Housing Options

Let’s start at the very beginning, with my visit to an organisation called housing options.

It was Liverpool city councils one stop shop who referred me to them, instead of helping me themselves, when I went in to enquire as to how I could get myself on the list for a housing association property.

This was just days after I had been discharged from the psychiatric hospital, I had been held in under a section two, for making an unsuccessful attempt on my life.

Around the august of 2018, I had been forced to resign from my job at Santander UK, due to them denying me disability support, my doctor and psychiatrist had requested, several times since around the July of 2016. Due to how long and hard my battle for reasonable adjustments had been, the disability I was requesting support for had gotten significantly worse, and because I had not been able to work for a large part of those two years I spent fighting Santander, I had run up what felt like a huge amount of debt in order to eat and pay bills.

In the weeks between my resignation and suicide attempt, I had been receiving temporary EAS payments. On the morning of my suicide attempt, I had received a letter telling me it was going to be stopped.

I was desperate and panicking when I went into the one stop shop. As well as having zero income and mounting overdraft, I was having to sell the house I co owned with my abusive ex-boyfriend, and had nowhere else to go, once it sold I would not only be homeless, I would lose everything I owned including furniture I was still paying off on credit.

The reason the man who worked for the city council, said he was referring me to housing options was due to me being both vulnerable, and having a disability, which would need taking into consideration when it came to offering me a property.

So, trusting that I was going to be helped by this organisation I had never heard of, I allowed him to make me an appointment with them.

What actually happened was the complete opposite.

Like the majority of the borderline episodes (meaning borderline personality disorder related episodes) I have suffered in public, I remember very little about the actual event, however I do recall enough to know that I was not treated with the appropriate care, and which gives me reasonto believe nobody else was/is being/or will be where housing options is concerned.

Upon my arrival, at 9am, there was already a man, aged roughly twenty, who appeared to be highly agitated, sitting in the tiny waiting area. His mum was at the desk, enquiring asto how long they would likely be waiting, as her son had a mental illness which caused him problems remaining “calm” and in one place for even short periods.

The receptions was neither understanding, nor compassionate. She forcefully replied that if her son left he wouldn’t be given another appointment, and ordered her to sit back down.

After timidly giving my details to the same receptionist, I was called into a private room.

On edge, due to how the other woman had been spoken to, I sat down and tried to explain to the man my appointment was with that I have memory issues, and asked could he please note down any important information or advice that he gave me in just bullet points, such as go here, do this.

His attitude had been off when I entered the room, like I was inconveniencing him by making him do his job. Yet, I did not anticipate the reaction I got. His expression changed to a level of annoyance I feel even I would struggle to reach, and he very aggressively barked at me that he could not do that as there simply was not enough time, then he shoved a leaflet at me and sort of sighed exasperatedly, “Why are you here?”

Honestly, I didn’t know why I was there. I had never heard of them before the man at the council referred me there, and the staffs’ attitudes had caught me completely off guard, so I just stared at him unable to answer, wanting to say that I had expected him to tell me why I was there.

For a few awkward and endless seconds or minutes that stretched out forever, he stared back at me silently, until I blurted all of that out, then began recounting my conversation with the man at the one stop shop.

He stopped me almost immediately, notifying me that I would not be put on the housing association waiting list until my house actually sold, and I was literally homeless.

This caused me to break down into hysterical snotty sobbing as I rambled in circles about how I would lose everything I owned if that happened.

This is the first occasion I lost time.

My next memory is of me sat in that same room alone, only now I wasn’t hysterical or afraid, I was furious, and I knew I had acted under the influence of that fury. 

I waited for over fifteen minutes for him to return. When he finally did, he was in a mood that I was unable to interpret. He could have been angry, worried, or some other similar emotion. In a tone that confidently suggested he was doing me a favour he shouldn’t be, he said they were going to start helping me straight away. His expression did not match his voice.

Though I am missing a bit more of the conversation here, I think its more due to nothing memorable happening here and the passing of five years, rather than dissociation.

The next issue arose when he questioned me on my disabilities.

When I answered that I had borderline personality disorder, he told me in the same manner that he greeted me in, and I quote, “We don’t take mental health into consideration when rehousing people, because everybody suffers with mental health.”

I attempted to explain to him that borderline personality disorder is not a mental health issue, it’s a very serious mental illness, and that mental health and mental illness are not the same.

For some reason, he took offence to this, and snapped at me. It must have been far worse than when he had previously snapped at me, as I don’t remember what he said, just the shock of being spoken to in such an aggressive manner by a person I was asking for help.

The next memory I have is leaving the office in tears.