Thursday, July 21, 2011

Unpaid work.

When i lose the plot i do so with flare and flourish and it is not a pretty sight, with snot running down, teeth wobbling in the mouth, drouling, spitting due to inability to form words well and tears which i shouldnt have for i am told my glands there are under power.
Not so when in a flourish it seems.
there has to be a theory behind that one!
not pretty either when you have practically bullet proof glass between you and the CEO of the local HSE office and metal doors on another.
Why, this is an area of high instances of drug and substance abuse, and few services.
but to cover all that, the lack of services - there are fallen trees climbing the wall racks and printing ink that isnt cheap either.
i must have picked one of each leaflet on all the walls and it came to a hefty file.  including one say 'Your health, your say." or something to that effect.
Like hell.
Chewing gum must now be the blue tack of the service for the police chew it on duty and the district nurse does too.
I had two chewers face me today.
NOTHING is done between the lot of them for people with disabilities here in my little green country.
we have paper trails going down the length of the liffey for each person in Ireland.
Who pays a sick person to try sort social and health problems when no professional seems to have the resources, will or much to offer me, and certainly i dont get paid for it and its very hard labour.
I with asperger am fighting the HSE for very basic services, ten years down the road with the Archbishop of Dublin with no solution.
Buying houses, dealing with solicitors, estate agents, sorting out surveyors, court case of a minor vindictive law breaking stewed up in spite by a young woman who has been disciplined by her own superiors.
How can a person keep this going as well as organising food collection, ceoliac diets, special boots, driving a sick twin to clinics with no doctors appearing.  pissing rain, driving the bloody roads daily on health duties and using the phone for duties to a person who could do with some help.
It is this sort of thing that i can  understand how a person takes a gun out and after the spoil shot him/herself.
when people sit around and do nothing and are fit, healthy, earn a wage, have a qualification from a third level institution, a pensionable job, (none of these geezers can be sacked) what am i to do who is clocking up miles and no one to put the bill to.
How can it be that such a person as i for forty years was deemed as sort of 'mentally deficient and incapable' be allowed to buy a house, deal with solicitors, surveyors and a person with Parkinsons disease and make sure the small social housing unit is organised like a boot camp so that order is contained.
what was the thinking behind psychotropic drugs in bucket fulls down my throat for a condition i never had but still be prescribed in the name of medicine?
what is the point of stuffing me when i am now acting as business woman, social worker (for another social worker) taxi, telephonist, accountant, Occupational Therapist, nuititionist, and physiotherapist. Oh i now have enough education to act as a house assessor and estate agent too!
and yet i am driven in despair to belt down metal health service doors for help for i cannot continue multitasking with the conditions i do have now.
it is no mean feat.
I feel betrayed by all and sundry, family, housing, hse, clergy, medicine and consultants of every description bar one.
and i now have to try and get rid of MRSA which is back again in my failing body.
you cannot be allowed break walking sticks against metal to get help.
You cannot be allowed face highly qualified personel with great jobs for life and booted to the police when they cannot sort it.
to sort my situation is to give me basic help and support.
the history of one person says it for most who are disabled and sick in Ireland.
we bandy around the services like rattle snakes hissing.
all the while my files get thicker resembling a tome equal to the bible and costing carbon foot prints.
its a waste of money, man!
waste of ink,
waste of time,
waste of education,
waste of skill.
waste of money,
waste of space,
waste of trees,
waste of transport (they have to be carted around like albatrosses, for they surely must be that if nothing else).
all the while the world moves around on its axis and the sick do not by God.
i shall have to end a rant, for its not very coherent, but one thing does not add up in this failed economy.
why spend 36million on a local seafront, and zero euro on social housing for sick and disabled and disadvantage?
we have a monte carlo town and a harlem back street where staff hide behind bullet proof glass and metal doors, chewing chewing gum, taking phone calls and writing that up for posterity.
the sick will always be with us, as too the poor, but the wood of the boat will sink many times.
and even the design fades, but not disability.
sick of it.

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