annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Tuesday is Soooop, is everybody happy?
Fucking hell, what a day. It's not all been bad - here are some good bits:
- I did a painting I liked in Tuesday art
- I got a place on a writing course about fragmented memoir that I think will be perfect for finding a way to make bits of this blog into something
- Son is going to cometo Great-Nephew's second birthday do on Sunday. His parents very wisely grasp that kids this small don't care about much - if there's music he can dance to he's good - so they invite the family round and give us amazing nosh as they're both real foodies.
- Someone paid for the writing workshop and someone else texted that she was sorry not to have paid yet but will on Monday when she gets paid. I've covered the cost of the room hire.
But. I'm going to write this all out while it's fresh in my head as I may use it in evidence against these fuckers. I may have mentioned that M1nd, the mental health charity who have taken over the services round here are bloody useless. A week or so ago I had a call asking if I wanted a review of my care plan. That they have the fucking gall to mention a care plan astonishes me. At my last review I was offered a free yoga workshop. I asked what qualifications the teacher had and was fobbed off with bluster and bollocks, then offered a list of other charities which might help. I asked for a copy of my review which said, 'Anna was offered yoga but turned it down. She was given a list of resources to pursue.' And my care is what, exactly?
So when I got that call I asked what the point was and we went round in circles for a bit then I agreed to have another review. During the zoom art group - letting us use the zoom account is all we currently get from M1nd, and of course they phone while I'm doing that, number withheld: "Hello, this is Patrick from XX. Would you like to make an appointment for us to have a chat?" One of my complaints is that they got rid of the staff that knew us and it was pointed out that we have to let the new staff get to know us, so I said yes. "OK, I've just had a cancellation for tomorrow (weds), can you do that?" Yes. "Do I need to text to confirm?" No, I wrote it down.
Fifteen minutes later I get a text 'confirming' the meeting for Thursday, not Wednesday. Fuck, which is it? I reply, 'You said Wednesday,' but the text won't send. After several attempts, interspersed with texts back and forth with my niece, I realise it's a 'send only' number. OK, so I find the proper number and call. It's the only number for the whole county, for all mental health stuff that doesn't need emergency A&E. 'All our operatives are busy. You may wish to call back later or if it's an emergency go to A&E.' Music starts. Every minute or so, the message repeats. There's no offer to leave a message, no 'For this press 1, for that press 2' Just that recorded message.
I hold on for nearly 20 minutes, but want to get on with my life so decide to email. I can't email Patrick directly as he didn't give his surname so go to the website. There's an email address. I explain what's happened and can't help mentioning how undervalued it makes me feel, to not be able to communicate with anyone to ask a simple question in a service which is in theory set up to help me and people like me. I press send and get an automated reply at once, which says 'We aim to respond to emails within 5-6 working days.' So that's all my options covered and I haven't been able to contact anyone. I might get a reply next Tuesday or Wednesday.
I'm pretty stirred up by all this but let it go, let it go and all that. Off I go to the library to pick up a book I've ordered, get a couple of board books from the new bookshop for the GN's birthday and it's time to go to the beach. Which is when I start to unravel. Should I go to the harbour? It was so busy yesterday I ended up in a lifeboat crew's parking space, thinking it's all calm, they won't be needed, but they were and blocked me in, and it was all awful and all my fault, so I don't want to go there, so, the open beach. But will it be OK there? Or too wavy? I go.
I sat on a bench at the top of the beach for over an hour, trying to make myself go in but I'd lost it by then. I'd been OK when I had clear tasks - go to library, go to bookshop - but now it was all up to me and I was lost. There were other people in the sea - it was quite choppy, but the gradient was shallow - I could see they weren't out of their depth. I felt useless. All my capable facade just crumbled away and I sat on that bench, unable to move any closer to the water, to even paddle, for a whole fucking hour and more.
Finally I just stood up, marched down the beach, quickly got into my bikini and marched on into the water, next to a group of younger people. The water was lovely - it's been really hot again today, 31C - so I bobbed about for a bit, then tried to get out. And I couldn't. I'd been wafted along to the west, as you do when the tide's going out, and there was now quite a step up, from when the water was chest deep. Every time I reached my leg up to make the step I got dragged back into deeper water. Panic. PANIC. Calm. Deep breath, bob over to the young people, lads, who've also drifted westwards so are still close by, say, "I'm sorry, but I can't get out of the water," and before I'd finished asking one of them said, "You need a hand, no problem," came over and leaned his arm out for me to hold onto. The relief, until after we'd made it up the ledge, water below knee deep, another big wave came and as it fell back, it whooshed my bikini bottoms right down, right down to my fucking ankles. Really.
Never mind, here's my painting.
11:49 p.m. - 05.09.23
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