A New Diagnostic Perspective.

Autumnal rains are hammering down outside. The day looks bleak and uninviting. And thoughts of summer are gone. After a bitterly cold week the world is unappealing.

Home in the warm Tosca plays, my iced water sits beside me, and there is a pork shoulder joint in the oven. After an intence, fraught and exhausting week I'm in need of comfort.

Despite the Microsoft outage on Friday which brought carnage to work and home alike the last day of the working week was better than expected.

I needed some stability after a gruelling few weeks. Those who read this regularly may recall how vulnerable I am emotionally to anniversaries and there was a big one on Wednesday. I completed on my flat four years before. Yet in bitter irony it was also the last time I saw the woman who this summer redefined my understanding of evil. And yes I did cry, and listen to painful music and look at equally painful pictures. I call it mental cutting.

Lots to talk about when I see Cathrine my care co-ordinator in the week. I'm hugely grateful for her support and care.

As is my wont on a Sunday reading plays a part along with opera. I finished A Cheese-monger's Tour de France last night. Today I moved on to a much more challenging read. Harry my former therapist put me on to a text called The Power Threat Meaning Framework. A different way of looking than DSM 5 and ICD 11.

For me this is fundamental shift in the way I look at my long psychiatric journey. A survivor of brutal, condemnatory diagnostic failure that blighted my life since I was 24 this framework redefines my journey from you are to your response to trauma is linked to the power of those around me, the threat they pose to my survival, the understanding of both power and threat, and the inderstandable reaction I had to events in my life.

Given that Harry and the devil are on the same career path but in different places I hope the devil comes across this work. Both will in two years time have the power to classify and define the lives of very vulnerable people and shape their future wisely. I warned both to be careful with that power.

I'm nervous reading on with the work but I know I need to.

Take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Missing in Action.

A few weeks have passed since my post on World Mental Health Day. Missing in action. Actually life remains tough, confusing, draining and exhausting.

Some days I want to walk away from mental health. Theoretically I could leave my job and do something completely different. But even in a world where I didn't need to earn money mental health would follow me. I can't escape the constant framing of my existence. I feel in recovery as an aspect and facet of my life but even on the good days I have to take Risperidone of an evening.

After a night I struggled to get to sleep then marred by nightmares I woke late. It was cold. Grey and foggy outside. Not seen any friends for several days. Such is the isolation of living alone with no meeting place just over road.

Today though I'm content with my own company. Figaro plays, Remembrance services are underway and the Indian community celebrates Diwali. And I sit alone. I haven't spoken all day.

There will be roast gammon for lunch, smells wonderful. I will get into my book after this post. And another Sunday progresses.

I Heard a Voice.

Lest We Forget.

A bitter wind is sweeping across the sunlit land. Here in Hertfordshire autumn is most definitely here. Here too is World Mental Health Day. It also marks 13 years today that my second book Charon's Ferry was published.

Each year someone, or some group, whose identity is unkown announce a theme. This year it is real voices, real change. I've witnessed a lot of change since 1990. In 2026 there are more voices. But are either change or voice real?

Yes and no. So many voices are negative, hostile and angry. But the system also can be negative, hostile and angry. The language we use in service is often beligerent. Engage? Comply? Take responsibility? Institutionalised? These are not terms of compassion, of kindness, of equality. They are words used to reinforce the us and them dynamics of the mental health world.

My current care is compassionate, caring and me centred. But I'm a known figure, with known ideas, a known voice. Does everyone feel the same? I don't think so. The whole of 2026 has taken a real toll on me mentally and physically. The enormity of knock on effect in the mental health community in Hertfordshire was recognised by so many including the Trust. 

Sometimes it feels that my voice is being silenced. But my voice is far more authentic, compromising and dedicated to a shared vision of mental than so many who shout loudest. My voice can be terrifying though which was a recurring theme in my therapy.

Where are the authentic voices? The real voices. There is a danger that they will be drowned out by the words of the angry.

So on World Mental Health Day speak with passion, integrity and humility. Remember so many of my friends did not survive. I remember them too on this day.

Pale Light of an Orange Dawn.

I don't often see the dawn. The powerful sedation of one of my medications meant I once slept through an earthquake and more recently the sirens of 26 fire engines struggling to put out a major blaze just 300 yards from where I was asleep.

Regular readers will know that I get a lot of bad dreams and it was one such dream that woke me to witness the dawn today. Pale, orange, October light. So beautiful.

