Royally fucked over, totally fucked off

Who cares anyway? Nobody will read this, just need to vent.

For the past 5 years agoraphobia and depression has been ruining my life and preventing me from doing most of the things that i would love to be doing. I live on my own and if it wasn't for my girlfriend visiting me I'd probably never see anyone at all. I seriously couldn't tell you when anyone else came to see me, down side of having no social life or down side of being a cunt? I dunno, you decide.

6 months ago i was feeling a lot more positive about the road to recovery. The medication seemed to be helping a lot, i was able to go out places a lot more often (well, i was leaving the flat more than once a week), i was almost dealing with public transport, i wasn't vomiting because of nerves and anxiety so much. Things were looking a lot cheerier than they had for quite a while.

then i get a letter from the DWP informing me that i had a Medical Services interview coming up to assess my situation and whether or not i should receive any money from the government. I totally hate the idea that I'm no longer self sufficient. Hell, i used to have good jobs in Restaurant and bar management where i got paid good money. Anyway, i went to my medical services interview and explained how i was now feeling like i was making some advances towards hopefully getting back to work at some point in the future and how my new medication was having some good effects on my mindset.

So i failed. As of July 4th i was cut off and basically thrown on the scrapheap. That was a major blow to everything in my life because i really wasn't ready to look for work, and having the rug pulled from under me was a massive massive massive setback in just about every way possible. The depression came back worse than it had been for a long time, as a result that increased the nerves, the anxiety and the agoraphobia.

My only option was to appeal the decision and await a letter telling me where i was to go and when. While awaiting this letter i would be given just over £40 a week to survive on, not exactly the easiest thing in the world to do when you live alone and have a flat to support on your own. So it was time to start a diet of noodles and pasta and to forget any ideas of venturing into the outside world for any type of socialising.

A few months passed and i couldn't handle the wait any longer, i was told it should take about 3 months at the most. So at the end of October i called the appeals committee and was told that they hadn't even received any notification of my appeal. WHAT THE FUCK? I'd spent nearly 4 months waiting on them and they had no idea that i even existed. I eventually got hold of someone at the local DWP and they said that my case files may have been lost and I'd have to fill out an appeal form again. Double "WHAT THE FUCK?". I then got a phone call from the office manager saying that they were sorry about the mix up and that they would get everything arranged and marked as urgent. Hopeful news there.

2 weeks later i called up again and was told that there had been no mix up in the first place and that i would have to just wait. "How long?" i asked the inept person on the other end of the phone. "Well we have up to 3 months to forward the details, the appeals committee have 3 months to look over your case and then they have up to 3 months to contact you". In-fuckin'-sane. I had to go through this process once before and it only took 2 months from start to finish. I won my appeal that time and was told that the problem was down to the questionaire not being perfect. Turns out that even if you and the doctor agree that your agoraphobia prevents you from leaving the house regularly, and would interfere with any job you might get, you aren't awarded enough nutter points to keep getting any money. Even though you both agree that you're presently unable to hold down a job. What a great system.

Anyway, it has now been 6 months of £40 a week and i could be waiting another 6. It is winter and i can't afford to heat my flat and eat so the heating is off and extra clothing is on. On top of that i now have the TV Licensing people threatening a £1000 fine even though there is no way i can pay for anything except necessities. And its just over 2 weeks to xmas.

I have quite a large, close family. I'm just gonna have to be the insane disappointment to them all this year as there is no way the appeal will be dealt with by then. Perhaps i should just tell my mother's side that i'm having xmas dinner with my father's side and tell my father's side i'll be with my mother's side. That way i can just hide away in my flat and ignore the world until it all goes away.

That might be a plan actually. This past 6 months has set me back over a year in recovery, ironic eh? I guess you should never tell a government official that you're feeling a little bit better or you'll also have to suffer the shame of the guy in the Post Office pointing out that a 16 year old gets more to live on than you do. They say its to live on, but this isn't a life.