supermouse

When you've finally trawled through literally fifty pages of your ninety-page PIP rejection over months and you're finally relaxing with a fanfic you last put down in October, and are having a nice day off from all things DWP, and your Welfare Rights Officer crashes your mood with an email because she is doing her job and being helpful and now you have to think about the damned PIP form again that you'd been able to forget was there for hours.

I am grateful for the help. I am. I know everything is set up for rejection without a raft of professionals who are not there because the NHS is on its knees and I've been at home doing nothing and that's been fine by everyone because there isn't anything to do, but it doesn't lend itself to proof. And that 'doing nothing but write very bad fiction because writing replaces the opiates I cannot these days take' does not fit nicely into a picture that will save me from eventual sanctions for not looking well for work. Looking at a page of form and throwing up and having to go and lie down for a while doesn't fit into those forms either. But those forms are what we have.

There's just so much... spite. On every page. And lots of it is cut and paste and all of it has ignored GP evidence and it's all... so much. The assessor found their magic things to use to reject the claim and has hammered it home over and over in very bad faith that's exhausting to argue with, but I've got to. It's been every day.

I was somewhere else for a while, reading a very long fanfic I'd been missing enjoying, because it stirs up intense emotion and those are actually exhausting too, and I can't mix them up with the feelings stirred up by fifty pages of PIP.

And with an actual WRO on side, this is 'easy' mode. Aargh.

Back to trying to put together coherent emails. It's all such hard work. But if I get it done, perhaps tomorrow won't have PIP things in and I can stop feeling constantly sick.