Wednesday 29 August 2018

When Will I Settle Down?

Why is it that five days into my long awaited holiday I'm still dreaming of and worrying about students and work? It is always the students that I struggle to help who haunt my dreams. Rarely the ones who find me helpful. Given how shaky things have been at times I'm wondering when I will finally come to rest and my active mind settled down.

Normally the first week is okay. Then the anxiety creeps in. It is so foolish. Must learn to relax better than I have been. I have no need to fret, the holiday is the holiday. Miriam is coming tomorrow. I'm getting the train to Kent on Friday. Katherine is coming down for lunch on Sunday. Not until Monday do I return home. Then my thoughts will turn to my friend Tory who I will meet Friday week and then the big dinner in Cambridge.

Having decided that life is too short to be tying my own bow ties I bought a fake one. Trying it out for size I suspect it won't be as simple as I'd hoped. Will need a mirror to see where the hook is.

So good things are coming. And it's opera night. I never tire of listening to Figaro and on this rather humid night I have chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Unusually for me I cooked pasta for supper, just a simple sauce of shallot, garlic and tomatoes with a touch of parsley and some pancetta. Worked quite well.

What will tomorrow bring? I turn 49, that step closer to the big 50. Sounds most strange that I have survived this long. I'm perhaps not always the healthiest of people but I eat well, probably have more fruit and vegetables than most non vegetarians and I have certainly cut the drinking in recent years. And stopped smoking.

On my dark days I fear I have achieved nothing. Today is a neutral day on that front. Let's hope soon I get back to celebrating what has been, dismissing what might have been and come now to the day that is today. A day with Mozart, wine and a break. That can't be bad.

I Heard a Voice.

Sunday 26 August 2018

Unnecessary Cruelty.

The rains of autumn have certainly arrived today even as August still holds on. Steady rain and a chill in the air mark this Sunday here in Hertfordshire. After a difficult night and waking up anxious about work I have managed to do some things around the flat, lift my mood, put the anxiety to one side and at least try to enjoy this holiday weekend.

Yesterday I attended my friend James's stag do in London. I only stayed a few hours. But it go me thinking. Why would you dress up your closest friend in full body suit, a gimp mask and a Donald Trump hat to humiliate him just as he is getting ready for what should be the best day of his life? Is it because he in turn had done the same when others got married? That tit for tat makes me feel uneasy.

English boarding schools in the 1970s and 1980s could be pretty brutal places. Horrific initiations, institutionalised bullying and a culture that what was done to me must be done to you were so prevalent. Like all other boys I just wanted to fit in. And thus we self perpetuated the puerile stupidity of entitlement and privilege.

On my dark days my mind sometimes drifts back to those days. Yes I survived and in many ways boarding suited me but I'm ashamed of who I was in those days. And it all comes flooding back in a wave of self loathing and fraudulence that depression bequeaths me. I'm sure James will remember yesterday in fond ways but it doesn't seem a very kind thing to do to one's friends.

I will not dwell on what was if I can help it. What is done is done. For now I must try to acknowledge that I'm on holiday, the world hasn't fallen apart, I have my opera, my books and my cooking. For today that is Cosi fan Tutte, slow roast lamb shank with home made mint sauce and a venture into Goodbye to Berlin a little later. I plan to meet Alyssa at The Waggoners for a pint after the Mozart.

For those of you out do enjoy the holiday weekend despite the rain.

I Heard a Voice.

Wednesday 22 August 2018

Is My Life a Delusion?

A chilled glass of Albarino lies by my side, Maria Callas is singing Verdi, the sun is fading behind the clouds and I am here once again to talk to the unknown people who humour me by reading my thoughts. By my reckoning this will be my 1103rd post on here. Sometimes I have thoughts that I must stop. After all what does it achieve? I feel good for a short while. Then the guilt and self loathing start. Am I being unprofessional? Self indulgent? Arrogant? Miserable? Negative? All manner of self berating. In truth some say they find my writing helpful, uplifting and inspirational.

Hearing such comments when taken in the context of my psychiatric career is wonderful but dread inducing. Having been effectively told my entire life had been a delusion at the age of 23 and a narcissist that is a pretty destructive thing to live with. Yet the praise and thanks that my thoughts and works sometimes elicit still come sometimes. And I dismiss it. Can't get too carried away. My friend Jayne whose friendship and love I care deeply about walked out of my life for four years because I had become so self absorbed that I had forgotten to care for and love her back.

The question that engulfs me sometimes is do I give too much? And do I take too much? Can one do both? Is it okay to do both? How do I find a balance? I don't know.

Maybe you can tell it was a therapy day? That is true and it was interesting. But after I had to go to work and the slow and seems deliberate destruction of what I have done and how I've done it goes on. How do I deal with that also being brought into question? Can a process replace and instinct? The reason I'm good at what I do is I have very sharp instincts. And those instincts were learned the hard way.

