photographs from his modeling shoot, one of which is for Playboy.  I think it is an insult that people who are prepared to model for Playboy should be contributing a professional opinion on my mental health.  They want him to go to London tomorrow to do some more.  I think it is his modeling agency, not Playboy.  I’m sitting here afraid to say anything about the morality of it and his morality in comparison to mine for fear of the backchat or straightforward lack of understanding it would provoke.  He’s Oh God-ing it now.  I am deeply offended and angry, because they play blind even if they are not.  Actually I should feel sorry for him and not judgmental, because he obviously is blind.  But I wonder if the unit manager knows about his extra work activities?

Bulgaria Better Than Psychiatry

I’m thinking about Bulgaria again, and have been for a while.  I am still homeless and it is still possible to buy a house in stages there, if I can make peace with the person who was sending me details of such houses before, or find someone else who does the same thing.  I became annoyed with the last person I was talking to because he kept talking about crazy and mental, and it offended me.  In the end he said he didn’t think we could do business.  I don’t know of anyone else offering his terms.

The beauty of Bulgaria, apart from the natural beauty, is that I could shortly afford to buy a property there and it would be my own.  This would put me in a position I have never been in before, would alter my relationship with the country and its people and would greatly increase my personal stability, because the property would be my own.  Nothing to fear from landlords, and therefore not much cause for fear from anyone else really.

The UK and Bulgaria have an arrangement with each other whereby my British benefits could be paid into a Bulgarian bank account, except I would lose an element of my DLA.  I could take great joy and pleasure living in Bulgaria.  This is something I need to look into further.  When I was on Redwood 2 there was a man called John Butterworth who told me about this international arrangement.  He was the benefits advisor, but he left and he wasn’t replaced, so the job no longer exists.

We are getting to 2014, when Bulgaria comes into full relationship with the EU.  Very soon after that house prices there could soar, so I need to act almost immediately, except I can’t, because I don’t have enough money.  I need accommodation here first so that I can get all my benefits back in full, if saving is going to be a viable option.  In all my thinking I had really forgotten the stability that owning a property would give me.  I feel it as a joyful necessity and opportunity.

 

Update 02.11.13 Housing

I have had a letter back from the housing association I registered with and because the council hasn’t accepted me as their responsibility I have only been allocated 45 points instead of 1,545 which I could have.  1000 would come from the council accepting me as statutory homeless, and another 500 would come from where I am now at the hospital if I had provided proof, but proof wasn’t asked for, as far as I remember.  My CPN has said that she will try to get the council to write a letter saying that I am homeless but not their responsibility , that would get me 1000 points.  When I first came to Nottingham I was their responsibility because I had an uncle and a sister in the area, but they have since changed their rules so that you have to have lived in the area for three out of five years to qualify for their help.

The housing association I registered with covers a lot of areas in the north and in the midlands, and I have asked for my 6 areas to be expanded so that I can be offered anything anywhere.  Really I want to move back to London or somewhere like Cornwall, Dorset or Devon, but there aren’t a lot of housing associations which, like this one, you can use independently of the council points system and bidding.  Most of them are linked to the bidding system, so I’m going to have to do some research.

Apparently I can get help with a bond and the first month’s rent if I go private.  I read today that it might be social services’ responsibility to offer me help, but I don’t know what is meant by help.  Maybe I am getting all the help they can give me at the moment.  I am in touch with a team from Framework, my CPN is trying to help me.  I’m not sure what else I could or should expect, or how quickly.  I am in hospital, but it seems it is being treated as temporary accommodation.  Although it is shared bungalows it is still hospital and I would have hoped things might go a bit faster.  I am not eligible to bid anywhere at the moment.  The charity/housing association has said it will not be in touch again unless it can offer accommodation, and that if it can’t offer anything within 6 months I’ll be asked if I want to stay on their list. Obviously I’m hoping to be housed before then.

By deciding to see my problems in the community as completely a product of mental illness the authorities have taken away the home that I had as emergency housing with Nottingham City Council and I now have to start all over again, not eligible to bid anywhere.  In the meantime I am still having to pay £140 every 4 weeks to keep my belongings in storage.  I wish now that I had just let my belongings go, it has cost me so much already and I don’t know if I am going to get a big enough place to accommodate them all.  I asked customer services if I could apply for a house or bungalow with two bedrooms, on the basis of a very small flat I saw in Nottingham, nothing like the one I had in London, and they told me I could if I was prepared to pay the extra.  But the letter I have had from them says I qualify for a one bedroom property and doesn’t even acknowledge the covering letter I sent with my application, so I’m not sure what is happening.

Update 27.10.2013 – Hospital and Housing

I’ve been obsessive about my stats recently and it’s been an obsession that has pushed everything else out.  I could have kept my blog up to date but I haven’t, so here is a bit more.

