Being a bit of a petty aspie at times and one who, quite frankly, always bears a grudge, I thought that I'd explain the background to some of the issues I'd had with people and how I resolved them. Yes, that's how my cookie crumbles, so to speak.
The background: my husband, Mr Logic, had retained a few friends from the early days of him working in The Civil Service way back in the 1980s. These guys turned out to be, what I like to call confirmed bachelors and a few of them didn't find wives (sorry, this is sounding like some kind of bizarre Jane Austen parody ...) As you may or may not be aware, myself and Mr Logic met back in the year 2000 (not much has changed, but we live underwater ...) and married soon after. This annoyed certain members of the confirmed bachelor club and one particular drunkard, Mr Liar, was constantly waspish and rude to me, but I put up with it for a number of years because I wanted Mr Logic to maintain his friendships.
Another member of the confirmed bachelor club, whom for the story, we're going to refer to as Mr Pop, adored all things chart music, with a special place in his heart for 1980s hits. This guy was one of those bland, but secretly rather bitchy individuals that never bothered to move out of his parental home - you'll know the type I'm sure - a total Mummy's boy in his fifties. Absolute Radio has a show, broadcast on Sunday nights in the UK, entitled Forgotten 80s
where good, but by no means well-known, hits were played, much to the listeners' delight. Being a modern-day radio show, there were associated Facebook and Twitter feeds and very soon online friendships began to blossom; there was also a bit of a rivalry between the Facebookers and The Twitterers (like a rather crap version of The Sharks and The Jets) and I was a member of the former.
Time passed, all of the Forgotten 80s Facebook folk submitted their suggestions for forgotten hits and very soon a discrete Facebook group was started and befriending one another began. The show's DJ, whom I won't name, was well, a typical self-important member of that august profession. He wrote a bit of snarky comment about the Facebook group on one of the social media platforms and I reacted in my usual way, calling him out on Twitter and Facebook.
An in real life (IRL) face-to-face meetup was arranged for January 2015 and as we all hailed from different regions of the UK and Eire, London was suggested as a suitable venue. Me and Mr Pop were both paid-up members of the Civil Service Club, so we made a list of people who'd expressed an interest and duly submitted it to the Club's reception. I personally spent quite a long time co-ordinating everything, whilst Mr Pop, true to his nature, sat back on his bottom and did naff all.
The day came - one fine Saturday in the January gloom. I'd recently been on sick leave from work with depression and was gearing myself up to returning back to my home department in the middle of that particular month. I'd confided all of this to Mr Pop, a man who'd taken redundancy from the Civil Service a year or so prior to this, so who understood how the whole organisation had changed for the worse. He was quite nice about it. I also told him that I was almost certainly autistic and that I was still awaiting my full medical diagnosis of the condition, adding that I was very awkward with meeting new people and that I was slightly dreading the meetup, but didn't wish to let anyone down.
The meetup started well - if my memory serves me right of an incident that occurred four years ago, I was there early to sort things out and Mr and Master Logic were also in London that day, visiting relatives. At about 11am, the Forgotten 80s (F80s) members started arriving; at first, all was well and we were having a lovely old chat. There was, however, one particular guy who decided to wear a suit on a Saturday and kept pressing his body close up to me on the bench seating, although I politely told him not to. Also, people started arriving who were not on the original list.
As time wore on, a few F80s peeps were taking full advantage of the club's reduced price booze and started getting really drunk. Tempers got short and a very inebriated woman started shouting at me, saying that "I'd been out of order calling out the DJ like that and that I was a bit of a bitch." After sitting through this kind of behaviour, another member of the group started saying that my opinions about Bruce Springsteen's music were out of order and that Mick Hucknell from Simply Red's singing was crap. I'll admit that this all sounds like petty bollocks, but attend a meet up with what I like to call people from the Internet and this is what you'll find.
Finally, I could take no more - I departed in floods of tears. Mr Pop tried to stop me leaving the event when he caught up with me in the foyer, but I'd already called my husband, Mr Logic, and he agreed to take me home. Nothing more was said.
