Why Now?

Some years ago my great friend and former supervisor Jacek wrote in a reference for me that I was "a one man CMHT and crisis team all rolled into one." I arrived at the University with a mix of anxiety, trepidation, excitement, ambition, confidence and fear in 2007. From that moment on a significant number of crises landed on my desk to sort out. Someone had to sort them and mostly during the day it was me. With the exception of the extraordinary Geri who did far more than me that was the expectation. A lot was laid at my door and most of the time I sorted it.

After some years of this and realising I was doing all the dirty work and getting paid very little for it I challenged the status quo on exactly why this was. My then  manager failed to back me as she thought it would damage her pet friends. Ever since have been trying to leave.

Suddenly all these years later a crisis happens on a day I'm not in and all hell break loose. We must have a flow chart, a plan, a safe working policy, we must not take risks. All well and good but if as we have found we cannot rely on others to deal with it for us what exactly do we do?

Much of this I explored in my MSc work. That was seen by far more important people than me but ignored. It brings me no joy to realise I had been right all along. I do not know what the outcome of all this will be but what I do know is all my work over the last 8 years will not help me at all. Still in the same boat. And who will be called out when shit and fan collide? I think you know the answer to that. I've been doing it a long time.

I Heard a Voice.

Nearly There.

As I write on a non descript October evening after such a wet day I am but a single hit away from 30,000 views since I started writing this blog. I feel quite pleased with that. Some 5 years have passed since I began to share my life with this anonymous world out there. And it is anonymous, comments are rare on here although part of that I'm told is the Blogger requires you to register to comment and it is complicated. Given that figures are often buoyant and I get private comments I intend to continue on this journey to nowhere.

This October evening finds me listening to Haydn, sipping a beer and wondering what to read. I missed my opera Sunday but did do some on Saturday. Wednesdays are good days for that as I have little else to distract me.

In the working world I'm still dealing with the fall out of recent events. To say it has been frenetic is an understatement. The pace has not slackened nor the complexity and risk reduced. But I'm back on track I think. I do fear another meltdown but on a day to day, hour to hour basis I am coping better.

How much of a price I pay is anyone's guess. This pace cannot be maintained indefinitely. Something has to give sometime. But until that happens I have to keep going.

What I do know is that contrary to what I feared I'm not going to have to work until lunch time on Christmas Eve so can go and see dad, Miriam and Nigel. I'm really hoping Beka and her mum can come too and we can cook a fine goose as we did 3 years ago. Lots to think of then and to look forward to. And I don't have the looming spectre of MSc work or books to write.

I Heard a Voice.

Exalted Heights.

Ever been afraid of heights? For the last 20 years following an incident in Portsmouth in the days when I did not make the most sensible of choices heights have scared the hell out of me. Driving over the QEII bridge to see dad never ceases to trouble me. I can't lean over or look over balconies. Avid readers may recall my terrifying experience at the Royal Albert Hall a couple of years ago.

So it was with some trepidation that I headed to Wembley Stadium to watch the Buffalo Bills play the Jacksonville Jaguars having been offered tickets from a friend of a friend. And of course the prophesy came true. We were right up in the heights of this vast 90,000 seat stadium. It troubled me but as it filled up my anxiety slowly dissipated and by about the end of the 1st quarter I was calm.

What a wonderful day. Jacksonville have played here each of the last 3 years and rumours circulate that at some date to be decided they will move to London on a permanent basis. Whilst the stadium was awash with a colours of all NFL teams the home crowd was rooting for the Jaguars. I'm told that has never happened before. And what a finish. Nigel and I had left at that point hoping to beat the crowds but it was another great NFL success over here. And my very first live real NFL game.

All that left me somewhat tired today. But in the main it was calm. We had a mini farmers market on campus today. Organic vegetables, cheese and pie stalls and our regular organic baker. It's really taking off. I left with potatoes-which are excellent-fennel and thyme. I hope it continues. And to add to my day I saw the splendid sight of a student wearing a Union Jack Hijab. I never expected that.

Of course I did not get through the day unscathed, stopped on my way out and anticipating problems tomorrow. But that is tomorrow. Here at home I had a beautiful lamb chop, said roast potatoes and vegetables with mint sauce and a small glass of Rioja. All very civilised. See you all again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Roast? On a Saturday?

