Dangerous Traits.

An angry man. A drunken man. A gambling man. As I walked over to The Hedgehog on Sunday evening to watch the Rams game I was confronted by a man who was getting increasingly agitated. He told me his Mrs had "let him down". What that meant I hate to think. He'd been paid and he was ploughing more and more money into the fruit machine. And he was drinking Stella, the drink of drunken toxic men so often that we call it "wife beater". What a dangerous combination.

As I watched the Rams roll to another hard fought victory this man went on and on. When he finally stormed out he had put £230 in and come out with nothing. Addiction if that is a legitimate term can be a cruel thing. A man I once knew who had started smoking cannabis at 7 and was on heroin at 11 once told me he doesn't use the word addict because then it is seen as an illness and not therefore his responsibility. "I can choose to use drugs or I can choose not to use drugs".

After the events of my life recently that was just another experience in the world that passes for mine. After my fury of Friday I wrestled things for a day, cooked fine food, switched upwards again in mood but I'm still in control.

Even going back to work, and it has been exceptionally busy, I'm still doing well. And I'm not manic. Today is pay day so I indulged myself at the Turkish barbers then had a set menu at Cote with a nice glass of wine.

Now it is opera night and Handel is playing. I have a glass of Rioja. The heating is on-that wasn't working at the weekend-and I feel cosy. Progress continues on Goodbye to Berlin and I've started a book called Prisoners of Geography an exploration of the crazy geopolitical world we live in. So on this night my life is under control, I feel good, and I'm marching on. Tomorrow back to therapy...I have many stories to tell.

I Heard a Voice.

Mildly Furious...That's Putting it Mildly.

How difficult can it be to fit a simple smart meter at my flat? Originally scheduled for May the man who turned up on the day told me he couldn't complete the job as he was missing a part. Having heard nothing for six weeks about finishing the job I called and arranged a follow up in July. They cancelled that. Re-arranged again for today I discovered that some nameless person, I genuinely do not know who, locked the door on the meter cupboard sometime between when I arranged my neighbour to unlock it last night and when I got home from work for today's appointment. The only neighbour with a key is extremely unwell so that didn't help. The upshot is I will need to arrange a fourth appointment.

The agent told me it was a standard key but I certainly don't have anything that opens it. Despite the title I am extremely fucking annoyed. Foolish really as there is nothing I can do to change anything. Perhaps fate is conspiring against me.

That's enough ranting. The week has been mixed. I stayed home Tuesday as well. The return on Wednesday witnessed markedly elevated mood. Yesterday irritation. Today, well you know about today.

When I'm in a mood like this I get very little done. And that annoys me further. I must take heart though that it is the weekend, my travels took me back to old places and I saw a glorious heron, and it is another week down in a long term. Half way now.

I have booked some time off in November. Be good to slow down for a while. Also booked a couple of days in December as I have to go to a very special carol service that marks the end of my old music teacher Neil Cox's career at Lancing. I owe him a lot, regret some of the foolish things I did in the past, and thank him for the tremendous support and opportunity he has given me in the last 35 years.

With luck next time I post I will be happier. Now I will carry on my fuming.

I Heard a Voice.

Braking Hard.

Monday afternoon. The sun is still shining. The leaves continue to fall gently. And the mild air belies an unusual autumn. A couple of days after my last post on here I'm home, desolate and empty. As I feared I needed to hit the brakes. And I hit them pretty hard.

Back in the day when I found the miracle that is Risperidone it sent me into orbit for months. It was fabulous. Everyone loved it and I didn't do anything stupid or act erratically. Finding the Holy Grail is what every psychiatric patient yearns for. And I found it.

Recent months have taught me that the picture is no longer as simple as a wonder drug. More a careful balancing act between circumstance, expectation and the sheer will to fight through the hard times. And fought I have even when there seemed no hope of victory.

I can probably date the shift back to the start of term. As had happened in the early days my mood and energy rose, my confidence surged and I was back to my brilliant best. Whilst I did not believe I could do it anymore for a long time recent events have proved otherwise. The trouble is I rose too much.

Hitting the brakes was not what I wanted on Saturday. I was slightly relieved my original plan for Saturday didn't work out as I'm glad I didn't wake up regretting my actions. We all have to wake up and it was to desolation, emptiness and longing for what had been.

I did manage to cook a fine lunch, enjoy Alyssa's company and sit in the sun in the garden of the pub. Underneath though the emptiness was disconcerting. So late yesterday afternoon I took the plunge and cancelled the beginning of the week.

The night that followed an empty mind was anything but empty. Just when I wanted to rest, recharge and rebuild the dreams came back. Mum was prominent in several including a particularly hideous nightmare. Almost as it was when I smoked. Why does the magic kill the day and devastate the night?