So on another opera night as summer wanes it is becoming clearer that I must leave this course. But I don't know how. Some might pray. Some might go into therapy. And some might just keel over and be resigned their fate. I feel resigned to my fate tonight.

All is not lost though. Francois and Bronwen are hosting a cheese and wine night in The Hedgehog. Sarah is coming. Sadly Jo cancelled as her mum is unwell. I must strive to enjoy it.

Tomorrow takes me to London to meet a school friend I've not seen in a decade. Much to catch up on and fine food. Let it be a good day.

I Heard a Voice.

PS Ros thinking of you and Milly for results tomorrow!

Sunday 19 August 2018

All Change?

You find me on a quiet Sunday afternoon thinking about what to write today. Not sure what if anything I want to say. Not felt much like blogging recently but as it is Sunday, my day to write to you, here I go.

Changing habits created over a life time is very hard. There are several parts to my life. Up until we moved house on my fifth birthday. The wet days in the west country. The glories and agonises of Cambridge. Sussex Downs and angry teenage years. The pinnacle of my so called career back in Cambridge. And then the black hole that was mental illness. And it is that black hole that hangs over me like a shadow.

The coming of Risperidone in 2001 really changed things for me but that was sadly not the end of the story. Otherwise the travails of the last few months may never have happened. But what is clear is that mental illness is woven into my identity.

Last week it was suggested that I need to take it out of my identity. This is not the first time I've heard that. My cousin keeps telling me to let go of the past. But who am I without my past? If I take mental illness away where is my credibility in terms of work? My confidence is shot to pieces so if we take away what little is left that I have history that has brought me to that which I am today?

Slowly it is dawning on me that radical change may be needed but as I posed recently the questions from what and to what? Part of me would love to condemn mental illness and my contribution to that world to the past. One of my friends who has bipolar simply tries to pretend it never happened. I bear too many scars for that.

And what of my contribution to that world? Have I done some good? I have anecdotal evidence that I have. I also see my spectacular failures. I know I cannot save the world. But I'm still trying to prove I'm better that that which was done to me. I have said many times that I wouldn't have wanted to treat me. And inevitably I will meet similar people in my field.

If I turn my back on the world of mental health there would be huge void to fill. But what with? The answers elude me on this quiet Sunday afternoon. Perhaps I should stick to the simple pleasures, classical music, slow roast pork, a drive in the country, a glass of ale or a fine wine. Can't go too wrong with those.

See you all next time.

I Heard a Voice.

Sunday 12 August 2018

Leaves and Rain Fall, is this the End?

Gentle rain falls in my part of the world. It is mild but overcast, still and stifling. I first noticed the leaves had started falling a couple of weeks ago. Believe it or not I have been back at work for nine weeks. Where has summer gone? In a little over two weeks I turn 49. Seems just a short while since I turned 40. On that day my lovely friend Jayne came back into my life after a four year hiatus triggered by my mania. Oh that that mania would return! I would certainly cope better with my fears.

Sadly on this Sunday afternoon you once again find me worrying about work. Not that there is too much on. It is just that working with people with what is sometimes referred to as "communication difficulties" is hard enough anyway. But when they barely speak English I don't rate my chances. Once again I battle expectation. People keep telling me I put it on myself. But I simply don't know what I can do tomorrow.

There is some time though. Opera is put on hold today because of the cricket and West Ham being on TV. I can't see much more play in the Test and West Ham are losing. So doesn't look promising.

Tonight I am going out to a friend's for dinner. My intention was to cook roast pork today but the invitation came just before I went to see Gareth the butcher. Instead I will have Ann's roast belly pork. She does cook so well.

Wish me well for tomorrow as I must wish myself well. Be kind to yourself is Ros's famous mantra, not a bad plan. Just so hard to do sometimes. In a brief few weeks the sun will have gone, the leaves will be cascading down and the whirlwind that is term time will be upon us.

I Heard a Voice.

Wednesday 8 August 2018

To and From Italy.

The fierce heat has finally broken. Softened by gentle breezes and less intense sun the world outside is a little easier to manage than in recent weeks. You find me as usual on opera night. Relaxing to Don Giovanni, a couple of books which I'm dipping in and out of and the prospect of a cold beer later.

The week has been shorter than normal as I had Monday off. We had a wonderful trip to market. Aside from glorious food and shopping we met a delightful young woman who hails from Naples who was working as a waitress in Brindisa. She told us how kind and polite we were to take the time to talk to her. The implication is that many customers are not like that. I asked about post Brexit hostility and the arrogance and racism that is displayed by some in my country. It was sad that this young woman who was a nurse was uncertain of what will happen to her in this time of great change.