A day later I noticed that Mr Pop had defriended and blocked me on Facebook. I thought that that was uncalled for and petty, so Mr Logic blocked him right back (a bit like the rap artiste Frankie did). Time went on and Mr Pop was holidaying with other member of the confirmed bachelors when he decided to check his Facebook feed at the airport, in front of his other friends, like every mature sane person does. He discovered that he'd been blocked by Mr Logic and got rather annoyed about it. Mr Liar, another member of the gang, decided to speak to Mr Logic about it when they'd all returned to good old Blighty.
Mr Pop, in his usual cowardly weasly way, kept out of Mr Logic's way as the weeks and months rolled on - deciding to avoid any group meetups, but not forgetting to slag him and his wife off at any given opportunity. This of course, was to Mr Liar's benefit because he'd never been a fan of Mrs Logic, finding her too bossy and strident for his liking.
Let's speed time onto Monday, 26th November 2018. I'm up in London with my friend, who's a bloke called IndieMan, a gentlemen whose boyish good looks have attracted Mr Liar's attentions in the past. There's no seating available in the main bar because it's packed full of annoying old farts, so it's off to the back bar. Guess who's drinking a pint a deux in there then? Well, it's none other than Mr Liar (who's facing me diagonally, but has such poor eyesight and refuses to wear glasses, that I'm just a blur) and Mr Pop, who has his back to me. I can see them both, but really wish to ignore them, but then I spot Mr Pop gesturing backwards towards me with his thumb, like the immature twat that he is. The ensuing conversation went a bit like this:
Me: "Yes Mr Pop I can see you. Judas!"
Mr Liar: "Hello Mrs Logic, how are you doing? How's Mr Logic?"
Me: "He's fine thanks, despite being ignored by you."
and so on ... I attempt to whisper an explanation to IndieMan whilst using the C-Word on copious occasions. I'm literally shaking with anger.
Me and IndieMan finished our respective pints and decided to move to The Lord Moon of The Mall instead. As we were leaving both Mr Pop and Mr Liar said goodbye and this is how I reacted:
"I TOLD YOU THAT I WAS AUTISTIC AND YOU DIDN'T EFFING LISTEN. I'D BEEN OFF SICK FROM WORK WITH DEPRESSION AND YOU KNEW ALL OF THAT TOO. I ALSO SAID THAT I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE ORGANISING THAT FORGOTTEN 80S DO AND YOU DIDN'T HELP AT ALL. I LEFT THE EVENT EARLY IN FLOODS OF TEARS BECAUSE PEOPLE WERE GANGING UP ON ME. YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO DEFRIEND ME ON FACEBOOK, AFTER ALL - YOU'D ATTENDED MY WEDDING AND BEEN A FRIEND OF MY HUSBAND'S SINCE THE 1980S.
YOU'RE A TWAT. AND YOU LIVE WITH YOUR DAD."
IndieMan finally managed to drag me out of The Club. I was still shaking with anger. I told Mr Logic all about it on WhatsApp and he was very supportive of my actions, after all, he'd done nothing to deserve being kicked out of the confirmed bachelors. Although, to be fair, he wasn't a bachelor, or confirmed - you get my drift ...
Monday 31 December 2018
Sunday 30 December 2018
Post #145 - Filthy Creeps [On Words With Friends]
Earlier I sent this Tweet:
I meant it too. I love playing the online app version of Scrabble, but the inbuilt chat facility is really getting on my nerves. Since my profile picture was automatically changed via the Facebook link and hey presto, certain blokes, or what Emily Dean terms 'Filthy Creeps' are hitting the chat facility. I've attached some redacted examples below. When I Googled it, it seems like this issue is quite common with Words With Friends, which is lovely to contemplate in a post #MeToo world.
