Not a Known Soul.

I've not seen a soul today. Well not known to me. After a lonely, detached and tired holiday weekend I have sought solitude. I didn't wake up until midday. The lack of structure and purpose on bank holidays has long plagued me. 

Unsure of what to do I didn't eat lunch. Wasn't hungry. But I did get in my car and had a pint of Cornish ale in The Rose and Crown at Welwyn. Apart from the young woman pouring the ale I spoke to no one. Nor see anyone I knew.

Back when mum was alive she would always be surprised when I bumped into someone I knew wherever we went. She always wanted to know how I knew all these people. Well I talk to them.

Meeting new people has never been easy for me. That may come as a surprise given that I get paid to meet and talk to new people. That though is on my terms, in my world. The mental health world is home, familiar to me.

After nearly 19 years in Hertfordshire a lot of people know me. Just none today.

The devil was less on my mind today. That after almost reaching out last night. All voices say do not. Thus far I haven't. Must keep that up.

In my solitude I did cook. Beef rendang from scratch. Made the paste, slow cooked it for 2 1/2 hours. Came out pretty well.

Tomorrow I speak to a wise man, I work and I cook for Sarah. Undecided whether to do pan fried duck breasts with cassis and blackberry sauce, pan fried and roasted duck breast with pomegranate molasses or duck Mussaman curry. Each requires going out for ingredients or the effort of making curry paste on a work day. I wonder which I will choose.

I Heard a Voice.

Whispering Deceit or Crying a Painful Truth?

The devil spoke this week. Not directly to me but to the wider online world. I'm trying to interpret what she said. Was she whispering more deceit to elicit compassion or expressing the painful truth that has beset my mind since late January?

All but one person in my life have don't you dare respond. The one different voice, that of a therapist, is urging me to connect. Who do I trust?

The devil took up most of my therapy session this week. No advice was given, never expect that from a psychodynamic therapist, but he did give some different angles. The most striking was that unlike what happened in the past this time someone reached out to me not the other way round. Before the door has been slammed in my face repeatedly.

It is hard to forgive betrayal, vitriolic bile and attacks that confirm my very low opinion of me. But do I need to forgive? Or am I deluding my self that the devil's message relates to me?

On Tuesday I will speak to someone who will advise. Then I will decide.

Back to today I'm listening to Handel's Serse and cooking roast lamb. It has been a fairly lonely weekend. People doing their own thing. Tomorrow is a public holiday, what do I do with myself? Always a conundrum.

Must phone dad and Miriam later. Back now to my opera and my book.

I Heard a Voice.

Disastrous and Expensive.

Had things gone to plan I would be enjoying my Sunday opera feeling refreshed after my holiday. As it stands I'm listening to Sunday opera with an insidious and smoldering anger.

The week away was not only cut short but was an unmitigated disaster. Never again. Fortunately dad is fully recovered but the appalling way the hotel dealt with a minor stomach upset has left me angry and once again feeling betrayed.

By late last week it seemed they were going to refund everything including the £200 I spent on travel. Now they're trying to back out of that. What can I do though? I'm a nobody with no leverage.

Despite the rage it is sunny, I'm not being bombed as many are in the world. I'm cushioned from economic catastrophe instigated by war in the Middle East. I have a job, a home, food and the right to vote. That is lucky for me. Others are not that lucky.

In a couple of hours I will walk through the woods for lunch at The Waggoners. Tomorrow brings what it will but that is tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.

Stuck in a Hotel Room.

On the first full day of our holiday I have had no coffee, no food, no air and no sunshine. The sun is out but we cannot get to it. Dad should have on the bowls green from 10 am. Lunch now but not to be.

We are confined to our hotel room and being required to end our holiday. Sadly dad was unwell in the night so we are in quarantine.

Illness cannot be helped. God I've had enough illness in my life. It can be a terrible spoiler. Fortunately he seems a lot better. Yet the holiday is at an end.

I have arranged to be picked up around 5 pm. Not sure what happens when we get back to my flat. No food in as I expected to be away. But at least then we can go outside.

I Heard a Voice 

With a Smile Like a Girl's.

What to say about this week? Peaks and troughs. A slow and short working week. Intense therapy, a trip to London, a no show and my dad visiting this weekend.

Had I written yesterday it could well have been an angry post. Yet on this sunny Sunday afternoon Beethoven plays, belly pork roasts and I feel a lot better.

Dad and I are going away tomorrow. He will play bowls and I will read. I'm taking two books one of which I some way through and another to start when it is complete.

Not sure what of all of that I can expand on but I will reference London. King's events do bring me a lot of anxiety. I have spoken many times on here how mixed and in many ways damaging that was. 43 years on from leaving I still talk of it in therapy and in life.

What made it most interesting was seeing a woman who I was once close to for the first time in 20 years. We were 9 when we met and all these years later she still has the smile of a little girl. She approached me to talk and it was lovely.

Back to this weekend I must get on with preparing vegetables and drying up. Must open the wine too. Dad made it to the local church down the road. I listened to music and have been reading. The sun is shining and the day feels good.

I Heard a Voice.

Handel's Warm Embrace.

On a quiet Sunday afternoon Handel plays, gammon roasts and the sun shines. I'm home and just finished reading another chapter of Felicity Cloake's Red Sauce Brown Sauce-a British Breakfast Odyssey. For someone who never eats breakfast I'm still a fan of a fry up but not when I get up.

My week was a short one after Easter. Back to work on Wednesday until Friday. I guess it was okay, in a bit of a downturn in tasks. Since returning to work in the autumn it's been fits and starts. Intense activity then a lull.

