The counsellor and the social workers

Years back maybe 2000 I had a counsellor visit me at home. After a lot of asking the local Mental Health Team EVENTUALLY organised some one to help me with sorting out the financial disaster that Dr A had caused. Bit fkn late as it was all over by 2000 bar the CCJ’s and debt letters that KEPT turning up.

He came to my house and sat on the edge of a chair nervously clutching his cup of tea and asked about my family. I mentioned, when asked, about  Dad and his pharmacy, lay preaching and spiritualism. He asked me if I had ever heard voices. I don’t remember my answer but it was probably on the lines of ” I was brought up in a spiritualist family and was told that the spirits do try to communicate with us” or something like that.

He leapt from the chair like a startled cat, put his tea down and said that he had to go and sped to the door making some comment like to contact him if I needed help and hurriedly left. He had been there less than 5 minutes. (Never saw him again until I bumped into him many years later in Tesco. he asked how I was and I said “how’d you fkn think” and he sped of again like that aforementioned cat)

I then kept asking the boss counsellor where he was and repeating my need to get answers about the hospitalisation and how I could not do this alone. Nothing happened, of course, and I was described later as an awkward patient that refused “to fit in”or accept help (what help????). (She also offered to arrange “one to one” sessions which oddly never materialised. )

In  1999 I kept asking Dr A or the Mental people for help and got nowhere SO I rang Social Services asking for a Social Worker to help me. I rang them again and again until one day, after my opening preamble but without giving my name the lady on the other end said” we cannot help you Mr James” or words to that effect. HOW did she know it was me? Was it my accent? (long story but I have a sort of Aussie/cockney accent ) or did they have a caller display and knew my telephone number? Still no help.

The strain became too much a few years later and I ended up seeing a Psychiatrist, Dr Ballasurryia and told her of the stress re the loss of my career etc and she referred me to see a Social Worker. A lady rang me and said they can not help and put the phone down. Yes as abrupt as that I had only said “speaking” as she asked for me. And that was that again.

In the shrinks office was a poster for Heath House Priory Bristol, which I asked about but received no reply.



2 Responses to “The counsellor and the social workers”

  1. themaddentist Says:

    This insomniac (up at 4.30 ) totally agrees with you.
    In Heath House there was an lady who was in for a month or so because her neighbours bought a new car, furniture and generally overspent on showing off and SHE could not face meeting her. SO she was in hospital for a rest. She also was the one I screamed at to shut up in that Anger Management class.
    I also think my problem is because I AM intelligent, well educated, public school and University.

  2. Deb Acle Says:

    There are simply not the words in the exceptionally rich English language to describe a decent person’s disgust at this treatment (well, not at an insomniac 2.30am!)

    I don’t know, but I suspect some sort of anti-educated, anti-middle-class, anti-professional prejudice in all public service provision. I went into hospital for tests. This particular place charged the NHS £10,000 (yes, ten thousand pounds) a week per patient. They ambled about their alleged business with all the velocity of a snail on industrial strength tranquillisers. As you would if it really doesn’t pay you to provide a fast turnover…

    There were people in that hospital who had been there for 20 (yes, that’s TWENTY) weeks. The sums are simple – £200,000. One woman told us she was there for a rest – she was having no treatment that couldn’t be provided in the community, they weren’t testing her – and she had a bit of a difficult family at home on a notorious sink estate.

    Needless to say that I didn’t get on too well there. I kept asking too many questions – reasonable – apparently. I was too articulate and quickly clocked their game. I did not appreciate having my time and public money being wasted. My point is that I felt strongly put down there when other people (who were not as educated and articulate) were cosseted and encouraged to stay as long as they liked.

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