Why must I hand hold Tim’s case manager through everything? The man has been a licensed clinical social worker employed by our county health department for at least 6 years, yet he acts as if he has never had a single client before Tim.
Two weeks ago I asked him about permanent supportive housing options for Tim when he turns 21 and his ICG grant runs out next July. He had no idea. I gave him the names of four programs in our area I’d heard of.
He had someone in his office call them and ask, hypothetically, how they work. HYPO-FUCKING-THETICALLY. This isn’t hypothetical. Tim needs an ACTUAL place to live. This dude is ACTUALLY his caseworker.
I swear, I’m starting to believe the reason the mental health system is so messed up is that the people running it all have a collective IQ smaller than my dress size. And my dress size ain’t all that small.
My father always says, “illegitimi non carborundum,” which is Latin for, “don’t let the bastards get you down.” What’s Latin for, “don’t get mad, get even”?