Yesterday, a week later than expected due to a communication failure between mental health professionals from NHS Fife and Fife council I had the social work assessment I talked about in this post.
It didn’t go well.
It didn’t even go ok.
It didn’t even go badly.
The assessment was a hideous ordeal and has left me in a terrible, scary place today.
The assessment was so triggering I have very little memory of it, I switched so often that I repeatedly found myself dropped into conversation with no idea what had been said previous to my arrival but with full awareness of the damage that had been done.
The social worker clearly hadn’t read so much as a pamphlet on DID, in fact I suspect she may have read “how not to speak to people with DID” a special publication available only to mental health professionals.
It’s too painful to think about, to talk about.
I’m so frustrated at the continued failure of people to understand DID, to understand me. Yesterday I tried various friendly analogies to help
“imagine living in a house with several other people, they all think differently, want different things, react differently- you can never leave the house”
“just say I had 10 ‘parts’ then imagine each of those ‘parts’ has 10 triggers- but it’s more than 10”
She didn’t get it.
I’m not asking for the world to change to accommodate me, all I ask is that my needs are recognised and respected. All I want is to not be damaged by those who should be helping me.
I’m in agony today- all kinds and all those little signs of decline are there- the social worker should come back today as it’s all a bit more tangible and obvious- she might get it. Head noise is loud and often spilling out, internal communication is becoming externalised- I’m having conversations with myself. There’s a problem with the Tweetdeck desktop app but I can’t define it, can’t articulate it let alone fix it. I’m trembling, tearful, and confused. I feel vulnerable, afraid and alone.
I’m relying on friends- friends who do get it, friends who know that should the misery and pain spill out into our conversations that the best thing to do is make me laugh. If we set aside the tragedy that is a person so badly damaged it’s not even safe for them to feel good emotions, friends who know that the best response to a Facebook status that says “ouch” is *kicks you in the face* are providing life-support.
These friends do get it, not because they all have DID, not because they’re all mental- because they know me and because they care.
I’m short of words.
The conclusion of the assessment is that there are no services to meet my needs- the social worker knew this before she started it. I went through that for nothing; I put myself through that for nothing. As the Fantastic CPN pointed out afterwards
“I know it was dreadful but you did ask for it”
As the great philosopher Damien Kulash says
Needing is one thing and getting, getting’s another.