Please let me clarify that I'm a woman who is more at home with blokes rather than my own sex, I think that it because of my autism. I do enjoy chatting with my male mates, but as a married woman, I don't really wish to exchange messages which may become misconstrued. For example: I love a comment on one of my blogs, but unsolicited 'chat' via Words With Friends, it's a no from Faspie.
I slept on the issue, found more strange and somewhat creepy messages from the father and son team (assuming that they were, quite frankly, it could have been one bloke using two accounts to pretend to be two separate members of his own family ...) Anyway, I blocked them both and reported their odd behaviour to Zynga, the parent company of Words With Friends - I don't expect to hear anything back, but at least it's out there.
Please let me clarify that I'm a woman who is more at home with blokes rather than my own sex, I think that it because of my autism. I do enjoy chatting with my male mates, but as a married woman, I don't really wish to exchange messages which may become misconstrued. For example: I love a comment on one of my blogs, but unsolicited 'chat' via Words With Friends, it's a no from Faspie.
I slept on the issue, found more strange and somewhat creepy messages from the father and son team (assuming that they were, quite frankly, it could have been one bloke using two accounts to pretend to be two separate members of his own family ...) Anyway, I blocked them both and reported their odd behaviour to Zynga, the parent company of Words With Friends - I don't expect to hear anything back, but at least it's out there.
Wednesday 26 December 2018
Post #144 - Boxing Day
Today was fine; I am all out of Spoons though. My parents departed about an hour ago, all is quiet now and I'm drinking a can of San Pellegrino and have taken two capsules of paracetamol to stave off the horrible tension headache that I'm currently experiencing. Boxing Day is our concession to hosting an event over the Christmas Period.
My mum told me that she wasn't best pleased with my dad's present, which was a blackhead extraction kit. This is an odd choice of gift for a woman in her late sixties, but to be honest, the whole concept of present buying is kind of lost on me too, that's because most people are impossible to please. Take this as an example: I'm pushing my son in his wheeled buggy though a busy branch of M&S during the December rush - the chair topples over because of the weight on top of it, but hey, it's OK, because these presents are for my two nieces. Fast forward to Boxing Day - here's the exact conversation between me and my neurotypical brother:
Brother: "Thanks for the gifts, the girls loved their dungarees."
Me: "I didn't buy them any dungarees."
Brother: "Oh, no, that's right, you didn't. Let me explain - they received a duplicate of your present from their other aunt, you know, the one from the maternal side of the family and someone I think of more highly than you, so me and my wife took the decision to return yours."
Me: "Oh, thanks a bunch. From now on I'll not bother to buy any more presents then."
Of course, that was until Christmas 2015 or 2016 (I cannot recall exactly which one) when my husband decided to 'take care of the present thing'. He sent an email to my brother, explaining in detail the type of table tennis table our son wanted and even included an Argos link. My brother was apparently 'too busy to read his emails', so nothing was bought. My mum, who was in one of her horrible difficult lazy bitch moods that particular Christmas, started verbally berating my husband after I'd popped upstairs to get away from the overwhelming social thing. I heard it all from the landing - she started crying, stating that "it was all her fault ..." that kind of emotional blackmail I have come to expect from my mother.
That was the last Christmas Day we've ever hosted; we're never going to let anyone in apart from the three of us and our cats in ever again.
My mum told me that she wasn't best pleased with my dad's present, which was a blackhead extraction kit. This is an odd choice of gift for a woman in her late sixties, but to be honest, the whole concept of present buying is kind of lost on me too, that's because most people are impossible to please. Take this as an example: I'm pushing my son in his wheeled buggy though a busy branch of M&S during the December rush - the chair topples over because of the weight on top of it, but hey, it's OK, because these presents are for my two nieces. Fast forward to Boxing Day - here's the exact conversation between me and my neurotypical brother:
Brother: "Thanks for the gifts, the girls loved their dungarees."
Me: "I didn't buy them any dungarees."
Brother: "Oh, no, that's right, you didn't. Let me explain - they received a duplicate of your present from their other aunt, you know, the one from the maternal side of the family and someone I think of more highly than you, so me and my wife took the decision to return yours."
