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.