The Fear of Insomnia.

In many ways I fear insomnia as much as I fear my illness. The former is a pre-cursor to the latter but with the added anxiety and churning mind. As I went to bed last night I suspected I might be in trouble. With a cold emerging even yesterday I watched a gentle film before bed about a student in the 1980s. Gentle and funny though it was it made me sad. Sad thinking back to what was, sad thinking of what became.

I often extol the virtues of Cambridge but my childhood there was marred and scarred by the actions that took place. My first year of my undergraduate life was a characterised by loneliness, my second by disaster and my third fighting my battle with mental illness. My return twenty years ago saw me seeking something that was long gone and generally being angry and depressed. That film made me think of those days.

Sleep steadfastly refused to come. I checked my watch at 3.15 am. By 4.30 am it was getting light. At 5.00, 6.00 and 7.00 it was clear that it would not come. Added to which my eyes and nose were streaming, my throat sore and a hideous cough were all saying stay home. I text my boss a little later to say I wouldn't be in.

Sadly I couldn't go back to bed as my long awaited psychiatry appointment was this morning. Been a long time since we met last October. Having waited 40 minutes it transpired that he wasn't in. Yes they offered a locum but I didn't want that. Not really angry just disappointed. I could have stayed in bed.

Home now I'm waiting for Composer of the Week on the radio and wandering what on earth to do with myself. Feel flat and tired. The hours will tick by and we will see what transpires next. Charlie and Jayne have spent the last few days fighting this lurgy, really hoping it doesn't last that long for me.

I Heard a Voice.

Bathed in Glorious Light.

Greetings on this Bank Holiday Monday. Verdi is accompanying my musings, the sun has temporarily ducked behind the clouds and lunch has been consumed.

It has been a fine break away from it. Leaving early on Friday to meet my new supervisor I came away impressed and uplifted by the fact that she gets it, tells it and knows it as it is. After a difficult week it was a fitting end.

Faced with a three day weekend I seized on the offer from my friend Nessa to go to London. We went to the Van Gogh exhibition at Tate Britain. My third time seeing the work of this tortured genius I was again mesmerised by him. There were a load of British paintings on show as well by those who had influenced or been influenced by him. They were pale afterthoughts in my mind obliterated by the dazzling light and colour of the man himself. As bright as The Sunflowers my day was lit up in a way it hasn't been for some time.

On our way back to the station we stopped off at a rather nice tapas bar in Pimlico. Run by a Spanish couple it was supremely authentic and the sun shone on us as we watched the world go by. Such a lovely day all round.

Rare roast beef and Chianti were my Sunday indulgences and beautiful they were too. A beef sandwich for lunch and then a drive in the country to find a pub. A splendid way to spend a holiday weekend.

See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Tearful Goodbyes and Painful Memories

The last twenty four hours has been tough. Tears and memories, the two were interchangeable during the span of just a single day and night. With Handel looking out for me, a fierce Thai curry and a hot day I'm reflecting on what was, what is and what is to come.

Last night I bid a tearful goodbye to Alyssa. Although I'd seen her on previous visits to see my friend Gary her uncle I never really knew her. Two years ago she arrived nervous, shy and uncertain. She seemed ashamed to ask me for my social media links. With trepidation she came to my flat with Gary and Ali and sampled my kitchen fare and drank my wine. And we became friends.

Visas can be cruel things. Who has the right to be rather than be dependent on where they were born? Canada no doubt is a great country as is England. But to travel between the two gives limitations. Now two years on she raves about my food, knows how to cook and love the ants climbing the tree, she adores rare roast beef and opera.

I have enjoyed her company immensely despite the twenty year age gap between us. And I will miss her terribly. She flies tomorrow morning. She will visit in the autumn but I won't be able to just pop over to the pub and see her or randomly invite to whatever culinary experiment I'm working on.

After sad farewells we still have to wake up and it was a day that I always dread. Having seen the inside of many mental health inpatient facilities since 1991 one would have thought that like much of the rest of my work I'd be anaesthetised to it, but it is not the case. It's the part of my job I like least. Well that and picking up the phone and making calls that lead young people to such places.

I live in terror of such places. How can I forget the clanging steel door and bars on the windows back that fateful summer all those years ago? The places I named The Archbishop's Palace and The Hotel California where I stayed are long gone. But such places still exist.

Today I fought my fear safe in the knowledge that I could walk out when I had finished. The students I visited today could not.

