Benefitting Who?

(c) guardian.co.uk

Three years ago I moved from the glorious city of Leeds back to the not-at-all-glorious Catterick Garrison. I had no money, no job and no get up and go; I was suffering from severe depression, which was only fuelled by feeling like a failure and moving back into my parents’ house. My boyfriend was in tow and it soon became clear that there was a lot of unease due to living with Mum and Dad.
Brad and I went to our local Connexions centre and were told that all they could do was put us into a homeless unit because moving out was our own choice. We weren’t entitled to anything more and didn’t set out with high expectations.

We arrived at the unit on August 20th 2009. We waited in the main living space to be signed in and given a room. Within 30 seconds a tracksuited youth approached, asking if we could get him some weed; there wasn’t really much politeness in the way I said no and the disdain I felt inside was clearly legible on my face. What had we fallen in to?
It was a relief to be given a room in a different building with only a few other people, all of whom had found themselves homeless through no fault of their own. One man, Karl, was an ex-fireman and a vicious divorce had seen his wife leave him with nothing. He was funny, friendly and a well-functioning human – thank God we weren’t the only ones!
During our time in the unit we applied for a Council house and were flatly refused because Brad had no local ties. What they meant to say is we worked, didn’t do drugs and I hadn’t popped out babies to 48,129 different men. Because those are the kinds of people who get help and we didn’t fit any of that criteria.

Fast-forward to now and we still work, still don’t do drugs and still haven’t been impregnated by any drunken squaddies on terrible nights out. And we’re still entitled to nothing, even now Brad is seen as being a ‘local’. In November 2009 we managed to secure a place to live of our own; it’s a small studio flat which is essentially a shoebox with an oven. We pay for everything, keep it running and have a little space in the world that’s just for us.
Unfortunately depression is still a massive factor in my life, so much so that my doctor has advised we find somewhere new to live; a house with separate rooms and actual space. He’s written three letters to the Council detailing the need to move, but it’s proven to be fruitless. Clearly medical professionals have no sway in the eyes of Richmondshire Council but keeping the drugged up wasters and dole-claiming single mothers happy is a top priority.

The sad thing is that it’s the same up and down England. Just because thousands of people like us can afford to keep a roof over our heads, does that mean not a little bit of help can be given? In the grand scheme of things Brad and I are some of the lucky ones because we have little bits of money left to do as we please each month. Sure it’s tight, but it could be a lot worse.
It seems the Government presume that because a person goes to work they can cope and manage because they have a job. It’d be a lot easier to cope and manage without having to pay increasing tax, worry about fuel costs and face increased pricing on everything from bread to electricity.

There’s an endless amount of people who have no intention of working, yet get given ‘Jobseekers’ Allowance; people have children purely to get a house that they won’t pay for, instead claiming Housing Benefit which also cancels out Council Tax.
It’s a pretty cushy life for those lazy enough and selfish enough not to get jobs , but why are these people allowed to do so? More importantly, how do they keep getting money from a system which is supposedly there to help people?

Who are these benefits actually benefitting?