Mind the Supported Housing #6

I thought I was done with this crap, but apparently Mind insist on making things difficult. A few days ago, I was called up by my support worker and told that someone would be staying with me for a couple of weeks, as per an emergency with his flat being flooded; it sucks, but fair enough.

The guy comes over, the sort that makes you think “one of those guys”, with his try-hard outfit you’d expect from a skaterboi. I persevered, especially when my support worker told my dad and me that he was only to stay for one day, after which he’s staying with his grandparents or something.

The guy left the next morning, and that was the end of that; I was relieved. I’ve been getting used to living alone and enjoying the benefits, particularly not having to worry about some other guy’s mess, and the privacy is a huge bonus.

I get woken up at approximately ten in the morning by my support worker relentlessly knocking on my front door. I sleepily get dressed, having had less than six hours sleep because I struggle at night and have been staying up late for reasons probably mentioned elsewhere. She is fully aware that I struggle in this way.

My support worker was just “passing by” and thought to quickly ask me whether the new guy left OK, whether things were alright, and that’s all I really remember because I was half asleep, anxious, and irritated for being woken up by loud banging noises echoing through the flat.

I’m having a nice late-night conversation with woman over Skype, when, midnight, someone opens the front door and the other bedroom door with the keys. I didn’t know for sure who it was; for all I knew, it could’ve been someone who got a hold of the keys and was trying to swipe stuff.

I was immediately anxious, got dressed, and went through to see who it was. Although I never saw the person, I could smell the cigarette smoke and figured it was probably just the same guy, and that my support worker screwed up again—ding, ding, ding!

I told my dad the next morning; he was worried and called a nearby Mind office. I texted my support worker, and later got a call from another woman, also a support worker, who apologised and explained that it isn’t what they would “usually do” but given the circumstance, it’s only going to be temporary.

I thought, OK, so the guy has, up until now, been clean and relatively quiet, despite waking me up twice at quarter-to-seven in the morning, which, for me, is insanely early.

He left the hall light and kitchen light on for hours last night. I left the lights be thinking he was maybe in the kitchen, but later on I went through and he wasn’t there. I turned the lights off—he must’ve fallen asleep.

In the kitchen? Crumbs over the cooker top, a dirty, empty tin on the worktop by the bin, as opposed to simply in the sodding bin, and a used bowl and glass left in the sink. Am I meant to clean up his mess? Disrespectful. He has to clean up after himself just as I do—I’m not his daddy.

I sent my support worker a text earlier, ‘though I expect it’ll go largely unnoticed: “he left mess last night, then buggered off out this morning,” then I explained what he left behind, and continued, “am I to clean up after him?” No reply yet, but we’ll see.

I’m sick of supported housing, I’m sick of flatmates, and I sincerely miss having an actual home. I’m getting heart-palpitations just typing this out.

Part 7 can be found via this link!

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