Me: "Oh, thanks a bunch. From now on I'll not bother to buy any more presents then."
Of course, that was until Christmas 2015 or 2016 (I cannot recall exactly which one) when my husband decided to 'take care of the present thing'. He sent an email to my brother, explaining in detail the type of table tennis table our son wanted and even included an Argos link. My brother was apparently 'too busy to read his emails', so nothing was bought. My mum, who was in one of her horrible difficult lazy bitch moods that particular Christmas, started verbally berating my husband after I'd popped upstairs to get away from the overwhelming social thing. I heard it all from the landing - she started crying, stating that "it was all her fault ..." that kind of emotional blackmail I have come to expect from my mother.
That was the last Christmas Day we've ever hosted; we're never going to let anyone in apart from the three of us and our cats in ever again.
Monday 17 December 2018
Post #143 - Christmas 2018
I feel that I haven't written in ages and I'm right, I haven't put fingertips to laptop for quite a while. Well, what's been happening you may ask? Thank you for asking; in October I met with the local NHS Trust psychiatrist in the quest to determine whether I had Bipolar II as well as the other mental health baggage: namely autism and clinical depression. It really doesn't seem that I have because my 'highs' aren't elevated or manic enough and I'm not given to doing mad irrational things like taking Class A drugs, piloting a plane or climbing Mount Everest. Nope, I have no plans to do any of that kind of thing.
So ... I'm seemingly uni-polar and that's about it. I have been keeping a mood diary since coming off of all SSRIs and yes, it's been tough - more ups and down than a seesaw on some days. I'm trying to keep a low profile at home and don't really go out much at the moment. I'm due to see the psychiatrist in early January, so I'll update you from there.
So ... I'm seemingly uni-polar and that's about it. I have been keeping a mood diary since coming off of all SSRIs and yes, it's been tough - more ups and down than a seesaw on some days. I'm trying to keep a low profile at home and don't really go out much at the moment. I'm due to see the psychiatrist in early January, so I'll update you from there.
Sunday 5 August 2018
Post #142 - Did It Again
Yes, once again I've fallen out with a close friend, whom I'll refer to as 'IndieMan' over something I stupidly wrote on Facebook messenger whilst pretending to be my husband, Mr Random. The trouble is that 'my sense of humour' [quotes intentional] is odd and sometimes a little hurtful and I fully admit that it has caused me no end of trouble throughout my life.
*Benefit of Hindsight - written on 17th December 2018*
We made it up a fortnight or so after the incident, so roughly mid-August if my execrable maths is up to scratch. Fair enough, I screwed up, but I guess that it was a rather immature response to his somewhat cavalier attitude towards my feelings in the past.
IndieMan discussed it with me face-to-face in late November, and hey, yes, I did wrong, but my husband was rather pleased that we'd fallen out. Try as he might, Mr Random doesn't really like me having close friendships with other blokes. Quite understandably, he gets jealous and rather dislikes IndieMan upsetting his wife by flying off of the handle and blocking her on social media. As for IndieMan blaming Mrs Random for any ensuing physical altercations that he may get himself into as a result is total bollocks. Grow up.
I apologised. I'm not sure what else I can do, apart from donning sackcloth and ashes whilst being beaten by a leper colony. My friend duly blocked me on WhatsApp and Facebook and generally shut me out of his life.
*Benefit of Hindsight - written on 17th December 2018*
We made it up a fortnight or so after the incident, so roughly mid-August if my execrable maths is up to scratch. Fair enough, I screwed up, but I guess that it was a rather immature response to his somewhat cavalier attitude towards my feelings in the past.
IndieMan discussed it with me face-to-face in late November, and hey, yes, I did wrong, but my husband was rather pleased that we'd fallen out. Try as he might, Mr Random doesn't really like me having close friendships with other blokes. Quite understandably, he gets jealous and rather dislikes IndieMan upsetting his wife by flying off of the handle and blocking her on social media. As for IndieMan blaming Mrs Random for any ensuing physical altercations that he may get himself into as a result is total bollocks. Grow up.