Soaked in sweat and with a fast heart rate I did emerge unscathed. But what bitter terrifying memories. I don't think they will ever leave me even with the quarter century gap since I was last a resident.

The theme will continue on Saturday when I meet my friend Nessa I met on that last ward in 1994 and together we will visit the Van Gogh exhibition at the Tate. He knew about asylums just as we do. For us he is our patron Saint just as Dark Side of the Moon is our anthem. Once a lunatic, always?

I Heard a Voice. 

Their Own Agenda?

A couple of nights ago I caught part of BBC News Hardtalk series. I often catch a little of it but rarely until the end as it is so late. That night they were interviewing Ruth Hunt the CEO of Stonewall the LGBT pressure group founded by Peter Tatchell the campaigner. I met Ruth about ten years ago at an event at the University. At the time she was a young, confident, firebrand lesbian determined to prove her point about anyone else's. She completely failed to answer my question about mental health to highlight her own agenda of lesbian role models. Clearly the mark of a politician and I guess why she is now CEO.

Around the same time I met Poppy Jarmon. At least her agenda was mental health but she has done rather well for herself. She has cornered the market in mental health training and organisations now seem convinced that the way to battle this scourge of mental health difficulties is to sign up to her Mental Health First Aid brand. I number of people I know trained to be trainers and have had lucrative careers from it. I wonder how much Poppy has made along with her Honours gong?

Jonny Benjamin is the current darling of the mental health world. He is genuine in the sense that he has a serious mental illness, has been on psychiatric wards, and has last time I saw him finally accepted he needs to keep taking his medication. He has had a book about himself written, ghost written I suspect. What isn't widely known is that he charges £1000 per talk. Now I've no idea what he does with that money but it's certainly a damn sight more money than many people who are ill and live on benefits will ever see. He too has a gong.

I suppose I'm from an earlier generation. I've know a few great and sometimes famous campaigners many of whom I consider my friends. The Anne Beales's, Ruth Chandlers, Emma Hardings, Laura Mays of this world have contributed a great deal. Yes Anne has an MBE but few of us ever made any money. Some fame locally, in my case anyway, and nationally for the others. But they I firmly believe mainly do it for the right reasons.

The truth is all us activists have our own agenda as well as high ideals. The service user world is littered with people who speak on what matters to them. And their opinion because they have lived experience must be right above all others. Did I want to be famous with my books? Of course I did. Did I think I was right all the time? Yes. Was I? No.

I will never be more than a middle aged man who wrote two books read by a few hundred people. Am I known and influential? Only in my world. Am I respected? Yes. Jaded and burnt out? At times.

Maybe I have failed but as I come to the end of my six years as a governor of Hertfordshire Partnership University Partnership Trust I have done some good and tried at least to marry together my agenda, their's and the needs of the countless people suffering who I will never know.

So another plank of my identity passes into history. What next? I really don't know. With Mozart as my guide I'm musing on that tonight. See you at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice. 

High Praise Indeed!

When an Italian tells me that my Ragu is as good as his mum's I guess I must be doing something right! How is that for high praise? After my painful and foolish venture into publishing one of my plates on the net that was a relief. Actually, much of my food is praised by others even if I am my own harshest critic.

My kitchen adventures tonight see me cooking sea bream for the first time. The original plan was to buy whole fish and stuff them with fennel, onion and oregano. I couldn't get any whole fish so had to settle for fillets. But no worries I will cook the fennel mix in the oven covered on a low heat and pan fry the fillets.

Today feels like a good day. The sun is shining and it's much warmer than the cold wet week. My windows and balcony door are open. Beethoven plays. Earlier I chose Puccini. The week at work was mixed but we got through it. Only a week of exams to go and the academic year is over for most. I do not get holidays as long as the students but it tends to be a little more manageable from May onward.

Finally caught up on my mood diary this week. As I feared it was mainly negatives and zeroes but nothing too bad. I think I have found a supervisor which was well needed. I meet her on Thursday week.

This Thursday I will attend my final council of governors meeting. My term of office runs out in June and having neglected the organisation for the best part of two years owing to illness and work there seemed little point in standing again. Why stand when I contribute nothing? Then I fade back into oblivion.

That can wait though. For now a weekend, a kitchen, good food and timely sleep are my ways forward. See you all in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Thunderous Downpours.

