Me, Daniel Blake and a bunch of hypocrites.

I first started writing my thoughts about Ken Loach’s film , I Daniel Blake a week or so ago when puff pieces about it started appearing in the media and on Facebook about it.

I gave up when it started sounding like a particularly long bout of Tourette’s Syndrome. It’s hard to condense three years of abject fear into words without your emotions taking over and even harder under the circumstances I shall now describe.

I walked ignorantly into my first sham of a work capability medical. At that point in time, even having a general conversation with anyone would bring me out in a cold sweat, let alone being quizzed by a complete stranger. You can read the horror stories all over the Internet and mine involved a humiliating inquisition, a letter landing on my doorstep two days before Christmas, pulling my life out from under me, plunging me into a year of constant doctors visits, trips to support services constant fear and extreme poverty followed by a traumatising appeal where i had to not only sit before a judge and still form words but answer everything as I would have done almost a year before. I cannot describe what hell it was but I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy, I’d wish it on quite a few of them as I think a bit of empathy and humility might do them some good.

I had some wonderful friends around that time and there are fantastic support networks amongst those who suffered at the hands of the government and a bunch of private companies out to make a fast buck at the expense of people’s suffering. As well as knowing who your friends are, you soon learn who they aren’t and I find it deeply offensive just how many people who remained intentionally and blissfully ignorant at the time I was living in terror on a daily basis have since jumped on the right on austerity bandwagon.  It’s cool to be right on again now, everybody is doing it, the social life is great and, hey, it’s a great way to go on the pull.

I would like to see the film, it’s on at the local art house cinema next month but as of three thirty today (Tuesday the twenty fifth of October) I’ve already spotted about five hypocritical shitbags who I distinctly remember being conspicuous by their silence around that time are planning to go. Not only that, I’m poor and I can’t afford ten pound for a ticket. One of the groups that suffered worst under the first attacks by the department of work and pensions was the mentally ill, a group of which I am sadly a member. We were easy pickings, not having any of the annoying X-rays, blood work and paper trail of physical ailments and when we complained, well, we were a bunch of nutters! So who is going to listen to us? But over the years, we got organised, became experts at the the politics of victimisation and dpac (disabled people against the cuts ) became notorious for the effectiveness of their direct action. Meanwhile, labour did sod all, the usual left of centre mobs did sod all and nothing was reported anywhere in the mainstream media. 

But suffering mental health problems, recurrent depression, anxiety, social phobia as I do and prone as I am to having breakdowns, wobbles and meltdowns I am amazed by the number of the supposed great and good locally who have gone out of their way to not only make my life a misery and to this day perpetuate situations to still make my life uncomfortable and make sure various other people don’t communicate with me in public for fear of their judgement . I’m not saying my behaviour has been perfect but , hello! Mental health problems, mitigating circumstances, I mean…

Anyway, I already spotted a minibus load of totally hypocritical bastards going to see this film and no doubt that figure will go up to a coach load. I won’t check again, it will be far too depressing, I already know I can’t go. So to all you self righteous, Internet curtain twitching, road crossing, blanking me, gossip spreading shit bags, I hope the springs from those plush cinema seats pop out and stab you in the arse hole and you choke on your popcorn so you spend the next month with rectal bleeding and breathing through a tracheotomy tube. 

To everyone else, have a lovely time xxx mwah!

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