Greetings my friends out there in blogland. How are you all? It's been a rather grey and occasionally wet day here in Hertfordshire. Not much different today, shopping, domesticity and a little TV. It's not really been a day to be out and about. I didn't even go to the pub.

Yet today is different. For today I'm roasting a fine dinner. Rolled and stuffed belly pork is roasting away on a bed of sage and rosemary. Sunday has come early. There is a marvellous smell coming from the kitchen. My neighbour will be joining me and will bring a bottle of Rioja. I suspect it may well be an opera night, Haydn today I think.

The reason for Sunday on Saturday is that tomorrow I will catch the 10.52 am from the station meeting Nigel on the train then on to Wembley. Nearly 20 years since I was last there and nearer 30 years since I saw American football there finally I will see a live, real regular season game. That's a long time to wait. Neither team is particularly interesting, the mediocre Buffalo Bills and the inept Jacksonville Jaguars. But whatever the quality I intend to enjoy the day.

After the week that was, another difficult one I'm relieved to be off if only for the weekend. I'm holding my own and not as overwhelmed as I was a few weeks ago but life still seems precarious. I did my mood diary in the week, erratic and mainly low is not so good. Yet the fight goes on. A day at a time, and on the bad days an hour at a time. We will get there sometime.

I Heard a Voice.

The Soothsayer?

As a child I loved the French cartoon Asterix books. The story of Gaul warrior living in a village with his friend Obelix holding out against the mighty Roman empire thanks to the local Druid Getafix's magic potion. A later book in the series was entitled Asterix and the Soothsayer. The men who predicted the future examining the entrails of sacrificed animals.

I'm often to be heard saying to students that I cannot predict the future. But sometimes I can and I do not examine entrails to do so. And I'm usually right.

If you read yesterday's post you will recall I expected a Mental Health Act assessment. I've been around too long not to know what will happen. The frustrating thing is though that those that should know better chose not to trust my judgement. I called for the assessment this morning. I was passed from pillar to post, everyone passed the buck and then eventually sense prevailed and I was proved right. Shame it took another 5 hours for those with the real power to come to the same conclusion. Sadly it is often thus.

I do not like these days. Not just because I get home late, I'm worn out and slightly irritated that I'm not trusted. A young man may be deprived of his liberty for a while. That is a heavy burden to hold. Yet I know I had to make that call.

I Heard a Voice.

It's the Way You Say It.

Talking to people does not need to be taxing. Even saying things people don't want to hear is manageable if done the right way. I suppose really my job is all about talking. What is there in mental health but talking and pills? I don't always get it right but do find it hard when others come across in a very rude way and or aggressive way that is completely unnecessary. That has happened to me twice in the last 2 days.

I had a valued opportunity to teach yesterday. Although I failed at teaching as a career I do sometimes get wheeled out at the University to impart my somewhat extensive knowledge of mental health. On this occasion it was a 3 hours-very long-session to clinical psychology doctorate students a group I've not worked with before. I was really pleased with how it went and most of them seemed to find it helpful. Then as I was leaving a overheard a somewhat sneering comment from one of the students dismissing me entirely. Curious thing is that had she mentioned it in the session I could have cleared up what was just a misunderstanding. But there you go, we can't please everyone. That said it is a little bit of a worry in this field. Left a bad taste.

This morning I had to guide an international student through the joys of the bus system to show her where to attend hospital appointments. She had never used a bus in England. I had never used that bus company or that route. Sadly the first bus driver erroneously gave me the wrong ticket. Not knowing any different I presented my return ticket on the bus back to be confronted by arrogant hostility and an implication that I was trying to defraud the bus company. The driver was equally aggressive and hostile to my anxious student. All it takes is a simple few words rather than hostility. Of course what the driver didn't know is that I know the managing director of the bus company personally. The question is do I send that e mail or put it down to experience?

On top of that there is a crisis brewing tomorrow that I suspect will at some point end in a Mental Health Act Assessment.

Yet to kinder things. The TV is off, opera is on and I'm delving further into Graham Greene. I'm enjoying The Quiet American more than I did Brighton Rock. Easier to read too. A little break before the chaos starts again tomorrow. See you then.

I Heard a Voice.

A Good Review?