Sadly the dreams have brought me closer to the darkness of my depression. I do not feel good. During the week I saw my psychiatrist and CPN and was asked about mood. That day I felt okay. Today I do not feel okay. Isolation is not helping. Bar The Waggoners where I lunched and at the chemist I've seen no one all day. I did speak to Jayne.

With the outlook bleak I decided to listen to opera and read. The former was effortless but I struggled with the latter. I am enjoying a glass of Chianti though.

Last night I dined with my judge friend. It was good to see him. He too has been through hell the last few years but even though it's only early days life seems to be righting itself.

I plan to make a cook a cottage pie later. The devil once ate my cottage pie and loved it. I will love it without her tonight. Tomorrow slow roast shoulder of pork.

I Heard a Voice.

The Robber of Normality

Last weekend I was speaking to Jayne in Cambridge. Since my most recent setback we probably speak three times a week. Inevitably the overwhelming nightmare that is anxiety came up at some length. For some time she has been trying to pursuade me to stop using contact lenses and just go back to wearing glasses full time.

True I no longer play contact sports which was the reason I started at the age of 16. Am I being vain? Many say I look younger wearing my glasses. But I don't worry too much about I look like. So why?

Thinking in the week I'm simply trying to hang on to a bastion of normality. Anxiety has robbed me of so much of my life. I struggle with travel. With meetings. With anything domestic. With work. At times I shake so much that I'm terrified of pouring the kettle. Once I think of shaking I shake.

The daily trial of putting in my lenses is a trial. Bernie Rosen once said to me you must do the boring little things, the nitty gritty. So I try to hang on to my life.

Talking of my most recent setback I thought until Thursday that the nightmare was over, evil defeated and stepping forward into the light. But no it has been resurrected. I've been trying to hold my anger at bay ever since. This is a witch hunt.

Yet on this Sunday morning I can do nothing. So I focus on my opera, my book and my kitchen. A lamb shank is slow roasting with rosemary. I will roast potatoes and carrots and serve with sprouts, broccoli and kale, gravy and home made mint sauce. I have half a bottle of Chianti to accompany it.

Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice.

The Sunshine of Autumn.

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in September I bid you a fond hello. Thank you for sticking with me after the tumultuous months that have characterised 2026 for me. No the devil didn't speak. And as per my last post I have been delivered from evil. Truly this year I've seen inside the gates of hell.

Mentally and physically it has taken its toll. I'm back with a care co-cordinator for the first time since last millenia and I now weigh less than 10 stone. Still I keep going and fighting on.

This quiet Sunday I'm listening to Puccini and cooking roast gammon. To be served with roast potatoes, cauliflower, carrots and tenderstem broccoli, gravy and fiery English mustard. Heaven on a Sunday. No wine today, fancy a pint in a country pub instead.

A key part of recent challenges has been the overwhelming isolation of the last few weeks. Excepting staff in shops who know me I've gone days at a time seeing no one. Of course that happened during covid but hard all the same.

Tonorrow I return to my office. I'm not really too anxious about this but do anticipate some adjustment being needed over a few weeks.

I did get away in the week to Folkestone. Always good to get away. Pretty good journey home yesterday. There was a major fire just over the road from where I was staying which has made national headlines. The following morning from the cab conveying me to the station I saw more fire engines in one place than I've ever witnessed before.

Sadly the world appears to be burning too. The result of powerful, angry men who serve but themselves. We live in dangerous times.

I Heard a Voice.

And Deliver Us From Evil.

A grey but mild September day I've yet to venture beyond my front door. Haydn plays, my book is page turning and a single rib of beef is coming up to room temperature in the kitchen.

If you are reading apologies for the sparse and somewhat cryptic messages I posted. I have been enveloped in darkness since late July. A darkness that was brutally evil. I have re-evaluated my concept and understanding of evil. Much more common than I once believed.

No the devil did not speak. Well at least not directly to me. She hasn't done that since June and her messages remain unopened. No lurking out there in the fires of hell, the fog of contempt and the sewers of human depravity a darkness known longer but not detected sprang to life. And it was evil.

That I'm human and make a lot of mistakes is well known. God I beat myself up enough. But to wantonly prey on the vulnerability years later defies words.

On Thursday a single text delivered me from evil. Left is relief, anger and sadness. My vulnerability has now switched from the depths of hell to the dangerous, glorious heights and dazzling heaven that is mania. I'm fighting hard to contain that, Risperidone at the ready.

But I'm free. And on this Sunday I look forward to roast beef, to Chianti, to reading, and to opera.

I Heard a Voice