Well, the WRAG interview on Friday was, indeed, nothing to worry about.
The lovely woman I saw was interested only in how she could help me, and was happy to give me all the time I need to get my head together before I start considering how to get back in to work.
For a start, she understood why I'm in a much worse place than I would've been if I hadn't been fucked about by ATOS, and therefore she knew that I need a lot of time to get back to where I might've been if all that crap hadn't happened.
I can contact her when I feel the need to. She will occasionally e-mail me to ask if things are okay (she won't phone because I told her I don't like talking on the phone). She won't push me or hassle me.
I do feel a lot better about it all, now. Mind you, when I got home from the appointment I found a brown envelope in the post. A letter telling me that my medical certificate is about to expire and I need to send a new one.
Sigh.
I'm not supposed to be sending those any more. Gah! So I had to make another sodding phone call. Oops, sorry, someone hasn't updated the details, don't worry blah blah.
FFS. If I were able to get a job, I'd bloody well do it properly. A few years ago I met someone at a Training Centre who had claimed JSA and then received a letter in the post saying that his claim couldn't be processed because they didn't have his address. Did I mention that he received this letter in the post?
No wonder we're all fucking depressed.
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