Greetings all from a rather grey Hertfordshire. Not the most delightful of days but at least I didn't get wet. It is Saturday again, a day for shopping, lunching and domestic tedium. Saw Yang for lunch at the Fu Hao, small plate of Singapore noodles and a Tsing Tao. I was very restrained in my shopping and came home merely with what I needed. The washing is now done, the bathroom too and cleared some of the backlog. It is sadly thus on Saturdays. Time to sit back, make Vietnamese pho for supper then an episode of Inspector Morse I think.

I was reading a piece in the paper the other day about authors who manipulate Amazon bestseller lists by paying people to write favourable reviews. Miriam attended a creative writing course some time ago in which she was told getting 10 Amazon reviews or more was the key to selling books. Well I have 15 5* reviews for A Pillar of Impotence and 12 5* reviews for Charon's Ferry none of which were paid for. I can't imagine anything more absurd. Yet my sales remain modest. The fate of an unknown. Each sale is a little triumph.

With luck I will sleep well. Sarah the Kiwi is coming to visit tomorrow so I've booked us a table at The Waggoners for some indulgent roast beef and horseradish. Beka will miss out! Hope to see you all in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Staying Detached.

As a young man I rarely spoke to anyone about important stuff. Young men didn't. For the whole of my first year of an as yet unnamed illness I struggled on in silence. I feared people would not take me seriously, that they'd say I was stressed. When I did talk after my breakdown they didn't take me seriously. It was not until I met my Buddhist friend that I began to talk and then it took a long time.

When I did start to talk I only wanted wise counsel. I had my own wise counsellors and they were rarely people paid to provide wise counsel. I still have many of them today, I just don't talk to them as often.

Last week I had the same wise counsel from 2 men I consider wise. Stay detached and it is only a job. But as I say to all my students it is easier to advise others than it is to advise ourselves. Coming home I'm struggling to heed that advice. I'm not sure I provided any wise counsel today. And I came home with it all running round my head. When will it stop? Must get back to learning to be me when I'm home.

So at home I consoled myself with a fiery Vietnamese beef salad which was very good and am looking forward to the cricket highlights. Not that there were many for England, all Pakistan today.

Tomorrow is another day, maybe I will do some good.

I Heard a Voice.

Much Needed Sleep.

Sunday is here again. My need for sleep must have caught up with me as I didn't wake up until midday. A sign I suppose that I have been overdoing things. Curiously enough this is the first Sunday for a while in which I have not felt anxious from the moment I opened my eyes.

As promised yesterday Beethoven's Fidelio is my afternoon accompaniment. I put off my roast beef until tonight and made do with cold chicken...very good...and salad. It's not great going straight into full cooking mode as soon as I'm up.

Once the opera is complete I must go for a walk. I have been neglecting my walking the last couple of weeks. It's quite hard ascertaining my mood at the moment. I haven't written down my mood scale since term started-too scared perhaps of a low pattern emerging that may spell trouble. That said I do not feel so burned out today. It is just another Sunday on which I indulge my cultural pursuits in the afternoon and my passion for American football in the evening. Now I think it is time for a little reading. Bye for now.

I Heard a Voice.

Don't Wear Red.

Those you who know me will recall that most of the time I'm attired in Levi jeans and a rugby shirt. I do dress up on occasions but the nature of my job sometimes getting down and dirty precludes me dressing up often. When I got up today with the intention of going to meet my friend Katherine in China Town I donned said Levi jeans and my red Ralph Lauren rugby shirt.

I wasn't overly enthused by the rugby world cup even before England's dismal performance so had no knowledge or interest in the fact that Wales are playing today. On the train I was surrounded by red clad Wales supporters and it was only a matter of time before so one assumed I was in the throng. I was not. I have never been confused for a Welshman until today. My only connection with Wales is that Miriam studied in Cardiff. I couldn't care less about either game, it has been that bad.

Welsh confusion aside I had a lovely afternoon with Katherine. We tried a different restaurant today, a place recommended by my Caymanian friend Lisa. It was very good but not quite what we planned for our occasional meeting. I had forgotten the Chinese love of meat on the bone and soon realised my chopstick skills weren't really up to little bits of bony chicken in the hotpot. Not to either of our taste. The ribs were outstanding but not quite what I wanted. The belly pork was to die for.

