It begins…

I’d like to post about how great my holiday was, or finish my introspections (or, infact, finish any of the post series I’ve started…) but I have the more pressing need to write about the horrors awaiting me when I came home.

Yep, appeals time.

See, it’s not enough that your doctor says you have a severe neurological condition which impairs your every day life to the extent that you can’t walk or look after yourself. The government have to actually believe it. Which is harder than you’d think. It is so, so upsetting and frustrating that they don’t give a damn about what the truth is, they just want to save money.

I got my huge pack of appeal stuff through, which I’ve skimmed but not read because to be honest I’m too exhausted to take it all in. But what I do understand from it, is that the only teeny piece of evidence that the DWP care about is the suggestion that ME is actually “false illness beliefs”. That good ol’ lie surfaces to screw us over once more.

I’m fighting it, of course I’m fighting it, I’m fighting it every step of the way – but I’m terrified that the lies will win. Not just because I’m entitled to basic human dignity. Not just because we need the pittance they provide to be able to eat properly. Not just because I’m desperately, desperately ill, and could really do with the help. Right now, it’s because they are lying about me, and they are bad, and bad guys shouldn’t win. 

They are lying about me to my face, and that is unacceptable.

There are some real gems in here:

  • Despite how I’ve written the diagnosis down repeatedly, on the DWP forms they have put the wrong disease down. No wonder they think I don’t have supporting evidence for it!
  • The examining doctor failed to correctly establish whether I am left or right handed. Says a lot.
  • The examining doctor actually suggests that my answering questions about symptoms with details about symptoms is in itself a symptom of psychotic beliefs. What did he expect me to answer the questions with?! The weather?! I mean, I know I’m English, but come on….

Actually, that last one shocked me. Psychotic?! All his questions were about symptoms… but answering about symptoms shows a psychotic obsession with them… what?! The word is right there. He has pretty dire handwriting, I would be willing to believe that somehow I am misreading every other word in that sentence in order to make it into something else. Maybe he missed a full stop and those squiggles there say something about how it’s obsessive that I am answering his questions instead of talking about the weather, but I am clearly and emphatically not psychotic. Maybe it’s that. I really hope it’s that. I don’t quite believe it, though.

Oh, God. I’m your daughter, aren’t I? But look at where I’m at. I can’t take care of myself at all, I can’t walk, and these people are lying about me to each other and to my face so that they don’t have to help me. Please vindicate me. Prove beyond doubt that I’m in the right. If I have to fight this for some reason then I will fight this, but please, please don’t let them win. I have no hope other than you.


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