That Rage.

A young and relatively new colleague said to me last week "I cannot imagine you getting angry". Had she seen me last night she would certainly have seen something that surprised her. I resisted the rage enough not to send ranting e mails or post on here precisely what I thought of the world last night. It was not good.

I have seen too much anger and rage in my life. Growing up with constant sense of menace, anger and vitriol was not all good. And yes much of that did shape my later battles with madness.

Although I'm hugely open on here and in every day life about madness there are some things born out of the darkness that I will never share. Anyone who has been on the inside of a psychiatric ward, been judged a narcissistic fake whose entire life was a delusion will know that anger. I call it the rage of madness. The darkness so deep and disturbing that one is ashamed to voice it. I voice some to the mad but we all have our secrets that we will never share.

One delusion of my mad life that was true is that I wasn't culpable for my actions because I was mad. I was wrong and my brethren were wrong most of the time too. Living with mental illness mainly does not preclude us from responsibility for our actions. We are and usually will be.

I hate anger and confrontation, most of all my own. Last night I was so angry I was seized by an all encompassing freeze of my faculties. I couldn't do anything. So I'm glad I didn't write on here. It has dissipated somewhat today but I suspect I will be targeted tomorrow for not doing what people assumed I should do. Being angry does not mean one is mad. Being violent does not make one mad. So why am I confronted by dealing with that?

Tomorrow is the last day of a bumpy week. A meeting that will take place is likely to be volatile but I'm a mental health expert not a policeman or security guard.

The danger I face is that following that rage I slip into a deep depression. It hasn't happened yet but that has always been the pattern of my illness. Already my suspicious mind is casting around and seeing plots and plans. It is not me being paranoid. If someone trust worthy without hesitation asks if those things are happening completely independent of me thinking them maybe there is something in it.

After five weeks away I return to therapy on Tuesday to pick up the thread that so unsettled me last time. Or maybe we move on and worry about it another day. Who knows? But I think it must be done sometime.

Back home a Thursday night I spent a long time on the phone to an old school friend who lives in Holland. I ate a disgustingly calorific but magnificent supper of pancakes stuffed with ham, spring greens and cheese smothered in cheese sauce then baked. And I have Offenbach. That's got to be good. See you at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.