Getting up late I have done little. Some pasta with a tomato, chilli, caper and mint sauce sufficed for lunch. My plan for dinner has been cancelled. Yet as the sun keeps heading west I'm listening to Britten's A Ceremony of Carols, wishing Jess a happy 40th birthday and realising it is okay to take time out. The brakes needed to be hit and I will bounce back soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Do I Want Calm?

On a sunny October afternoon I'm home doing things around the flat, listening to Classic FM and trying to take stock of the last week or so. How shall I put this? I've been flying on and off for over a week. O how I have longed for this sensation to come back. Sharp, funny, cutting, arrogant. Not necessarily words I culture in my life. But I have had to fight hard in recent days to stop myself letting rip and break down the frail strands of relationships when I'm like this.

Views differ on what I should do. When three bipolar friends tell me to go to doctor and or increase my medication I should take heed. However, as my teacher friend Sarah said last night "it is so nice to see you happy". Have I been that unhappy that long? Yes is the simple answer.

I don't want to calm down. I want to ride the wave. But when faced with the urge to drive very fast and blare out The Dead Kennedys on my way home I must think hard. I need to slow down but I don't want to.

Had an interesting chat with Lena yesterday to try to explain what it is like. She seemed fascinated, confused but supportive. In the end I came home a little early. I will have to take things day to day in the coming weeks.

The sense of virtue that finally getting things done in the flat feels warm but a waste of energy. Needs to be done whether flying or despairing. My kitchen awaits the next extravaganza of self indulgence. Last night it was Poulet au Parmentier topped with grated gruyere cheese, stunning. For lunch a little bangbang chicken to be followed tonight by rare sirloin steak. Might just have to open the rather nice bottle of Chianti I bought yesterday. The spending goes on.

Tomorrow I will roast a brace of partridge wrapped in smoked streaky bacon along with roast potatoes, carrots, cabbage and sprouts for a decadent Sunday lunch with Alyssa. Have to choose some wine for that.

Whether I blaze a trail or crash and burn in the coming weeks it is nice to glimpse that the highs however limited compared to some can come back. And that seemed a long way off back in the depths of winter.

See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Shades of Icarus?

Can any story of soaring arrogance and epic failure be more apt than the legend of Icarus? You may recall that Icarus made wings from wax and feathers so he could fly but his father warned him not to fly too close to the sun. He ignored the advice, the wax melted and he plunged to his death in the Aegean Sea.

I can recall times in my battle with mood when I have in my conceit and vanity flown too high and too close. And I paid a terrible price. Not sure if my old friend Zoe still reads this but if she still does I certainly do not equate my experience with the manic rage and genius that is a full on bipolar episode. A much lesser degree but I have been equally burned. The price of burning it is the depths of despair.

If you have followed my writings for the last few years you will know I certainly have knowledge of the depths of despair to which a mind buffeted by significant mood issues can sink. I was finished back in the depths of that terrible winter. I never believed I would see the heights of glory of yesteryear. Mine were I know now vainglorious. My therapist commented a while ago about the richness of my life.

As you read my musings today you can rest assured I'm fighting hard to stay grounded and not fly too close to the sun. But I'm coming home feeling triumphant some days, assured of my brilliance as a practitioner but still aware enough to keep checking with people.

My texts are more triumphant, funny and terse. People are smiling and laughing around me. At times I'm laughing at the foolishness of the world. I'm being indulgent, the very expensive bottle of Cote du Rhone I bought by accident is wonderful but I know I can't afford to do that often. Yet I don't care.

The excellent Nikki who lost so much to mania just text to say should I see the doctor. Jayne pretty much said the same. I have the weapons to fight back but I do not have the will to put the brakes on just yet.

For one night only I will bask in Mozart, indulge in good wine, defy the world and carry on. Then tonight the Risperidone goes up.

I Heard a Voice.

On a More Even Keel.

The rain has been falling steadily down all day. I woke late, a little unsettled and tired. There had been two waking moments in the night. Ahead of me lay roast chicken, indoors time and coming to terms with the events of the last few days.

It has been a glorious wave to ride. The arrogance and dismissive mood has gone. I no longer fear annoying people. And I haven't had to increase my medication. I did not come crashing down as I feared I might. Just rode out the storm and the ship that is my life is now calm and on an even keel.

Despite my fear I did not cancel dinner with Sarah. The venison medallions were o so rare, the blackberry and port sauce was bang on, the dessert decadent and such lovely Rioja. So pleased I didn't cancel. Another reminder that my friends are so special in my life.

On the phone to Beka yesterday she told me I was speaking very fast. A classic sign. Now I'm not speaking at all. I'm listening to Handel's Rinaldo with a chilled glass of wine and basking in the laziness of a quiet wet Sunday, sated with wonderful roast chicken and putting aside thoughts of tomorrow.