Last Saturday I sat down and filled in an application for housing with a housing charity, and at the moment I am waiting to hear what points I’ve been allocated.  I am hoping very much that things will move quickly.  There were boxes for six separate area codes and I filled them all in, but even that might not be flexible enough.

Life in the residential hospital is not too bad.  The main thing for me at the moment is that the fridge-freezer is easily big enough for a family, but not for four individuals.  It looks to me as if two of us are doing a weekly shop, and there just isn’t sufficient space really.  It is frustrating that we are doubling up on things and I’m sure there is a lot of wastage because things don’t get eaten quickly enough.  I’m not the one with the least space, apparently, and the one who thinks she has the least space keeps putting her stuff on top of mine, and it annoys me.

Also people doing big sharp knocks on the door and asking if I’m all right when I am trying to relax.  It jolts me out of it.

About two or three weeks ago I had a problem with one of the residents who keeps staring at me when I am focusing on something else.  I asked her why she was doing it and she said she wasn’t, I was being paranoid.  Then she told me to shut up and said I was kicking off when I didn’t like that, so now I’m not talking to her, nor she to me.

The nurses I encounter are nice, usually, but I daren’t talk to them about how I feel about my diagnosis and medication, normally, because I fear they won’t understand.  I’m keeping a low profile at the moment about the things I don’t like which I usually see towards other people on occasion.  I don’t want a repetition of Rowan 2 and other places.  When I become aware of it, normally in the shower (and I’ve self-neglected a fair bit recently), I suppress an urge to scream.  I guess screaming isn’t allowed or looked on very favorably, and I have an iron grip on myself to make sure I don’t scream, I daren’t put myself in that situation here.

That’s all for now.  Thanks to my new followers for following.  Welcome aboard.  I hope it won’t get too boring for you.  I’m pretty monomaniacal at times.

Today I’m Going to Write About . . .

The feeling that I can’t write.  No, I’m not, I’m going to write about the fact that my head feels numb.  I should have taken procycledin but I didn’t because Tracy was on and I didn’t want to ask her.  Also I’ve had a glass of wine and I’m about to have another.

I’ve borrowed a book from the library called ‘This Is Madness’.  It’s a compilation by three young mental health professionals from the 90s.  It talks a bit about empiricism – ‘if it works, keep using it’, but that really it is about controlling behaviour on the ward rather than about sickness.  Talks about lobotomies and how neuroleptics (renamed anti-psychotics for political reasons) do the same thing and how they alter the brain.  I should think they also alter experience.  I feel very tired because I didn’t sleep much last night, until I played some Michael Mish on my mp3 player.  I fell asleep half way through but it was around 6 am by then, and people were beginning to move and slam doors.  I had an 11 am appointment which didn’t materialise until 1 pm.  Also it has been decided that doors should be locked at weekends as well as weekdays.  Terry came around saying time to lock up.  That was the first I knew of it.  At first I thought it must be Friday and I had made a mistake, then I thought maybe Terry wasn’t with it and he thought it was Friday when it was Saturday.  But no, we now have to lock up every day.  No rest days.

I’m censoring myself as I write today, because I think I’m being bitchy if I write what I have on my mind.  I’m going to uncensor myself.  I was thinking about Tracy and the time she said I wasn’t powerful enough to ‘have her job’, ie to cost her her job.  It was when we argued about what time the TV went off.  Although there is a notice up now saying 10.30 it often doesn’t happen then.  But it was her attitude, and her assumption that I’m ‘not powerful enough’.  I was told today that there was no reliable witness who saw me kicked so nothing was going to happen about it.  I’m wondering if it is in the same league.  I’m wondering if we are deemed not reliable because we are mental health patients.  If so that is definitely discrimination, isn’t it?

Tracy and Sharon both turn away from me and are nice to other people.  Tracy just ignores me, Sharon is rude to me, all the time.

I feel ill now whereas I didn’t so much before.  I have lost my alertness and sharpness, and a lot of it I can put down to emotional suppression.  I’m ever so tired, and I feel irritable.