Sunday 22 July 2018
Post #141 - Instagram
Social Media is a nightmare in the wrong hands and I rue the day I set up my son's, MasterLogic's Instagram account because this is the kind of stuff he's posting:
I mean, firstly it's kind of macabre, talking about your dead pet and some of the ashes of a dead grandmother (yes, it was his gran, not his great-gran ...) but then to start insulting one of your former classmate's videos. We did try and tell him how to rectify things, but ...
*Update*
At approximately 19:14 BST after seeing MasterLogic get into an online spat with a former classmate I deleted his account. I honestly cannot foresee a time that he'll ever get back on social media as he hasn't got a flipping clue.
Tuesday 10 July 2018
Post #140 - My Late Cat, Tilly.
We had my 18 year-old cat, Tilly, put to sleep at the Vet this morning. It was very sad indeed and I burst into tears when her bright green eyes clouded over and she'd passed on.
I am editing this post a few days on and it's odd being in the house without her as she as such a comforting presence (although her natural 'Tortietude' was rather loud at times and her breath, awful.) We'd owned her since we moved into this house and she was a Cats' Protection rescue moggie, who'd been left in an empty house in a nearby suburb alongside her brother/litter mate, when her former owners had moved without taking their pets with them (nice people, huh?). She was about three years old then and the Vet was able to guesstimate her age (from her teeth) at approximately three years of age. We were advised to take her as a lone cat because her and her sibling didn't really get on (I can totally agree with this myself from bitter experience ...)
I recall her resisting, twisting and generally ranting when we attempted to brush her teeth; the fact that she required £30 more's worth of anesthetic as a result of her struggling during a tooth operation a few years ago was pretty standard. She coped with Ted's birth and the distruption to the household from 2007 onwards and was a great mouser. When I had my regular bouts of insomnia, she was downstairs, asleep, but meowed a little 'hello' to me if she was woken by me putting the light on.
She'll be missed.
I am editing this post a few days on and it's odd being in the house without her as she as such a comforting presence (although her natural 'Tortietude' was rather loud at times and her breath, awful.) We'd owned her since we moved into this house and she was a Cats' Protection rescue moggie, who'd been left in an empty house in a nearby suburb alongside her brother/litter mate, when her former owners had moved without taking their pets with them (nice people, huh?). She was about three years old then and the Vet was able to guesstimate her age (from her teeth) at approximately three years of age. We were advised to take her as a lone cat because her and her sibling didn't really get on (I can totally agree with this myself from bitter experience ...)
I recall her resisting, twisting and generally ranting when we attempted to brush her teeth; the fact that she required £30 more's worth of anesthetic as a result of her struggling during a tooth operation a few years ago was pretty standard. She coped with Ted's birth and the distruption to the household from 2007 onwards and was a great mouser. When I had my regular bouts of insomnia, she was downstairs, asleep, but meowed a little 'hello' to me if she was woken by me putting the light on.
She'll be missed.
Friday 6 July 2018
Post #139 - Gay Paris Avec Ma Famille
Yep, I'm writing this from my hotel in Paris. The ladz are here with me too and it's my son's first ever trip overseas (or underseas because we travelled here by Eurostar). We have just eaten a sumptuous repast purchased from the local supermarche.
Here's the shower room; there's no tray, merely a tiled floor and a drain. I haven't tried out the douche yet and do hope that the shower curtain doesn't attach itself to my wet skin.
The telephone is bizarre; who on earth are those people? Are they all dead now?
Here's the shower room; there's no tray, merely a tiled floor and a drain. I haven't tried out the douche yet and do hope that the shower curtain doesn't attach itself to my wet skin.
The view from the window of an uninspiring courtyard.
The telephone is bizarre; who on earth are those people? Are they all dead now?
