G’s #MadDiary #MadCovidDiaries
Inspired by the book Why Mummy Drinks by Gillian Sims
My alarm goes off. BOLLOCKS. I feel knackered and I realise I’ve only had 2 hours sleep AGAIN! I wonder why I set my BLOODY alarm and then I remember that I have to go FUCKIN outside to see CPN and that if I don’t go I won’t be able to collect my weekly medication and I will be forced into withdrawal HELL like last time!
I stumble off the sofa, in a Zopiclone induced fog and in the clothes I have worn for many days and nights. I roll a cigarette. SHIT! I don’t have much baccy and don’t get my Social Security till Tuesday. I wonder whether to delete this sentence as I don’t want to be judged. I get my baccy from someone who gets it from abroad and it costs me £6.50 a week. I’ve stopped drinking (well that’s a lie), rarely go out and don’t have SEX so I reckon the pleasure I get from smoking is actually OK plus I read that nicotine is more addictive than HEROIN. I’m totally and utterly sick to the back teeth of being judged and seen as less than SHIT ON A SHOE!
I smoke outside and then go to make a cup of tea. FML my milk has gone off even though it’s still in date. I drink water, look in the fridge for food and all that is in there is a BLOODY light bulb! I get back to the safety of the sofa. AAAAARGH I suddenly remember that I have to complete my Crisis Plan today or should I say my Recovery Plan as it is now called! I turn on the news and hear Boris and automatically shout CUNT. I have his picture on my safety dart board at the moment. I even replaced the picture I printed of the FUCKIN ICD11 proposals to put him on!
I must try NOT to swear or get angry at my appointment as this is PATHOLOGISED (I’ve read all my clinical notes) and I definitely MUST NOT mention the C (conspiracy) word as I got put in a LOCKED UP place when I used that once. HEAVEN FORBID anyone might FUCKIN BELIEVE ME! I decide to write all these tips down on a post-it note but when I’ve finished I realise I have to leave in 5 minutes. AAAARRRGH! FUCK!
I decide I can’t be ARSED to brush my teeth or get changed as it will take too much time. Time I need to sit and CATASTROPHISE about the DOOM of the appointment itself and somehow convince myself to ACTUALLY go. Then I remember that my appearance is noted in my notes so I sling on a clean T-shirt, LAFFIN to myself when I see the LALOCHEZIA one I designed and saved up to buy from the internet. I actually wonder whether to put this one on but decide not to. It won’t be seen as funny, it will be seen as a symptom of my so called DISORDERED PERSONALITY. Last time I wore it, someone asked me what this word meant and I told them to PISS OFF and google it.
I arrive at the CMHT and check in where the receptionist can’t even be bothered making eye contact let alone smile and I wonder whether they hate their job or HATE ME! I sit looking at the Recovery College BULLSHIT and the Let’s Help you Get Back to Work BULLSHIT! WTF! I can feel a full blown rant coming on so I take an emergency Diaz as I’m feeling furious about FUCKING EVERYTHING! My mouth is dry and tastes of metal and cigarettes and I try not to breathe too much in case the patient sitting next to me gets a MORNING BREATH whiff.
CPN always seems way to POSITIVE and way to HAPPY. This irritates the hell out of me and I wonder whether she is like this ALL the BLOODY time and has been on some sort of Action for Happiness thingy. She asks how I’m doing and mentions the FUCKIN Recovery Plan. We had an argument last time she mentioned this CO-POO-DUCED BULLSHIT because I said that Crisis Services are totally SHIT which CPN actually agreed with and said that she were as frustrated as me. As FRUSTRATED as ME! FFS! AAAARGH!
To avoid the RECOVERY PLAN I decide to talk about a virus in China, NEO-LIBERALISM, CAPITALISM , POLITICS, the DWP, the looming crisis of the ENTIRE WORLD, how most things are Political and how it affects not only my LIFE but the lives of millions and millions of human beings. I forget to look at my post-it note but practice mindfully repeating DON’T SWEAR, DON’T BE ANGRY in my head at every opportunity. This reminds me of DIABOLICAL BULLSHIT THERAPY and raisins and I feel like I am doing FUCKING AMAZINGLY under the circumstances. CPN let’s me talk and I ask her if she understands why I can’t actually RECOVER.
Then CPN says the words……… “I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT POLITICS AS I DON’T FOLLOW IT”
That’s it the LALOCHEZIA dam bursts. I wonder whether CPN is FUCKIN lying, my head is spinning like in the film the EXORCIST. I imagine SPEWING green stuff on CPN’s head. How can ANYONE not know anything about politics unless they have been marooned on a desert island for their WHOLE lives. I talk more about the BASTARDISING DWP and how they spy on people like me, the Job Coaches, IAPT, the FUCKING Government, the medication shortages cos of BREXSHIT. I say the word CUNT. I’m shaking but I don’t think CPN has noticed. CPN doesn’t tell me not to be angry for once and I think she is actually beginning to understand more. She even makes a few sort of agreeing noises. She looks at the clock and says she will get my medication and leaves the room. Whilst she is gone I look at the notepad she has left and I see she has written PARANOID in capital letters. I don’t read anymore. I need to BLOODY leave. CPN mutters something about following my Recovery Plan as I head out the door. I think of the times I used to ring for HELP. The times when I was told to TAKE RESPONSIBILITY, that’s it’s my CHOICE to KILL MYSELF and the times I’ve been called an ATTENTION SEEKER. I smoke too many rolls up on the way home in an attempt to calm myself down but it doesn’t FUCKIN HELP. I get back to the safety of my sofa and realise I have forgotten to get the SODDIN milk. FUCK MY LIFE!
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