annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back on the moan I'm trying to be grateful that yesterday was good but today was full of shit so it's hard. I may have mentioned that there was no publicity organised for the writing group at CH, (the crap recovery centre I go to), until I did it on Tuesday. So I turn up this morning, quite anxious but talking myself up, pushing on through the dizzy spells, getting there on time, all kitted up and ready to go. It's locked up. I ring the bell, the manager opens the door and looks questioningly at me. The manager who did my poster on Tuesday for the group I'm running this morning at 10.30. It's currently 10.26. I explain this to him, when it's clear he's forgotten. "Oh," he says, "Are you Annanotbob? I have a note for you," and he hands me a scribbled note from C, my key worker, who is meant to be with me doing the group. This was the deal, this was my stipulation when they asked me to do the group. I want someone with me. I'm scared of a lot of the men and some of the women. This is a psychiatric day centre, not a primary school. I'm a service user - I might have been a teacher once upon a time, but now I'm flaky as fuck and easily overwhelmed by strong, dominant people. If you want me to do this I'll need support. OK, they said, C will be there with you. Here we are at week two and I'm given a note, four minutes before we're due to start. "Sorry, there's a meeting. It's meant to be over by 10.30 but it will probably overrun so you get started and I'll be along. I won't be able to stay past 11 anyway as I have an assessment to do." He's standing there, the manager, with his expressionless face, looking at me, holding the door open, so I go in and round to the room, get set up and wait. No one comes. After a while I hear people in the main room, go and have a look - loads of service users, none I know other than by sight, no staff. Ach, I'm not going to write it all out, but I got upset and finally the art teacher (not my one, the Thursday and Friday one) came along, saw me, saw I was upset and went and dragged C out of the meeting. No one came to the group because the poster only went up on Tuesday afternoon when the centre was closed (apart from the sewing group of four people, none of whom wanted to do writing). Yesterday was Wednesday, when the centre only opens from 4 till 8 and as it was World Mental Health Day there was a "do" with food and drink and the kitchen, where the notice board is, was closed. Therefore no one at all saw the poster. So they are fucking useless for not getting that together, but the bit that really fucked me off, was C not making me a priority, not listening and registering what I was saying about being supported. I've had no training in working with psychiatric... I dunno, whatever you call us lot, and we are varied. Very fucking varied. Oh sorry, she said, blithely, laughing and shrugging. Like she hadn't known about the meeting since Tuesday and could have emailed or texted, like she had made sure people knew there was a group running, like she hadn't booked an assessment at a time she was already committed to being with me, like me being pissed off was about me rather than about her behaviour as my key support worker. If they were all I had to support me I don't know what I'd do. Thank fuck that other lot have let me stay attached to them even though I'm in the wrong county now. So I lost it and left and sat in my car being pissed off and unable to move till Younger Daughter phoned and I went and helped her with the continuing task of unpacking and putting up shelves and all that and it was good working alongside her. She is awesome and I love her to bits. I started writing a poem about Elder Daughter, but I only got as far as the first line: Come back. That's all there is. Just come back, you fucker, come back.
11:49 p.m. - 11.10.18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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