I am a suspect. I am merely a cluster of symptoms. Every word, every gesture, every aspect of my appearance is construed as evidence that I'm a problem.
I must be processed, like an old growth redwood, milled into a manageable toothpick.
She asked me what I wanted Voc Rehab to help me with. It's all written in my application: tuition, books, parts for my scooter, medical, a computer...some other stuff, too. I figured, if they were going to ask me what I needed, I might as well tell them, and maybe I'd get a little of it.
I blinked, as she had my application in her lap and was flipping pages.
I said, "what can you do?"
"Well, I see you want a computer. What for?"
Editing sound, wordprocessing, webstering, etc.
"Well, we don't provide computers."
Then, why had she asked me why I needed one, I thought, but didn't say.
"Once I'm trained and employed, I can buy my own computer." That shut her up.
"Do you want us to help you seek employment?"
"I don't know if you CAN. But, if you can't, I can seek employement, myself, using the connections I'll be making at KUNM, UNM, the vocational school and its radio station, and elsewhere."
"Well, if you don't want us to help you find employment, maybe you should seek assistance elsewhere. Voc Rehab helps clients seek employment."
"Look, the job I want to train for is unusual; I want to be a sound editor, technician or engineer. I doubt Voc Rehab has many, if any, clients who are persuing careers in sound. So, I don't know if Voc Rehab has access to information in the field. But I'd be willing to work WITH Rehab, to develop resources in the fields of media--"
"You're getting angry. I can't talk to you."
"Don't tell me how I feel." I wasn't angry; I was terrified. This may be my last chance, and she was looking for reasons to disqualify me! And I'd only been in her office for five minutes!
"Well, you're very aggressive."
"I'm not being aggressive; I'm being assertive! I'm telling you what I need, how I hope to get there. Voc Rehab has a lot more clients who are training to be nurses' aids, dog groomers, childcare workers and file clerks than they have clients who are persuing media tech. jobs. I just don't KNOW if Voc Rehab has the resources to help me with job placement. I don't know how this place runs!"
I had never raised my voice. I had never gestured. I had merely spoken, in a normal conversational tone. But I had stated, clearly, what I needed and how I thought I might get there.
So, I must be angry and aggressive!
She asked me about my history.
I told her I was becoming so disabled in Calif that I took my mother up on her offer to move to Kentucky, where, she said, "your family can take care of you."
I explained that, within six weeks, I was in a homeless shelter on skid row, in a strange city, almost three thousand miles from everyone and everything I'd ever known, surrounded by addicts and fundamentalist bible thumpers, alone.
I explained that, no matter what I did, I could not get any medical people to test me and find out why I was in so much pain.
I explained that, at one point, while homeless, I'd practiced killing myself with a friend's gun.
I voluntarily checked myself into a mental hospital the next day.
SHe wrote something on a pad.
I said, "That's all you're going to write? About the hospitalization? Nothing about the circumstances which lead to the suicide attempt? Nothing about the physical pain?"
She coldly told me the physical aspects do not affect my relationship with Voc Rehab, since I was in the office which handles psychiatric disablilities.
All she cared about was how I fit into diagnoses in the DMS4, the manual of pinning people with diagnoses of mental illnesses.
Period.
She suggested a "case manager." These are people who inspect your home, manage your finances and medications, tell you where to go and what to do. They ONLY provide services -- such as transportation to medical/dental visits, shopping, etc. or information about how to hook up with such resources as low income housing, etc. -- if the client is totally compliant.
I saw a "client," Paul, in the War Zone catch hell from his worker for...are you ready for this?....raising a tomato plant in a coffee can on his porch! She said it was dirty and attracted roaches.
Do you think I want someone like THAT in my HOME???
AND, I'd be FORCED to take mind-altering chemincals. If I did NOT comply with their meds., I'd be disqualified as uncooperative.
I explained this to her, but she wouldn't hear me.
Now, I've waited TWO MONTHS for this appointment. A relevent class begins at TVI, down the street from me, in April.
But I have to wait until after May 10th for a four hour "psychological examination." This isn't a conversation with a therapist. This is a prefabricated series of hoop jumpings which they actually believe will give them the info they need to "help" me.
It won't work, of course. They'll come up with some diagnosis that satisfies them and pidgeonholes me for their convenience. Any person, off the street, could be diagnosed with any number of syndromes, disorders, neuroses, pathologies if they underwent the test. That's what the test does: it defines you as a symptom. Period. It doesn't offer constructive criticism, options or help. It merely processes the individual into a Problem To Solve.
There's a poster on the wall at Voc Rehab. It shows Van Gogh and three other, intelligent, famous people. Underneath, it reads, "be an original." I wondered about that poster, when I'd first walked in. I doubted they meant it. I expected it was mere lip service.
It was.
As I started to leave, I noticed my bus transfer was up. I asked for a bus token. State agencies are supposed to provide them to all clients. They were out, but had some on order.
I said, "it's a five mile walk to my house."
Nobody cared, and resumed their conversations, done with me.
Fortunately, the bus drive accepted my useless transfer, and I came home.
I don't know if I can do this.
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