How hard is it to be polite and kind to people like her? Sarah tells me regularly of the arrogance and hostility of some customers where she works. I only really see glimpses where I work where some think their needs come above those of other people. It makes me sad that people can be like that. I don't respond too well to that vibe.

Returning to work yesterday my anxiety remains there, the count down is ever closer and the summer slow down still holds. Today I spent some time with a young man I have known for several years. After many battles he finally got his first. And by curious coincidence he is going to Italy just as the young woman came to England. To work. He too is uncertain on Brexit and how long it will be possible for him to stay.

That fateful decision the electorate made two years ago. The ripples will continue for many years. I am no more in the know of what will happen now than when I battled my own lack of knowledge and reluctantly cast my ballot on a thundery evening in June 2016.

Whatever the outcome I wish both these young people well. The young are the future so we must accept decisions affect the many not just our own selfish ego, need and indulgence. No man is an island as a famous man whose name I forget 30 years later once wrote.

As for me and my little world, uncertainty remains on many levels. But at least today and on Monday through those short conversations I can believe I did some good this week. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Sunday 5 August 2018

This Little Piggy Went to Market.

On another glorious summer's day I'm home with all the windows and doors open, an ice cold glass of water and the wonderful sounds of Beethoven's String Trios to accompany me. This eternal summer goes on and on and we are making hay so to speak. In a literal sense too as all the grass has turned to the colour of straw and the parched earth worries gardeners but not others. I well recall mum obsessing about the heat and lack of rain and the eternal battle to water the garden.

For me it has been a long weekend. Having tentatively planned to go down to Arundel to see Kiwi Sarah but heard nothing back from her I thought I might as well take the time and relax. Well not all relaxing, finally caught up on the domestic tedium of cleaning and washing. That has rather been neglected since I went back to work. So must be done.

Yet to not worry about getting up, to not be in such a rush and a chance to slow down have been good. Work was mixed. I ploughed my way through a 120 page report which appears to suggest I have done no good at all in my career in Hertfordshire. Curiously enough one of the participants in the "research" contacted me and said the complete opposite yet somehow that didn't make it into the final draft. I fear once again political egoism is coming into play.

Despite that I do feel quite relaxed. I have a nice free range chicken to roast, friends are coming round and a crisp New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc is chilling in the fridge. Part of that comes from the fact that I booked tomorrow off as well. And I'm going on an adventure.

Intending to catch the 11.52 train Sussex Sarah and I are headed to Borough Market. What fun! Nowhere near as crowded on a Monday I will sacrifice a few closed stalls for the calm and leisure that rarely happens at a weekend. I don't know if Sarah has ever been but I intend to take her to Brindisa for lunch and then I wander in the market. I suspect she will buy a lot of cheese. I too am under instructions to buy cheese for Ali. She will insist on paying me for it but I will certainly decline that offer as it was her birthday on Friday and I owe her a little present.

Do enjoy the rest of the day. I now plan to immerse myself on Beethoven and get under way with the roast chicken.

I Heard a Voice.

Wednesday 1 August 2018

Held Back by the Past?

I've been doing quite a lot of reviewing this week. Much spent trawling through a long academic paper that whilst having some interesting points does not actually reflect trying to hold the dam that is being overwhelmed by a tide of mental health issues that is the 21st century university. I'm not sure what to make of it really other than wanting to scream come and do my job for a day.

The problem with a lot of research is it is designed to fit a pre-conceived idea of what is going on. If one takes a stance that looks at some not others you will get a skewed answer. I have spent a lot of time over the years reaching out to academics and schools trying my best to help. Yet the only people who responded to the call for participants were overwhelmingly people I hadn't come across despite those efforts.

Last year I offered and delivered a two hour interactive workshop to all academic schools. I delivered to most, some failed to respond. The anecdotal evidence was that they were a success. Short of forcing all staff to come to training I cannot realistically reach out to everyone. My message over my time there has been consistently ring me up if you are stuck.

All this has left me questioning once again what I'm doing, my purpose and just what do people expect of me? Later in the day I looked back in reverse on my blog posts since it all went wrong at Christmas. I realise just how far I have come. But from what? And to what?

I'm working hard to right myself with some help. Everyone is making the right noises but still I feel quite adrift at times. Do I still have a place there? And if so what is it?

Time is ticking away. In less than six weeks it all kicks off again. Lost in the heat and intensity and general ebullience from the World Cup is that soon it will all disappear into the dust replaced by cold, damp and intensity of a different kind. Such is my autumn and the coming of the new year.

I cannot dwell on that though. I have my opera, my Rioja and my books on a Wednesday night. The cricket has finally started up again and I have a long weekend booked. Only a day to go.

I Heard a Voice.