What a terrible day. Heavy rain, thunder, lightning and cold. I was glad to be home and able to warm up in my flat. Why do I need the heating on in May?

You find me on a Wednesday evening listening to Handel's Rinaldo and passing the time in another week. Past half way with the holiday on Monday. Exams are in full swing and although my diary was packed only one person turned up. A few things irritated me as they do most days but I'm okay. I've rather neglected my mood diary recently. Whilst not really in the negative a lot has been a boring zero. Good things are happening and I'm helping people but little irritations set me back. Having good advice ignored. Being sidelined from events that really should be in my world. Limits being artificially placed for the wrong reasons. It is ever thus if one attempts to have a career.

A good thing did happen today. After work I called a clinical psychologist who I hope will become my supervisor. We meet the week after next so we will see where it goes. I once described in Charon's Ferry supervision as being"what keeps professionals sane". I've been without it for two years. They keep hassling me to sort it out so it is a relief to finally find someone.

In the kitchen I've been busy. To China I turned tonight. In the West we find it odd to cook cucumbers and other salad ingredients. In China these are rarely eaten raw. Few here can contemplate cooked lettuce but it wonderful stir fried with black fungus and chilli bean paste. BBQed little gem lettuce is a revelation. I like my eclectic approach to food. Like two of my great heroes David Bowie and Rick Stein I am something of magpie when it comes to my love of food.

Must try and get down to see dad at some point. Had planned to go in two weeks but Alyssa heading home to Canada negated that. Who knows when I will see her next?

Let's hope the sun shines tomorrow, life brightens up then. Until next time, good night.

I Heard a Voice.

Dodging the Showers.

A huge black rain cloud hung over the centre of town this afternoon as I parked my car. By the time I got to Yang's the showers were under way and the bitter wind that had been blowing all morning made it pretty miserable out. Post noodles pretend smoke break the sun had once again arrived and an all together nicer outlook pervaded the world. Dodging showers has been par for the day.

Earlier I had been to see Gareth coming away with pork loin, chicken thighs, beef mince and duck eggs. Then it was off to Smallford to check out the new farm shop. It was great and didn't spend too much. It will be a cooking long weekend. Back home now there is a Ragu with pork and beef mince bubbling away on the hob, once again the showers are threatening and I'm listening to Beethoven.

My week was mixed. Thoughtful and slightly disturbing therapy, clashes as work then a triumph of my experience and knowledge over what I knew was a wrong choice. I will keep quietly plugging away trying to get it right. I think I triumphed in the end.

Mentally I'm okay but lurking is doubt. Will I turn up or down? Would be lovely to turn upwards but at what cost. In truth I'm relieved to be away from things and able to hide or show depending on how I feel. At the moment I'm hiding but I will emerge later.

There was an election on Thursday. I almost forgot the vote but did go down and cast my lot in a quiet polling station. It was mixed news for my political friends, my communist chum James lost his seat. My friend Rachel won a seat for the Green Party down in Kent. Are we any wiser for the upcoming European election? No. No one's really very sure why we are having them. A deal seems as distant as ever. It is marvellous to live in a democracy but sometimes that simply makes things more complicated. Time will tell I suppose.

Whatever you are doing out there on his holiday weekend, stay safe and have fun.

I Heard a Voice.

What to Say on May Day?

Some days I just don't want to talk. That is fine except that my job is all about talking. Therapy is all about talking. And I rarely stop talking. On this May Day I have done a lot of talking but with no real direction or purpose. Work was marred by being required to do things that I do not know how to do. I ask the question and get unhelpful answers. Therapy was marred by the fact I didn't know what to say and was so out of touch with my mood today that I didn't really want to be there.

The completely pointless therapy that I had twenty years ended with a final session where I had been to the dentist that day had two horrific fillings and my face was completely numb and contorted. When I said I wouldn't really be able to speak because of the dental work the therapist said "perhaps that means you don't want to talk today". Fuck you! That's the sort of bollocks I had come to expect from therapists. Fast forward twenty years that sentiment was right today. I didn't want to talk.

All evening I have been debating whether to come on here. Not sure if I made the right decision to do so but here I am. Not enjoyed today.

Immersing myself in opera and E M Forster hasn't really helped much but it passes the time. I did cook and was moderately pleased with the outcome. Mozart is as sublime as ever. And I'm away from anyone having any expectation. That must be a good thing.

I'm hoping next time I come to speak to you I'm happier. Not depressed today, merely pissed off. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.