Visit from support worker

When the doorbell rang I had my eyes closed lying on the sofa. I didn't tell him I went to bed at 2 am last night having made a cake for my son's school's tea party later nor did I say I was drained from blog writing activities this week. He knows I'm tired of this situation. That's what he has to take back to the council.

He's a super nice guy my support worker. He's just finished doing a part time HND and wants to do a part time Bsc in the autumn so that one day he can become the chartered surveyor he's often dreamt of being.

We chatted about alot of things; life after death, spirituality, remaining positive, doing volunteering, council waiting lists, all kinds of things. It turns out we're the same age. "We'd've been in the same year at school!" I said.

He said he regretted not doing well at school. He was 13 when his parents migrated here from Bangladesh and he didn't speak a word of English. He had 3 years in which to pass his O'levels. "I didn't do very well," he said.

"You did," I said. "You sat the same exams I did without the advantage I had."

Then we got chatting about where we'd gone 'wrong' in our lives and I decided I had no regrets. I've done what I've done. I'm doing something about it now.

He told me to go and get checked out by a doctor. To get my therapist to write a letter of support. "They've written letters, it doesn't work," I say again. "Do it, keep trying," he answers.

As I stand up to see if the shrink's letter to me is on the sofa I feel dizzy. In a spell of stigmum madness I say "Ooh I'm dizzy," and start singing:

Dizzy, my head is spinning
Like a whirlpool it never ends
And it's you council making it spin so
Dizzy!

He leaves saying he'll come back soon. "I like talking to you," he says.
"I wish the council liked listening to you trying to help me," I replied.

Like Sisyphus, I must push that rock up the fecking mountain. Again.

I get knocked down, but I get up again..... (Chumbawamba)