Wednesday 4 July 2018
Post #138 - Being An Independent Aspie
Mind you, but 'independent' I mean living with my husband and son, but hey, I'm not useless. Far from it. I think the experiences I've lived through over the past few weeks have really cemented the fact that I need to extricate myself from any charities, associations and anything connected to group activities. The truth is the matter is that I'm just not a team player and cannot understand or indeed, abide, working with others, especially those with disabilities. This isn't me being unfair or prejudiced - I just find other autistic people to be very tricky to deal with, as I'm sure that they do me! I find myself getting very argumentative with them, that's for sure ...
In other news I'm on the NHS's waiting list for a diagnosis of Bipolar II; I saw my GP a week or so ago and I do meet the clinical threshold to be referred to a psychiatrist for further investigation. I'm still experiencing symptoms of hypomania and wonder quite how long they'll last as it's been just over a month now. It sounds better than it actually is, believe me!
In other news I'm on the NHS's waiting list for a diagnosis of Bipolar II; I saw my GP a week or so ago and I do meet the clinical threshold to be referred to a psychiatrist for further investigation. I'm still experiencing symptoms of hypomania and wonder quite how long they'll last as it's been just over a month now. It sounds better than it actually is, believe me!
Saturday 23 June 2018
Post #137 - Nil Points Pour Le PIP
Regular readers, if there are indeed any, may recall that I recently attended a face-to-face assessment for PIP as described in an earlier post: https://faspie.blogspot.com/2018/06/giving-me-pip.html
Right, so yesterday the DWP 'buff A5 letter of doom' plopped into the Logics' porch, I slit it open and it was a bit fat no. Considering that I scored an amazing 2 points (yes, 2!) during PIP attempt #1 this was a double shock. Nothing, nada.
So ... I'm currently drafting my Mandatory Reconsideration Notice. I'm pretty annoyed, so it's full of vitriol, here's an extract:
"I told the Assessor that I have panic attacks when eating either in or out of the home; he stated that he had a nursing background, but didn’t seem to understand what ‘acid reflux’ was and called it ‘acid reflex’. I have no idea how this man managed to pass the requisite examinations to qualify as a medical professional."
Right, so yesterday the DWP 'buff A5 letter of doom' plopped into the Logics' porch, I slit it open and it was a bit fat no. Considering that I scored an amazing 2 points (yes, 2!) during PIP attempt #1 this was a double shock. Nothing, nada.
So ... I'm currently drafting my Mandatory Reconsideration Notice. I'm pretty annoyed, so it's full of vitriol, here's an extract:
"I told the Assessor that I have panic attacks when eating either in or out of the home; he stated that he had a nursing background, but didn’t seem to understand what ‘acid reflux’ was and called it ‘acid reflex’. I have no idea how this man managed to pass the requisite examinations to qualify as a medical professional."
Thursday 21 June 2018
Post #136 - Sabbatical
After the events of the last few weeks I have decided, for the good of my health, to take a bit of a step back from working with other people. It'll be fine - I'll pick the role back up in September once Master Logic is safely settled into his secondary school.
*Update*
I never returned to the Charity and was sidelined over the summer.
*Update*
I never returned to the Charity and was sidelined over the summer.
Monday 18 June 2018
Post #135 - Behind The Mask
Do you ever, like me, stop and think, 'why the hell do I bother even attempting to help people?' Maybe you do, perhaps you don't? Yep, I can be a right angry bear at times, but the truth of the matter is that I'm really frustrated by life at the moment. Regular readers of this blog will know that I took redundancy from the civil service just over two years ago and since then, I've been searching for something meaningful to fill my time. As I've frequently mused upon, finding gainful employment is almost impossible for people with Autism, but with a little tweaking, the skills I've picked up during my career in the public sector can be transferred across to the voluntary sector.