Without looking at the diary I know it will be busy. But I think now I will not need to explain to Lena what might have been this week had the wave stayed high and my life riding it out. We can save that for another day.

Not sure when next sermon will be. But be assured I will be back, maybe in the week, maybe at the weekend. Until that return take care.

I Heard a Voice.

Impatient Irritability.

I knew it was coming. After a week of plaudits that I often dismiss my mood went through the roof last night. In pomp and arrogance I surveyed the surrounding detritus of cocaine fuelled idiots and looked on in contempt. It is great to be awesome.

Great for me that is. I'm very much hoping to have not offended anyone. With luck that is a sign I'm slowing down. In its stead comes impatience, irritability and elevation that made me dismiss the crowds in town, deny what I need to do in the flat and generally look down on what Bernie Rosen used to call the nitty gritty of life. I can't be bothered with that today.

That I feel a little hungover is leading to some confusion. One of those terrible hungry hangovers. I thought I was going to be sick as I tried to sate the beast with a fry up in Cafe Trio. Not my best idea.

The plan for tonight is to cook for Sarah. Not entirely sure she will appreciate my mental state so toying with the idea of cancelling. In truth though it is probably what I need to have structure, company and fun. I just hope I'm not rude to her.

Whilst I love the elevated mood I must be wary. If I go over the top I not only alienate people I also burn out. Having been struggling for so long it is good to be in open mental country. How long will it last? Will the plaudits of my work serenaded on the radio and in the paper on World Mental Health Day prove too much? I hope not.

Being back to where I once was does have its bonuses. I have more energy, I have passion and I have purpose. But at what price.

I will keep you posted in coming days. Have a fabulous Saturday.

I Heard a Voice.

Seasonal Sustenance.

On a wet dreary October afternoon can there be anything better than to turn to the food of the season? I'm not always precious about seasonal food, don't really have access to all the materials I need, I'm not a fan of root vegetable options and the autumn would be very dull without some healthy greenery. But autumn is a time for game and blackberries. So on my trip to see Gareth the butcher this morning I was delighted to find loin of venison on offer. With some blackberries in the fridge it was crying out for rare venison medallions with a blackberry and port sauce.

So I'm under way in the kitchen, the cold is shut out and the rain falls harmlessly outside and I'm enjoying my Saturday. And I have rare roast leg of lamb to look forward to tomorrow.

The week was pretty chaotic, the ante climbed much higher on Thursday but my vast experience came through to shine in a way it hasn't for too long. As fear stalked the halls of our building and all around felt under pressure I came home feeling awesome. Not overly manic, not dismissive and arrogant but finally back to what I once did so well.

We survived and although I was tired when I woke today it is so good to be back. The break is well earned, there is a long way to go but my fear that built the closer we got to term and the anxiety has retreated to the shadows.

I have to see my consultant on Wednesday. Part of me thinks I no longer need him. But the shift is still in its infancy so better to stay attached to the support I've had and try and bed in the change rather than go off on my own. That time will come.

Not sure yet whether to watch a film or listen to opera tonight, decisions to make. Both would be good but I'm not always good at making decisions. And with that I bid you all good night. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Amongst Friends?

For many years I detested the mental health system and despised and ranted at those who ran it. I was an angry young man. But who wouldn't be after being locked up despite committing no crime? To be told over and over again this is what you must do then blamed when it didn't work? I was also a very ill young man.

My time in the mental health system was torrid to say the least. That I didn't always do myself any favours by raging against a system that I couldn't change is clear to me now with the wisdom of age. Yet the system was one based on a kind of bizarre hierarchy of need where a diagnosis right or wrong determined someone's path not his or her need. The saddest thing about my story is that they got it very wrong. And I still bear the scars of that to this day.

When I was writing A Pillar of Impotence between 2002 and 2005 I wanted vengeance and I wanted the truth about an utterly flawed system to come out. Did I achieve that? I guess you have to ask those who have read it.

By the time I wrote Charon's Ferry as a follow up my life was very different. Having sworn I would never work for the enemy I had done just that mainly because they gave me a job when no one else would. I was living in a different place and thriving in the main. Respected...so I'm told...my name is widely known in mental health circles around here. I never felt I would return to the bleak darkness that enveloped me earlier this year. But it did.

Through all that I was stunned by the response of my friends. And I have friends in many places. For the last few weeks I have been walking into the building in town that houses local mental health services as a patient.

Today I walked in with my working hat on. And I was greeted warmly by my colleagues and peers. And in fact my friends. I have come a long way from my hate and fear. Today reminded me that however little I think of myself on the days when my mind betrays me others do not though. I have made friends with the enemy and they are no longer my enemy.

So reflecting on opera night with Handel's Arminio I raise a toast to all my friends wherever they are.

I Heard a Voice.