More Vituperations on the NHS
I had started an entry earlier on the mad frenzy I experienced in the early part of last night, whilst in attendance at my cousin’s 50th birthday party. I will add this later in the week but for now: FUCK MENTAL HEALTH SERVICES ON THE NHS. They are BASTARDS!
Lovely GP phoned me earlier. Initially I ignored the call as it was from an unknown number, and I am shit enough with the phone as it is. But he left a voice message in his gentle tones; I was reassured, and phoned him back. The point of his call was to update me on the status of the increasingly-ridiculous saga of my referral to a psychiatrist.
After first telling him that I was still on the waiting list, just not their top “priority”, they are now telling Lovely GP, after his further attempts to chase them up and speed things up, that I can go and fuck myself.
Basically, they read the referral, saw I was seeing someone in “Psychological Therapies”, decided that was sufficient treatment and thus decided not to see me at all. Forgive my apparent ignorance, but I thought psychology and psychiatry were different disciplines?
They claim to have written to Lovely GP advising him of this. LGP stated that he has no record of this whatsoever, nor do any of the other medical practitioners at the so-called surgery.
The upshot of the conversation is that LGP is going to re-refer me and state to the complete and utter fucktards that it is urgent. He was going to ring them again today, and write to them. He is severely pissed off, as well he might be.
I told him that I am going completely doolally. As alluded to briefly above, I went batshit mad last night at my poor cousin’s birthday bash (though mercifully not in front of said poor cousin or any of the other cocks in attendance). I went outside and spoke to A, which was something of a catharsis, but when I asked him to describe to me how I sounded, as I now don’t remember most of the specifics of the episode, he said that it sounded like the line between reality and the vast gulfs of deep madness was blurring for me, that my sanity was fraying at the edges. Apparently, he was really concerned. I do remember literally trying to pull my hair out and lamenting the fact that I couldn’t get close to the beautiful knives.
I relayed a rudimentary version of the above to the doctor. He remembered having prescribed me a course of Diazepam in November or so when I went nuts over a job interview. He asked to what extent they had helped. I said they had calmed me down a wee bit, but only after taking three or three and a half tablets (at 5mg each). One or two simply didn’t work; I have always had an incredibly high resistance to medication (for instance, when I got an ingrowing toenail removed, I had to have eight injections of a local anaesthetic, rather than the usual one or two, before I failed to experience pain. Ditto a wisdom tooth removal last year). LGP said that 15+mg of Valium in one go was a “big whack”, then went on to ask me if I had seriously considered killing myself recently. (Reading that last clause back to myself, I make it sound like he was selling insurance – “Hello SI, this is LGP. I was just wondering, madam, have you considered suicide recently? We have some great offers on at the minute, what with the recession and everything. Can I advise you on the methods available to you? Yes? Why thank you, madam. Well, you have the classic overdose scenario – a personal favourite of mine, but some find it a little dull these days. What about a gunshot? Not that easy to set up initially, but very effective when you’ve got past the early stages…”).
I would continue in this vein but I risk failing to ever get to the point. So, I said that although I was probably too much of a coward to actually top myself, it was almost a perpetual thought in my mind somewhere. LGP said that if used in overdose, Diazepam can be “particularly nasty” and therefore said he wouldn’t give me any more (though little does he know I still have a number of the November stash left over ;-)). He said that the best thing he could do, therefore, was to try and get the new referral to FuckHeads Incorporated pushed through as soon as possible.
I reminded him that a certain nameless person had also expressed interest in contacting FuckHeads Incorporated in relation to me. I asked if it would assist LGP to liaise with the aforementioned individual, but he said that that wouldn’t be necessary as such – but that it was advantageous that a second person, especially the second person FuckHeads Inc were using as the reason not to see me, was getting involved. I am annoyed that I cannot discuss this with nameless people until tomorrow week, but A pointed out that this is probably a good thing, as if I have not heard anything within the next week, then nameless people have plenty of ammunition with which to fuck FuckHeads Inc over.
I apologised to LGP for causing him so much trouble, but he refuted any suggestion that I should be apologetic (so I have started protecting him too, have I?). Then he apologised (not that he has anything to be sorry about) and said that he felt the whole thing was a disgrace. I agree. I thanked him for his advocacy and continued support.
So, thank God for LGP and some of his health service colleagues, you know – the hard-working, competent ones…but FUCK THE REST OF THEM! Pack of cunting useless tosspots.
The inevitable question: how have I reacted to this? You might believe that ‘anger’ best represents it, giving some of the terminology in parts of the foregoing. However, that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. I’m tired of being insane. I don’t have the mental energy to be angry at the minute. I am incredulous. I cannot believe they think I am insufficiently mental to see them. I cannot believe they equate psychology and psychiatry. I cannot believe the NHS is fucking with my head again. I cannot believe any of this crap.
Today is another Bad Day, though not specifically because of the nonsense with psychiatry (though clearly that didn’t help). I feel a bit like I did yesterday; depersonalised yet still capable of incoherent and disjointed thoughts, feeling anxiety and a grotesque sense of dread. I want to be alone, and just lie here, preferably asleep. In fact, I think sheer exhaustion has been a large part of my problem the last few days. I crave the escapism of unconsciousness.
This entry was posted on Wednesday, 20 May, 2009 at 5:45 pm and is filed under Moods, Psychotherapy, Triggers with tags anger, anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, bpd, clinical depression, cutting, depression, insanity, insomnia, madness, major depressive disorder, mania, manic depression, mental health, mentalhealth, panic, panic attack, psychiatry, psychology, Psychotherapy, sadness, self harm, social anxiety, suicidal thoughts, suicide, suicide ideation, therapy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.