Take for example: charity work; yes, it can be rewarding and annoying in equal measure, but recently the pendulum is swinging towards the latter option. Why? Well, let's define the verb itself (credit: Google Dictionary)
... from 'autos' meaning 'self' - so in a word, selfish. I'm increasingly getting really fed up with this particular aspect of the condition. Autistic people can be complete unreasonable arseholes at times and as for some, and by no means all, parents of children/adults on the spectrum, they're bloody worse - rude, entitled and demanding as hell. Writing as somebody, who, until her late thirties, knew something was wrong, but not exactly what, I've been musing it for a while now. I did exist in the world, held down a career, got married, had a son and generally masked my condition. I've been 'unmasked' for nearly five years and hey, I just want to grab the mask back, stick it back on my face and return to a world when autism was something which happened to other people. I know that it's impossible to do that, especially as my son's on the spectrum and it would be frankly ridiculous concept, but I'm coming out of the other side, it'll take a while, but it'll be fine.
My recent PIP assessment made me re-address my past history, with special reference to the last five years or so and directly led to a bout of hypomania which has lasted for two weeks now. It's not a nice feeling - think of a swarm of bees buzzing in your skull and you'll have some idea.
Take for example: charity work; yes, it can be rewarding and annoying in equal measure, but recently the pendulum is swinging towards the latter option. Why? Well, let's define the verb itself (credit: Google Dictionary)
autism
ˈɔːtɪz(ə)m/
noun
- a mental condition, present from early childhood, characterized by great difficulty in communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using language and abstract concepts.
... from 'autos' meaning 'self' - so in a word, selfish. I'm increasingly getting really fed up with this particular aspect of the condition. Autistic people can be complete unreasonable arseholes at times and as for some, and by no means all, parents of children/adults on the spectrum, they're bloody worse - rude, entitled and demanding as hell. Writing as somebody, who, until her late thirties, knew something was wrong, but not exactly what, I've been musing it for a while now. I did exist in the world, held down a career, got married, had a son and generally masked my condition. I've been 'unmasked' for nearly five years and hey, I just want to grab the mask back, stick it back on my face and return to a world when autism was something which happened to other people. I know that it's impossible to do that, especially as my son's on the spectrum and it would be frankly ridiculous concept, but I'm coming out of the other side, it'll take a while, but it'll be fine.
My recent PIP assessment made me re-address my past history, with special reference to the last five years or so and directly led to a bout of hypomania which has lasted for two weeks now. It's not a nice feeling - think of a swarm of bees buzzing in your skull and you'll have some idea.
Sunday 3 June 2018
Post #134 - Giving Me The PIP
Yep readers, it's PIP time again. Just in case I didn't write about what happened with PIP attempt #1, well, let's just say that it went all the way through to Tribunal and failed. The lead Judge on the panel said to me, and I quote "you've got to understand who this benefit is aimed at?" As I was in bits at the time and as a claimant, you're not supposed to answer the panel back I merely replied "I plan to re-apply", but in retrospect, that's no way to treat a person. Did she really think that I was tying to craftily eke some cash out of the Government? Was I not worthy? Anyway, me being me, I wrote a letter of complaint about her attitude and fired off a letter of complaint to these people, namely the Judicial Conduct Investigations Board: https://judicialconduct.judiciary.gov.uk/, but that was back in April and despite chasing it up recently, my query hasn't even been acknowledged, let alone dealt with.
*Update* - I got pushed from pillar to post, but I finally heard back from the Head Judge or whatever he's called. The complaint is very much in the process of being resolved.
I re-applied with the assistance of the experienced chair from my local adult autism charity, and await tomorrow's fun. I squared it with the DWP to use a taxi and apply for a refund afterwards. I know that this sounds a bit over-the-top, but I don't and can no longer drive due to my failing eyesight and extreme anxiety, plus the bus goes from a London Borough into Kent and I tend to avoid travelling to that town because it has a one-way system and, oh, considering how stressed I got last time I travelled solo on public transport (please see https://faspie.blogspot.com/2018/05/trains-planes-and-automobiles.html for further deets) it's something I cannot deal with prior to a stressful event such as explaining to an ATOS assessor how bloody useless my autism makes me feel.