After lunch I spent a fortune on opera, Verdi, Beethoven and Purcell. That's my next 3 Sundays organised then. Tomorrow will be Beethoven's Fidelio - never heard it before. And rare roast beef. I splashed out on forerib, how divine is that?

Enjoy your weekend. More tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.

Men Behaving Badly.

I never watched the 1990s sitcom Men Behaving Badly. It was something of a cult series. At that time in my life I was extremely isolated and long departed from the decadent days of Cambridge before my breakdown. The great Bernie Rosen once asked me if I had lost all my friends. My affirmative response elicited him to say "it is inevitable". Well I got them back again.

Last night in The Windsor Castle pub in Marylebone those men of Cambridge met once again and behaved badly. What a night. I was laughing so much at one point tears were streaming down my face. I cannot believe not only how badly behaved we were in those days but also that this collection of highly paid....except me....professional men could slip so easily back into that puerile world. But by God it was fun.

I look forward to our next adventure as I marvel at how far I have come and how I have resurrected important relationships even if it is just a couple of nights a year. I have good friends.

I Heard a Voice.

Disgraced.

On Wednesday an 83 year old man called Peter Ball was jailed for nearly 3 years for his history of sexual activities with young men. Peter Ball is a twin, a monk and an ex bishop. He and his twin Michael made eccentric media figures in the 1980s, twin bishops.

I knew him as Father Peter in the 1980s. An old boy of my old school he used to visit from time to time to provide spiritual guidance to young men at a public school. I do not know anyone who was abused by him. What I recall is a gentle and kindly old man who looked odd in his monk's habit.

In the early 1990s after he had moved from the Bishopric of Lewes to that of Gloucester, Peter Ball's proclivities were unmasked. He admitted a charge and caution and resigned. The comment of the former Headmaster of Lancing at the time was "we did all warn him". He fled public life in his disgrace.

It took the Jimmy Savile scandal of the last few years for the truth to come out. Father Peter was a serial offender. Oh how the world has changed from that moment on. Some claim many of the allegations against high profile people are attention seeking and money grabbing. Some of it was true.

If his activities were known to my old school Headmaster why on earth did they ever let him into the school? These questions burn like beacon in the post Savile days. But that was what went on in decades past. Peter Ball is the 3rd OL I know who was sent to jail for sexual activities with children; doesn't sound great does it? At least 2 teachers have also been quietly pensioned off too to my knowledge.

My career in mental health has been littered with the victims of such men, if only they knew. Or do they not care? One of Peter Ball's victims killed himself in 2012.

I Heard a Voice.

A Modicum of Vindication.

Making it in this morning took all the emotional strength I could muster. Limbs wouldn't move, mind remained stuck, emotion was all encompassing. Curious after a few better days. Yet in the face of the rains of autumn and the slate grey sky I almost gave up and retreated into the world of chemically induced sleep. But I didn't.

Somehow, and I don't know how, I made it in and for much of the day I floundered. I have lost all belief, I'm confused, I'm torn in different directions and though someone finally hearing my many fears last week nothing concrete has changed. That terrible fear of burn out lies over me. I had almost forgotten what I do well.

Then something changed. I connected, I talked, I made sense and I made some of those amazing breakthroughs that remind me at least temporarily that if left to do what I do best I am pretty good at what I do. So my fears have abated a little, my anxiety lessened and mood not slumping.

Back at home I have had enough of TV so have returned to my love of opera and reading. I must make a start on The Quiet American which came out of the book cupboard several weeks ago but has sat resolutely unopened on my sofa ever since. The opera is La Finta Giardiniera, I noted listening to it on here some months ago.

My eye has been distracted by flashing lights in the car park behind my flat. Not sure why but there is a fire engine out there but no sign of fire. I do hope nothing untoward has happened.

As for tomorrow I need more energy than today. Otherwise the occasional sense of doom that creeps over me from time to time may amplify just a little. The question is how do I stave it off? I don't know at this precise point. But I'm still standing, still loving Mozart and still can make it through to the end of the week.

I Heard a Voice.

The Recovery Conundrum.

Way back in 1996 as I lived severe mental illness I met a man called Ian. He did a talk at my local day hospital about education and mental health. That building epitomised the moribund stuckness of my life as a madman. Allegedly a high intensity therapeutic environment in which we would all be cured and sent back to marvels of reality with new life skills. I stayed 8 years and learned nothing. Yet on that evening in October 1996 Ian convinced me that there was merit in education and that it might help me get somewhere other than the awful place I inhabited at the time.

