"I'm sorry I'm late," I said as I stumbled in, helmet on head. "My son forgot his homework book and luckily we live right near the school so I could drop it off." Didn't mention I couldn't open the email to remind myself of the address so just had to guess....
My master plan was to stay quiet and to speak when spoken to. To listen to everything said against me and my little one. Cluttered flat came up, my son saying "I hate my life" came up, that I did defend a little later saying children say all types of things.
The school nurse, when it was her turn to speak, said that my son had turned up for his check well presented, that his height and weight were at the average percentile for his age group and that he was very kind - there were a number of children being checked that day and he offered his seat to a little girl who didn't have one. Aw, my boy!
I was asked about his anxieties, and not wanting to implicate myself too much, said I didn't know what went on at school but I trusted the school implicitly, they had support structures in place to deal with all childrens' issues, not just mine. I said I was on top of it at home. He didn't know I was depressed (his social worker had said my son was concerned about my depression), but he recognised the rhythms of our situation and dealt with it. Pressed on how, I said he played on his game boy or read his book when I was in quiet mode. "Whenever I get a repossession or a possession notice for example, I go very quiet."
New support worker... wow, every barrel. He said I wanted to commit suicide (thought about it, big difference), that I was accusing the council of discrimination, of being unfair, "writing to the local paper, to the Guardian about it!" He said the council were acting within the law (to which I said the law was wrong) and any way, to cut a long story short, we were told to stop talking about housing!
My mental health they wanted to know about so I told them. "We're not talking about housing anymore," they interrupted.
In short, they asked me how they could help me, and I shrugged. I dunno. (Couldn't say housing anymore than I'd said housing)
Concerned about my mental health, one of the men are going to call my doctor and there will be a three way meeting between us (I did not look over excited at the prospect, relations with my doctor have gone somewhat down hill, particularly since, she too, told me to stop thinking about housing..what fun meeting that will be...)
I'd mentioned writing to everyone including all the prime ministers of the past five years. "What do you think that can do to help you?" asked the Leader man. "Aiming that high, I'm asking them to change things for everybody else."
I held it together in there. Maybe reacting and acting out, making them think I can't cope would have made them put my son on the child protection register which might have helped us get a secure home. Not a risk I was prepared to take though.
Tell you what did facilitate things quite alot though. The Leader man was quite good looking! You know, a kind of inside out handsomeness! "That certainly helped," I said to Deputy!
Apologies for the long post. I just don't want to talk about it anymore today.
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