To say the events of the last week has left me feeling disappointed would be a colossal understatement.
Despite my efforts to get the therapy I need as quickly as possible the private sector has rejected me because I do not have enough wealth to cover anything but the core consultations and therapy. As a result I’ve returned to the ineffective and glacially slow NHS mental health service that is limited in both scope and budget. To top it all both of the senior CMHT staff members that I need to speak to are on holiday!
I am and have been so desperate to start DBT that now it’s clear there will be a significant delay for any therapy, let alone the most appropriate one, I genuinely fear I’ll live the remainder of my life with this millstone around my neck.
So it’s a waiting game name now. A wait that is making every minute feel like an hour.
This extreme disappointment could be classed as self pitying I know. Why should the process be expedited for me? Why should the help I receive be any different? Yet the simple truth is I cannot be magnanimous towards the many thousands who are also in such dire straits. It would be akin to seeing starvation on the news and then abstain from eating. Everything that myself, fiancée and family has done was an attempt to break the cycle of depression, breakdowns and poor support.
Something has to work eventually.
Over the years I have experienced disappointment of varying impact and justification. In some cases a result of completely unreasonable expectations and the subsequent failure to materialise, usually occurring when desperate for change or support.
On Wednesday the expectation I had was that after seeing the the psychiatrist on Tuesday there would be a flurry of communication between the mental health professionals, someone would pull some strings, I’d be able to jump the queue and, with the full support of the CMHT, start the DBT on the next intake day – which was yesterday. That didn’t materialise, and though I knew all along that it wasn’t realistic, the disappointment was very real. Almost as if my expectation shouldn’t have been anything other than a certainty.
So yesterday, I spent most of the day hoping for a telephone call from some nondescript person urging me to rush to the DBT group and begin my journey at last.
Perhaps in a helicopter. To get there faster.
I was sorely disappointed again.