Open Door as he called it began life as a pilot scheme in the spring of 1997 with the express purpose of getting those of us with severe and enduring mental health problems back into mainstream education. As a graduate of Open Door I went on to study A level Philosophy, the PGCE in History at Cambridge and finally back to work with Ian. Education was vital for getting started on recovery; Risperidone did the rest. Of course not everyone was as successful as me. Many progressed so far, it helped in their mental health but did not allow them back into what society deemed relevant; work and paying taxes.

My journey took me in 2007 to the University where I found the Centre for Mental Health Recovery and the Hertfordshire Annual Recovery Conference. In 2008 I presented a workshop to 60 people on employment and mental health; it was a triumph. Yet we still lacked something. And that something is how do we measure outcome? Outcome is in the eye of the beholder. And the beholder realistically is the funder.

Today I attended the 9th Annual Conference. Theme this year was education. A key part is so called Recovery Colleges. Yes I heard inspirational speakers. Yes I met many friends and collaborators. But I could not help thinking that we are merely recreating what we did in the 1990s and those mixed results that brought. Open Door no longer exists. I suspect cuts came as a result of only anecdotal evidence and testimony. The most telling statistic today was that of 385 attending such a college in Yorkshire only 7 had found paid work. I truly believe that recovery is not all about work, conformity and convention. But I'm not funding it so what I think is irrelevant. We must judge our own recovery but society will also judge us.

It made me feel quite sad really. We are driven by the money trail. What I call the Tripos holds true, the complex relationship between the system, the workers and the money. For without each other nothing in mental health would exist but illness.

A friend described Charon's Ferry as being s very bleak book. As she put it "I didn't realise being well could be so difficult". We all want a magic solution. I found one in Risperidone. But then I had to find my place in society. A society from which I hid and it hid from me for all those years. Food for thought I guess.

I Heard a Voice.

Misty Mornings.

A few days have now passed since my meltdown. Thursday was indeed a calm evening. On Friday morning I saw the autumnal mists rising over the River Mimram as I drove in. A fine sight. It was another day of chaos but I coped and came home relieved it was all over for another week.

This weekend has been devoted to cooking. A pork chop roasted on a bed of fennel with crushed new potatoes dressed in rapeseed oil and lemon zest was last night's effort. Today I roasted a rack of lamb. Both efforts were splendid.

In contrast to the last few Sundays I am not anxious. Not I fear because I'm coping better but more that tomorrow is a conference rather than office day. I'm hoping that extra 24 hours away from the chaos will aid my recovery.

This afternoon I'm watching the Jets - Dolphins game at Wembley. Not the most inspiring game I've ever seen but great to have the NFL back in the UK. I'm working on getting tickets for Nigel and me to go to the next game at the end of October.

I can't quite work out where I am mentally. It is not so much that I have been depressed this week. More that sense of feeling so pressured I couldn't cope. Anxious yes, depressed maybe. Where will I be tomorrow? Anxious I expect. But now, I'm okay. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

In the Eye of the Hurricane?

They say that it is calm in the eye of the hurricane. Today feels finally like the eye of an epic storm that his simply engulfed me and others this week. You will recall from my last post how difficult it is to be powerless in the face of a crisis. You will also recall my long recorded fears that I was simply not energised or stable or anxiety free enough to meet the demands of the new academic year. Well it got worse.

On Tuesday with the bullets flying and being completely out of control I lost it and went into meltdown. Once upon a time I walked out on a job after I was asked to fake some paperwork. For very different reasons I got to that point again that afternoon. Not sleeping at all the night before probably precipitated this meltdown.

A series of emergency meetings and the offer to take time out ensued yesterday but I chose to fight on. Now at home after a day that has been like a mill pond compared to earlier maybe for one night only my ship lies at anchor in the eye of the storm.

Given what is in the media a meltdown in young people's mental health services we and other universities are reaping the whirlwind created beyond our control. Universities are now facing an epidemic of mental health crises.

I fear for tomorrow but at least today I feel okay. I will have a nice dinner, read and try to enjoy the peace. It may not last long.

I Heard a Voice.