In the past few months I have been attempting to move on
from all of last year’s Benefits misery: to try and reconnect with things I am
good at and which give me some pleasure; to try and be out in the world more
and at home or in the virtual world less.
I could foresee some of the problems this might unearth. There are others I
could not have foreseen
I was asked if I’d like to help out on a sewing project for people with mental
health issues at out local museum. There
were four sessions and I managed to get to two. The group was made up of arts
workers, museum staff, volunteers, people with mental health issues and CPNs. I
wasn’t sure where I fitted in at first but, after conversation and a relaxed
approach, I found that I had a lot of experiences and knowledge in common with
the arts and museum workers (we had worked in the same places at different
times) and everyone was very friendly.
At first I found it heartening to be part of the world where I used to feel so
comfortable: talking about art, making, museum collections, history, and ways
to develop projects. I could feel the old Cusp re-emerging and coming to life.
However, over time I realised that old Cusp was just that…old, gone, in the
past …and the more I listened to what people were doing, where they were going,
had been, had planned, the more I was reminded of what I could do long ago and the
more mindful I became of how little I can achieve now. I realised that, by
choice or design, I had been living in a narrowly bracketed band of energy which
felt like ‘living’ but was in fact existing on the margins of what other people
call ‘real life’.
The whole business has confused and unsettled me.
Overall the project was a success and a large part of me enjoyed contributing
in some small way. The facilitator asked me if I would like to help at another
group, an art group, at the seaside. It’s a 30 minute drive and something I
rarely attempt alone. I was very hesitant about accepting her offer because I
hate to let people down: if I say I’ve committed to a project I really commit
to it…but I told her that I would attempt to be there and reiterated that,
because of the bastard M.E., it might be difficult some weeks.
Sure enough, I have missed the first two sessions. At the start of the project I
would have been lucky to manage a drive to my local shops, two miles away, let
alone a 45 mile round trip with a 2 hour art session as well. This week,
despite feeling exhausted, I made myself go. I didn’t want to let down the
Project Leader and I wanted to be part of that world again.
The group is small and lovely. The other volunteer is warm and friendly and, again,
I find myself unsettled and exhausted by the whole process. All the time, there
are echoes of how I used to be, what I used to do, what I could achieve. All
the time there are echoes of what I cannot do now: echoes and tremors of how I
have no real goal now but drift along, buffeted by ill health, family
responsibilities and necessities. What’s
more, when I was working, I had two projects running in this seaside town for
over 5 years. It was my regular ‘haunt’ and everywhere I go, I see the old me.
In addition to all these echoes, my Pensions Company have, somehow, got wind of
the fact that I have done a small amount of volunteering and seem to see this
as a glimmer of hope of me returning to work: wanting to know how often I
attend, how long for, what I actually do there. They also got wind of an online
art project I followed last year and want to know ‘ …what are my plans for a
follow up and the work that was produced…’ as if I am going to launch myself at
the art world with a major exhibition. The course was online, six sessions and
for self-expression: my desperate attempt to find a way of expressing all the
turmoil within that had been unearthed by the wretched ESA assessment.
Everywhere I turn it seems I am reminded of how much other people can do, how
quickly, how organised they can be and how everything seems to take three times
as long for me and drags on and on as I try to complete a task.
If I speak to people about my misgivings, (i.e. people in good health) they say
‘Don’t look back, look forward’….but to what ?
What am I looking at ?
Will I give up volunteering ? No. For all the difficulties and rumblings, I
enjoy it too much and there is a glimpse of what it feels like to be useful and
recognised as me rather than as a role in someone else’s life but I still have
to find a way of resolving all these unsettled rumblings.
Was the ESA assessment that I was ‘fit for work’ correct ? No…not if these
experiences are anything to go by. This is hard enough. The idea of being
expected to turn up to a place of employment on a regular basis, at a specific
time for a specific number of hours is ridiculous when applied to me.
I’m not sure I’m fit for anything