*Update* - I got pushed from pillar to post, but I finally heard back from the Head Judge or whatever he's called. The complaint is very much in the process of being resolved.
I re-applied with the assistance of the experienced chair from my local adult autism charity, and await tomorrow's fun. I squared it with the DWP to use a taxi and apply for a refund afterwards. I know that this sounds a bit over-the-top, but I don't and can no longer drive due to my failing eyesight and extreme anxiety, plus the bus goes from a London Borough into Kent and I tend to avoid travelling to that town because it has a one-way system and, oh, considering how stressed I got last time I travelled solo on public transport (please see https://faspie.blogspot.com/2018/05/trains-planes-and-automobiles.html for further deets) it's something I cannot deal with prior to a stressful event such as explaining to an ATOS assessor how bloody useless my autism makes me feel.
Sunday 27 May 2018
Post #133 - Trains, Planes and Automobiles
Well, the first one anyway, planes aren't a huge part of my life. Yesterday I went for a day trip to the coast and to enable myself to be able to catch the relevant train I had to travel across London. At weekends they often run 4 carriage, half size trains and as you can imagine, they can get crowded. Anyway, there I am, minding my own business, sat on a set of 6 seats, facing the way of travel and the train stops at a major travel hub. Quite a crowd of people get on and despite there being loads of other free seats, a couple wish to sit right next to me. Yep. I huffed and puffed a bit - the woman was frigging annoying - all middle class braying voice and flicking her long bleached hair about. After putting up with about five minutes of this, I plonked myself on the backwards facing window seat, thus having a free space between myself and another passenger who was located in the aisle seat.
The rest of the journey was fine; I managed to score well on my Tetris game. Mind you, later on, whilst on a mini train, a noisy group of people with profound learning disabilities got on the same carriage. I honestly felt that my ears would explode and truly believe that not all disabled people can understand others with different conditions.
Sunday 14 January 2018
Post #132 - The Times They Are A Changin'
Yep. They sure are. Yesterday I went to London to meet an old friend/former colleague and we walked from London Victoria Station to The Civil Service Club, via some of the buildings we'd both worked in and my word - it's like a celebration of glass, which is rather odd to say the least. Pictured below is the former site of New Scotland Yard, which I worked in from the mid-late 1990s. At least it now affords a splendid view of the Art Deco beauty of 55 Broadway, Transport For London's HQ building.
As we walked parallel to the beauty of St James's Park, we traversed the building where I'd been the most miserable. I even wanted to show him the corner where I used to stand, cry and telephone my husband from. As much as I appreciated my friend's intelligence, by the end of the evening I felt as though I was being lectured. I'm not a stupid person by any means and in the UK, surely it's rude to be too intellectual? Me? I wanted to talk about this series of Celebrity Big Brother.
Last night I dreamt that I was back in my most hated Government Department and my gawd awful boss was forcing me to accept a state of affairs I wholeheartedly disliked. Luckily it wasn't real. Today was great though - we were fundraising in our local branch of Sainsbury's and I had some great conversations with both charity colleagues and kind members of the public. Stuff the past, this is my life now and I'm very happy that it is so.
As we walked parallel to the beauty of St James's Park, we traversed the building where I'd been the most miserable. I even wanted to show him the corner where I used to stand, cry and telephone my husband from. As much as I appreciated my friend's intelligence, by the end of the evening I felt as though I was being lectured. I'm not a stupid person by any means and in the UK, surely it's rude to be too intellectual? Me? I wanted to talk about this series of Celebrity Big Brother.
Last night I dreamt that I was back in my most hated Government Department and my gawd awful boss was forcing me to accept a state of affairs I wholeheartedly disliked. Luckily it wasn't real. Today was great though - we were fundraising in our local branch of Sainsbury's and I had some great conversations with both charity colleagues and kind members of the public. Stuff the past, this is my life now and I'm very happy that it is so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)