A Halloween Full Moon.

The rain has been hammering down all day. It is gloomy, desolate and not enticing. A shame as I was looking forward to seeing the first Halloween full moon in 76 years. In a way it is our day. Many have said to be over the years that their mental illness is at its worst on full moon. There is no scientific reason why this might be but the world of mental health is not one of science, more one of anecdote.

My apologies for my recent silence. Many times I have wanted to write. Usually on the hard and angry days. But that is not wise. Better to let anger dissipate. I've learned that through bitter experience.

The days where I want to give up, walk away and tell the world to fuck off keep coming. Usually just a day in duration they nevertheless affect my sleep and my anxiety rises. The older I get the more I realise anxiety has been there most of my life. With each passing day I'm beginning to make sense of mum's last tormented years before her sudden death in 2012. That my life was unstable then is a memory. Well it should be but it keeps coming back. Why worry about small things?

The last two weekends I've had visitors. Great but what worry I experienced. It came into sharp focus how out of control I feel in my life. My cooking is so important but I need to concentrate and not be distracted. I need a cup of tea. I want a bath. These requests are little but to my delicate sense of self they sky rocket my anxiety. I certainly struggled with patience earlier in my life. Seems others do still.

My little life is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I give it two weeks max before we are shut in our homes. I've watched from half way round the world what lockdown has done to my friend Georgia in Melbourne. They are finally allowed outside but what price have they paid with their minds? I think that will come to us.

So I must focus on what I can do. And on this wet day Handel lightens up my life. I have a chilled glass of wine. I'm nice and warm. And I have lamb to cook. Flavoured with rosemary, thyme, fennel, bay and cooked on a bed of onions and steamed in white wine. Never tried it before but pretty much everything  from Sam and Sam Clark's Moro books comes out brilliantly.

Take care out there in the rain, marvel at the full moon if you see it and remember my friends, madness is not constant. I have a mental illness but a lot of the time I cope. Just letting go of the bad days, the powerlessness, the fear and the anger, that is the key to surviving mental illness.

I Heard a Voice.  

A Pint in the Autumn Sun.

That glorious golden light of autumn pervades this still and quiet October afternoon. On carpets of russet leaves I ventured forth for a little drive. Stopping at The White Horse at Burnham Green I sat alone in the garden, pleasantly warm and contented in my mental stillness. Not often that happens in term time. But I'm not there today. After a long weekend what better than a lonely contemplative pint in my favourite season?

Being away from work even for just a couple of days was what I needed. I plod on each day seeing all I have achieved slip away as with an hour glass. My time feels over. What next I do not know. I need a job but all that comes with it feels scary, empty and isolating. I have my supporters but none are in position to help me. In my own self derision I used to say I'm only as good as the students I can help. If I can't help I'm a waste of space.

The plaudits, the comments, the cards and the history count for little now. There is a new world, one I do not understand and I suspect to the detriment of future generations. All will be seen in time.

What I do hope moving forward is that I get clarity. Support means many things to different people but it is very hard to define. On Wednesday I go back to therapy. Peter will tell me what might help and I will be dragged kicking and screaming away from my way. For my way is no more.

Yet on this quiet afternoon I'm trying not to think about that. The morning will come soon enough. A day at a time and a task at a time.

Away from my small world I suspect it will not be long before I'm locked down again. My friend Ros is already headed that way as she lives in Wales. My area has rising infections but is okay at present. My friend Marie came for the weekend to beat any shutdown. I do like visitors but I also like the solitude of the afternoon after departure. She got home okay.

For me my kitchen beckons. Thai prawns with chilli and basil will adorn my metaphorical table tonight. Not sure about tomorrow.

Enjoy this sunny day before the rains come. For they will come. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice. 

Still Standing, Still Fighting.

Cast your mind back to late winter 1994. My life had been ravaged by mental illness for four years. Fred and Rose West has just been discovered and some of the most heinous crimes in British history were unfolding in the glare of the tabloid press. John Major was our Prime Minister. And Donald Trump was already a clown...a very rich clown. Mental illness was not talked about. And I was desperately lonely.

Back then I was waiting for admission to a specialist psychiatric facility in London. They took the untouchables. The ones who no one wanted to work with. The angry. The damned. The ones everyone else had given up on as too damaged and too toxic. I entered that ward in March.

When I emerged in the summer of that year my last hope was gone. Well it wasn't gone, I had simply not done what I was told and was thus forward too much for the NHS to deal with. Bernie Rosen once told me that I would never find a medication that would work for me.

Going back to my small world was soul destroying. There was no hope. Yet I was determined to do something and that was to read my medical notes. A few weeks later I did so. And it was like they were talking about an alien completely detached from my life, my experience, my emotion and my compassion. It told my GP that my prognosis was to kill myself within six months.

All these years later on World Mental Health Day I can say I'm still standing, I'm alive, I'm kicking, and I'm fighting. It takes a lot of courage to fight mental illness. I did find a medication  and it worked.

I have a life. I have a career. I have friends. And mental illness is now just a part of my life. Covid aside the last few months have been tough. All the doubt has come back. I feel all I have achieved is being swept away. And my legacy is crumbling.

Yet I must recall the words, the cards, the nominations and the kindness of my friends who have helped me, the students I have helped, the sun shining, having my own place, having opera and books. Having my kitchen. And having life.

Many of my friends from those days are dead. So on our day I bear testimony for both the living and the dead. I have no doubt that the few people who read my musings fight their demons day to day. I certainly do. If that is you please stand up and congratulate yourself for surviving. Keep fighting for that way we will prevail over our demons.

Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice.