In the ongoing saga of My Case Manager Is Fucking Incompetent…
Today I was supposed to meet with her and my new case manager at 1:00. At 12:15, while I was in the basement doing laundry, she called to see if we could move the meeting to 2:00. I called back, but no one picks up. No one ever picks up in that office, so I don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do if you’re having a crisis or something. So I left her a voicemail.
She didn’t show up at 2:00. Or 2:15. Or 2:30. Or 3:00. Finally I wrote it off and took a nap instead, because fuck that shit.
She doesn’t work on Fridays, so she won’t get my voicemail tomorrow and reschedule. I’m not convinced the woman even knows how to check her voicemail, judging from past experience. She’ll probably call me in another week and ask why I never called her back. She won’t give me her cell phone number because OMG BOUNDARIES, and no one picks up at the office. So how the fuck am I supposed to get in touch with her?
I’m so sick of this bullshit. This is supposed to be helpful? I was bullied/threatened into getting services from DMH–I didn’t want to deal with them after the way they’d treated me when I was trying to apply for services. But it was get services from DMH or go to the hospital. But this shit doesn’t even qualify as services. I see ICM maybe twice a month. She doesn’t check voicemails or return phone calls. She goes on vacation without telling me. When she does actually contact me, she constantly changes appointment times, and she almost always shows up late for appointments and then laughs it off. She insists my diagnosis is something other than what it actually is, and she has virtually no education on my diagnosis. I’m not convinced she has education on much of anything; she doesn’t even have an associate’s degree, and I know much more about the DSM than she does. She has no understanding of what it’s like to live in poverty. She has no idea what it’s like to live with a severe, disabling, chronic illness. She isn’t interested in learning what my life is like.
Pretty much all she does is show up sporadically to take me grocery shopping. And while I go grocery shopping, she goes clothes shopping, and I have to sit outside with my melting groceries and wait for her to show back up. I have no crisis support. She’s not helping me manage any of my problems. She’s not helping connect me with resources in the community. She’s not doing fucking anything to help me. She doesn’t even ask how I’m doing beyond the cursory, “Hey, how’s it going?” when I first see her. She has no idea that my depression is getting worse because she doesn’t fucking ask, and I’m not gonna blurt it out in the middle of fucking Whole Foods.
I think what really bothers me is I feel like no one there gives a fuck about me. If I killed myself, they wouldn’t even realize for a month. (Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill myself.) No one would, really. I don’t have friends anymore. My roommates might notice once I started to smell, but that’s it. There’s no one left in real life who gives a fuck about me. That’s a really painful thing to realize.