I’m hoping I might be moving out of the hospital soon.  I’ve been told that unless I have lived in Nottingham for three years out of five I am not entitled to bid for housing but that I can go through the homelessness system.  If I do I’m hoping that will mean I will get at least a temporary flat and not get shoved in a hostel long term.  If so they have made a real mess of my life, if I end up being shoved in a hostel or B&B

My New Home With the NHS

Part of the problem with the house is its almost non-existent sound-proofing.  On my side of the house we are right on top of each other bedrooms-wise and the floorboards creak when you move.  This can be heard in the next room.  My next door neighbour/fellow patient can hear when I move and I can hear when she moves.  I get nervous because of the door slamming and wonder what her movement means all the time.  The other lady doesn’t even acknowledge me when I say hello.  The door slamming started 2 days after I got there.  I had told the staff this was a pattern that was following me, but previously it has been insisted that this belief is all a part of what I believe to be my non-existent mental illness.  At the moment I feel weak and tired and my chest hurts.  My blood pressure was taken this morning and a stethoscope held to my back, because I told them I wanted to pass out when I was outside.  She told me to take deep breaths and when I did I started to cough, clearing my airways.  She commented and I felt inhibited.  Coughing and clearing my airways would have been a good start to deep breathing.

I have been afraid/reluctant to write like this about the new place I am in because I don’t want to stir up bad feeling.  But I think the building is largely responsible for the tension in the house.  Doors are made to slam which would not slam left to themselves, and they should be slam-proofed anyway.   It looks as if nothing has been done to make these buildings, which used to be offices, apparently, suitable for the purpose they are now used for.  Also even the largest bedrooms are really small.  Mine is one of the smallest.  It is 2 or 3 paces from my bed to the door.  One of the staff who spoke to me acknowledged that the unit was not fit for purpose, but the acknowledgment doesn’t make it any easier.

It is exactly the same with social housing.  The sound-proofing is appalling. I heard a story on Radio 4 recently where it said that thin walls made bad neighbours.  That is true, definitely. They also make angry, desperate people.  I don’t like to sound strident and political, but the truth is that in the places I have been in we can hear so much from each other’s space it is humanly indecent.  It really is like being packed together like farm animals.

I’m saying all this stuff, but sometimes, when it comes down to it, I feel as if I am being precious and giving myself ‘airs and graces’.  Really I am no different from anyone else except that I have been silenced by intimidation and vigilantism, delivered subliminally.  Knowing that is what is happening makes me too angry to speak.

Striking Poses

Here’s one: because I am getting on in years I am entitled to some of the luxuries of life, and to establish the lifestyle I have always wanted.

Yesterday coming home – sorry, back to the hospital; I must be getting institutionalised – I thought that was a lie put out by pension and financial investment providers.  We aren’t entitled to anything just because we are getting older and feel we have always been entitled to it.  Not even respect and facilitation of the lifestyle we would choose for ourselves.

Is that true?  Is that really true?  Because at the moment it feels such a desolate thing to say and believe.

To bring it back to my situation, I am being told that they want to transfer me under my present section to shared housing which comes under another hospital.  I have chosen, by default or otherwise, to live on my own. Knowing the kind of harassment I have had towards me in places I have lived, I am afraid of it springing up in my actual living space and turning really nasty, maybe even dangerous.  We, I and my proposed housemates, are not people who could expect to be taken seriously if we said what was happening, because I, at least, am not being taken seriously by the psychiatrist now.  I am getting tired.  I would like some peace and protection and safety on my own terms.

But I’m not entitled to it just because I am aging.  Or am I?  Have older people, like myself (I will be 52 next week) been demeaned a little bit too far?  There we are, I am striking a pose again.  I am tired, I am grief-stricken, I am menopausal.  Is a safe and peaceful living space, and a little respect and self-determination, too much to want and aim for?  What is this third age?  Is it a new age of helplessness?

Real Or Imaginary?

I just thought, while having my almost 0% protein content lunch:  If they can tell me that hostels here are bad, why can’t (or won’t) they ‘believe’ me when I say what has been happening to me in the community – why do they maintain that what was happening to me there, and the way the council and the police dealt with it, weren’t bad, but a product of ‘my mental illness’?

Are things only bad if judged so out of the minds and mouths of these dubious professionals?  One of them even said to me that the police are a law to themselves.  It is difficult for me to know with any certainty if there is anything to choose between these two bodies of professionals with regard to that.

At my appeal the other day they were saying that I wrote ‘derogatory’ remarks about the staff.  Isn’t it hard not to?

Yesterday was really unsettled here and a nurse interrupted my time with another nurse to say they needed to be out there and seen.  The tv room was the point of conflagration and congregation.

Hey I can write now.  Maybe I always could.

WAGblog: Dum Spiro Spero

"While I breathe, I hope"

Emerging From The Dark Night

Working through the Dark Night of the Soul to emerge as me.

The Elephant in the Room

Writing about my experiences with: depression, anxiety, OCD and Aspergers

The Sir Letters

A Tale of Love

The Seeker's Dungeon

Troubling the Surf with the Ocean

Seroquel Nation

Onward and upward...

We are all in this together

it's gonna be okay.

my last nerve

psychology | psychiatry | neuroscience | n stuff

A Philosopher's Blog

A Philosopher's View of the World...assuming it exists.