Reflections of a Female Eunuch

The quiet afternoon in the garden didn't quite turn out as expected. Sometimes I have self imposed social phobia...as in I really do need a very personal space to be in.

Gardens can be just that. When I was in the crisis unit, last year, I spent most of my time in the garden there. It was plenty big enough for those of us (5 inmates) to use and not be in each others' faces and actually the other people I was with respected fact that I needed to be alone and in the garden alot of the time.

However, as Suki and I settled on the blanket to absorb some sun, the neighbour a couple of doors down came out to chat to me. For a while I was okay talking, sort of general non emotive stuff but then they (who have an elderly parent with MH problems) started telling me all about that. Ouch! Felt guts starting to churn and was doing the "Oh dear", "I know how hard it is for you" talk until I got lost somewhere and came back to her speaking and me going "Yes" and "Hmmm". Inside I was shouting "Fuck off and leave me alone" but I carried on "Yessing" until she said "I best leave you to get some peace". "Thank Heaven" I thought and picked up my book and then another neighbour came out and was telling me how they've lost their confidence since they had their fall and that led on to a condenscened history of their life. I understand people are social animals and they need to talk about their worries etc (just like I need to let out here) but the timing sucked.

I gave up on the garden and Suki and I went back inside, where i took another whole lorazepam and waited to unwind.

Am having issues with the lorazepam. There are issues with benzos. Well researched and recorded and my tolerance levels are lowering...not aided by fucking stress of dealing with social care and MH professionals whose main objective seems to pass the buck back to me.

Got a bit manicky. Maybe kick back from the meeting and not getting enough personal space but, on an impulse, decided to go back and see Dad. Had some food for him, that came with delivery and popped them in a bag and headed off.

He was pleased to see me and I was pleased that I could do something useful for him. He chatted about the meeting and said he was unhappy about the way the social worker was signing off his case. Like he was being left in the lurch again. I know. I feel partly responsible. I feel like I should do more and if I do it will make things alright but I know really it won't because Dad was more or less living with me when he got ill and he chose (or was compelled or whatever) to move back into his flat and so began the latest 16 months of frustration and despair. If I was the answer, I don't think he would have opted for/or become so entrenched in self exclusion.

So says she who spent the afternoon pining for exclusion!!!

I asked if the problem with his meds was sorted. Surprise surprise...it was not. He hadn't heard back from the care co-ordinator and didn't know what was going on there. I know what was going on ...Fanny Annie!

I gave him a couple of lorazepam. Which of all the meds he is on seems to help the most. he told me that when he did one of his flits, he didn't take his anti depressant for a week and felt no worse. So, hopefully, a couple of days without them won't make much difference...But that is not the point. The point is he is on medication and because of crap systems he rarely gets them when they are due and nobody bar us seems to care.

He told me how shit he feels and he cried. We hugged a while but then he got anxty so I made us a cuppa and we ate some Jaffa cakes then I gave him a quick hug and kiss and came home.

AND I FELT LIKE A PIECE OF SHIT because I know how shit it is to feel shit and I think he feels shit more than I do. Which doesn't bode well for either of us.

AND THEN I GOT SO ANGRY. Angry because the services really don't care. They do so little and make out it is so much and all the time, at that meeting, they were trying to get me to do things at every opportunity. Like with these ruddy direct payments and ringing Age Concern and even with this possible move to a new home. They expect me to go down the council and sort out the paperwork. How much are these people being paid an hour? £30-40. Is easy money just to push people from one bureaucracy to another and then fekk off and leave them to get on with it.

Ultimately, they go home, with their easy earnt dosh, and play happy families and Dad is left floundering and I am left feeling responsible.

Spoke to a friend last night and I said maybe no service is better than that and they said the problem is if you don't try then Dad is left with 2 options....or maybe not options so much as outcomes....He either manages to survive or he dies.

Life is harsh!