It had to happen eventually. Somebody’s reported me to the DWP (Department of Work and Pensions).
I got a letter today. Well, my mother did – my benefits are in her name after all – saying that a fraud officer will be visiting my house on Tuesday, and to be sure I’m available. Unless this is the standard letter all benefit claimaints eventually get… but then, why at home? Why not at the benefits office or jobcentre? I don’t know anyone who’s had someone come to their house, with a snotty letter demanding they be available.
I’m not breaking any laws. I’m not committing any fraud. So why do I feel like Tuesday will be the day my life as I know it ends?
I’m terrified. I also don’t know anyone who’s had an assessment and passed. Not even Z, who is bipolar and can’t function without medication. Not my friend Ann, who can’t walk more than a few steps and needs a commode downstairs. Everyone I know has failed the assessment.
I’ve never had one. I’ve never needed to; my disability was always considered life-long. And fraud? I wouldn’t know HOW to commit fraud.
I want to cry. I want to hurt myself. I want to take co-codamol and forget it all.
If I lose my benefits, I can’t help but feel I’ll have no choice but to kill myself. Seriously. I’d have no other options. I’d have no money. Not a penny. Not a single thing to live on.
I want to throw up.
I’m not strong enough for this.
I’m sorry I haven’t commented on other blogs. I just don’t think I can speak sense right now.