Tag Archives: department of mental health

Fuck It

Today I was supposed to have an appointment with the new case manager.  She never showed up.  I thought she was better than the old one, but apparently not.

I’d worked myself up to asking for more help.  I was going to tell her that I’m not sleeping and I’m severely depressed.  I was going to ask for therapy.  But then she didn’t bother to show up or call or anything, so fuck it.  I’m done trying.  I’m done looking for help.  I’m done trying to squeeze water from stones.

I’ll just stop even trying to get better.  I’ve tried and tried and tried, but I cannot do it without decent support.  So fuck it all.  I’ll just stay in my apartment, sleep all day, and binge and purge all night.  Clearly the people who could help don’t believe I’m worth saving, so why should I keep trying so hard?  I’m not important.  Eventually I’ll die–my heart will stop because of electrolyte imbalances, I’ll have a GI bleed, or my intestine will perforate.  A few people will be sad for a while, but overall the world won’t be any worse off when I’m dead.  I’m not contributing anything to society, so my absence won’t leave any big holes.  Just one less welfare queen.  Just one less pathetic loser who can’t function.  No big loss.  All I do is take money and resources that someone better than me could put to better use, someone who might actually do something useful with their life.  Spend that money on someone who matters, someone who can actually be saved.

Because I won’t be saved.  I could be, but apparently I don’t matter enough.  So for fuck’s sake, at least save someone.


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So far past done with this

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.


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I Hate Everything

Fair warning: this whole post is just me ranting and whining like a spoiled entitled bitch.  Feel free to ignore it.

I want to kill people right now.

DMH–the people who said, “We already have 200 clients.  Which of those do you want us to drop so we can serve her?”–sent me a registered letter today.  Like 15 minutes ago.  Saying that if I don’t call them by tomorrow, they’ll deny my application for services.  And the woman I’m supposed to talk to isn’t answering, and her voicemail is full.  And I have five million things to do tomorrow.  Seriously.  I see my psychiatrist and then my gastroenterologist and then my therapist.  I have to switch my voter registration to my new address before the deadline, have a phone interview for food stamps, and go to the food bank if I want to have anything to eat, not that they have much food I can eat to give me.

It’s probably a good thing this woman’s voicemail is full because my message would say something to the effect of, “Look, bitch, you’ve talked to my team leader multiple times, and you know I’m in need of services.  I’ve legally authorized her to speak to you on my behalf, and I know she told you to go through her for stuff.  I don’t fucking know you, and I have an irrational fear of talking to people I don’t know on the phone–something that, you know, is part of my MOTHERFUCKING MENTAL ILLNESS.  Which is why I need services.  But you assholes have clearly demonstrated that you’re more interested in finding excuses to deny me services instead of help me, so go fuck a cactus, bitch.  Preferably one of the poisonous ones.”

I also got a letter from Medicaid denying me transportation to my appointments with my therapist because “provider/facility is outside locality.”  NO FUCKING SHIT.  That’s why I need GODDAMN TRANSPORTATION.  To get to her, I’d have to walk two miles–either along a busy road with no shoulder or along railroad tracks, either one of which could endanger my life.  Then I have to take 3 buses, with layovers where I have to wait outside–and we’ve been having windchills of -15.  Then I have to walk half a mile uphill on a road which is, due to the aforementioned frigid temperatures, icy and dangerous.  And did I mention that I have a bone spur and arthritis in my lumbar spine and sacroiliac joint, which causes significant pain when I’m on my feet for longer than 30 minutes a day?  Or that my severe autoimmune disorder often leaves me so weak that standing for long periods of time is impossible?

It’s too bad none of this happened yesterday, before I went to the forum where I met the current state attorney general who will probably, according to polling data, be our next governor.  She particularly mentioned, more than once, that she wants to increase access to mental health care and decrease the stigma, and I could’ve asked her what she’s doing about bullshit like this.


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