You Think You’re So Smart…

Dear Personal Independence Payment,

I consider myself a patient woman…okay, I’m not being entirely honest with you there. I think of myself a considerate woman with a high level of tolerance. First I want to start with something nice. You know I’m nice. That’s why I always sound cheerful before you let me down and, no matter how much we shout at each other, I always apologise at the end of the call. I would like to thank you for testing me; I have learnt a lot through your veritable gauntlet of bullshitting and placating. The most prominent lesson, though, has been an appreciation for my subtle Scottish accent; nuanced by years of communicating with people from many walks of life. However none of these walks of life have managed to evoke the entire spectrum of human emotion or allowed me to communicate that spectrum better than yourself. 

 Elation, sorrow, regret, guilt, joy, sarcasm, fury…you toy with and tempt my emotion and expectation more than any ex-boyfriend. And like those unfulfilling relationships I have left behind, you are a constant and pitiful disappointment. Unlike those exhausting trysts, you are an unfortunate and necessary evil, and as unsatisfying, if not more so, as one particular early university mistake with an drama student who talked a big game but who’s manhood would make a chipolata feel considerably well endowed. 

It is not the fact that you are unable to follow through with your own guidelines, or that you speak to me as if I am missing 3/4 of my brain, or even that I have received so many different opinions from you that I’m pretty sure I’m speaking to several different branches of DWP rather than the PIP service I fell in love with. To put it plainly, you’ve changed. 

You miss my calls, you keep me waiting, you don’t listen, don’t care and…above all else…you lie to me. Constantly. 

All I asked for was your understanding. To accept me as I am and not try to change me. To love me as I am. But, for whatever reason, you’re wanting to put me in a neat little box. Seriously, I’ve got pink hair and a crutch with rhinestones and roses on it…you knew what you were getting into! I’ve been nothing but honest and you’re cheating on me with misinformation and your selective form reading. And, if you’re not doing that, you’re just telling me one thing and purposefully doing the other just to spite me!

So I’m suggesting therapy. I’m sorry, I know it’s not what you want. I know you’re wanting me to lie down and take it. But I can’t. Im a strong, independent woman and I need you to accept that. So we’re going to go to the disputes team; and don’t argue with me because I’m sick of it. Just do this one thing for me.

You’re going to hear what I have to say and you’re going to accept that you’re wrong for once without arguing. 

I’ve got Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Depression, Clinical PMS and Chronically Low BP…that doesn’t make me an idiot or incapable of communicating my needs…it makes me angry, tired and in pain. Hell hath no fury than this bitch so prepare to become a cinder!!!

Okay, okay…I will chill out a little…but we ARE going to talk about this. I just want a happy life where we can get through one conversation without my invoking the spirit of Sir William Wallace every time I want to get through to you; I don’t like hearing my voice like that! And I’m pretty sure you can’t understand me. 

So we’ll talk with someone more skilled, yeah? And hopefully we’ll reach a resolution. I don’t want to take it to court but…if I do, I’m keeping the fucking house. 

To be continued,
P. 

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. D is for Dani
    Oct 01, 2015 @ 21:58:27

    Keep your pretty lol chin up sweetness, you’ll get there! Much loves my fellow wordpresser bestie! 😘😘

    Reply

  2. Mooma -Scotland
    Oct 03, 2015 @ 10:18:11

    This did make me chuckle … This could have applied to a lot of humans we know … Lol xxx

    Reply

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