Today was one of my better days and I decided to go and muck around in my garage.
All was going well but then a car turned up with two people in it. My anxiety built up rapidly because I was not expected anyone, no deliveries, nothing.
I was starting to freak when a woman poked her head out of the window and said that she was my probation officer. My gosh; she had not called me for weeks and the promised home visit never happened. That was supposed to be over a month ago; the probation service, if you can call it a service, is a shambles.
She went through the same old questions to which I gave the same answers; they have a standard list of questions to answer.
We got onto my mental health and I said that it was bad; every damn time that a siren goes past, I freak out and they go past my house a lot, as both ambulance and police are just sitting in Newport. Someone could be stabbed to death or just die by the time that an ambulance turned up; that is what it is like on the Isle of Wight, run by a shambolic and corrupt council with a totally inept MP.
They said that there was now a diktat that all probationers must go to the probation office. I pointed out that I was agoraphobic and was not happy going into the probation office. They said that they “would see if I got better enough” to go into the office.
I told them that my agoraphobia is down to trauma and that it would not get better. I said that if they want to see me, they will have to come out. They did not want to, as they cannot be bothered but I insisted. I reminded them that was the reason that I had to withdraw my appeal; because I was so “f##d up” due to the abuse meted out by the police and that it would not get better
David's Diatribe 