There's a meeting at Royal College of Psychiatrists on Thursday but I can't go. True I will be in London that day but for a drinks reception at The Reform Club. Once again I face the past of nearly 50 years. King's remains both a monument and shadow in my life. A friend asked me quite intensely last night why I was going. I couldn't give a concrete reason. But go I will.

Before then though is therapy. My first two sessions have been intense, difficult and exhausting. But I'm glad I'm going there.

This time next week my dad will be here. No doubt I'll have to organise a taxi to and from St Francis of Assisi church before having lunch. He likes to get his church fix.

Then on Monday we travel to Essex for our holiday. We went last year and had fun despite my parlace mental state at the time. I'm looking forward to afternoons with my book and a few glasses of ale.

For now though I return to my opera and salivate over the forthcoming roast gammon with English mustard.

Have a peaceful Sunday all.

I Heard a Voice.

Easter Greetings.

Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates it. Passover is on and Eid was a couple of weeks ago. So the three monotheistic faiths all celebrate close to each other. Sometimes known as "people of the Book" similarities must outweigh the centuries old animosity that is trumpeted in our news reels. Let us celebrate faith, creed and culture.

In my small world I've been somewhat up and down mentally. I struggled with isolation, desolation and loneliness Friday and Saturday. Better today but the shadow of the devil still invades and envelops my mind a lot.

Yet my kitchen remains my haven. There is half a leg of lamb seasoned with garlic and rosemary in the oven. The potatoes are parboiled. I'm making a starter of crab and apple salad with cucumber, mayonnaise, mint and lemon. Miriam and Nigel are my guests for lunch.

I'm off now until Wednesday. The last week was slow but next week I will review the interim report on "overdiagnosis" of mental health, ADHD and autism ordered by Wes Streeting in December. Quite why he did that I'm not sure given last year's ADHD taskforce report. The chatter online is that they're chasing a mythical unicorn to save money and get people working. To do the latter we need root and branch reform of health, education, housing, DWP and culture. We're a long way off that.

For now though as hailstones fall outside I will concentrate on lunch. Perhaps it's time to crack open the fizz.

I Heard a Voice.

Shadow Fall.

On a sunny Saturday afternoon I'm at home. Just had a chicken sandwich for lunch and have iced water. This day is never easy for me. For it's 14 years today since my mum died. The sea that she loved, respected and feared finally took her.

The shadow of that day and many years before still hangs over us. We have different views on what that shadow looks like. For me it can be cloying and oppressive, a devastating foundation to my mental health battles. At other times I have fond memories. Trips to the cricket in Canterbury. Teaching children to read in school together. Yet still almost every dream I have of her unsettles me. And I have many.

What I cannot take away from her is her life long fight for the rights of women. Seeing a woman installed as Archbishop of Canterbury this week would have delighted her.

Can we speak ill of the dead? I'm about to find out. Next Wednesday I return to therapy. I've waited a lifetime for this. To finally confront the shadow. Sadly it will not be with my expected therapist, that has also unsettled me.

Easter is coming. The music, the food, the wine, the memories. I'm not really eating much chocolate at the moment so an Easter egg is unlikely.

Miriam and Nigel are joining me Easter Day lunch, crab and apple salad with mayonnaise, lemon and mint accompanied by English fizz followed by roast duck with a bottle of Medoc.

I have to get through today though first. A day at a time.

I Heard a Voice.

Blotted Out by the Sound of the Waves.

Sunday morning in March the sun of shining and I'm listening to The Marriage of Figaro. I've had my coffee, put my lenses in and brushed my teeth. Simple tasks that everyone can do but my anxiety tries to beat me on every day. Yes it's that bad most days. Bernie Rosen said to me in 1994 "you have to do the nitty gritty in life". Keep going on the basics however hard if feels and when there seems no point.

After been woken by four dreams in the night two of which were full on nightmares I feel time and on edge. Looming next week is the anniversary of my mum's death. 14 years later I still dream of her and it's rarely good. Last weekend was mothers' day, always a tough one.

Still the murmuring voice of the devil is out there trying to manipulate and deceive and get back into my life. I remain silent. During the week I got to the beach and the sound of waves blotted her out. A short while in time.

Being in Kent much of week allowed me to feel cared for, valued and needed. That was needed after the last two months. I saw so many friends, some by design and some by chance. And my small family. Even ate Italian food on my dad's birthday. Never my thing but it was good.

The world away from me continues to go mad. War has so many impacts. Already the price of petrol has shot up. Energy bills are held for the time being but will rocket in July. Who knows where we'll be when I have to renew my mortgage towards the end of 2027?

Yet these are material things. I'm not being bombed, displaced and being the collateral damage of angry, dangerous, egotistical men fighting with no plan. I do not make political comments often but did highlight last year on here the authoritarianism was back in our world. Almost by definition the makes the world an inherently more dangerous place.

I can do nothing about that though. All I can do is focus on what I can do. And today that is opera, my book and roast pheasant for lunch.

I Heard a Voice.

Unwanted Voice.

After nearly a month of silence the devil spoke and reappeared on Monday. I didn't open it until Friday but once again feeling haunted by the mistakes of the past.

Whilst the voice was not threatening it was not welcome. Someone asked was it remorseful? I don't think the devil is capable of remorse. More agrandisement to make her feel better. Have I once again met evil?

Talking of evil, and I mean evil, I learned in the week that the university has finally expunged a cancer within its core. No one knew until I broke the news. One thing I know of that place is if you get too loud, too obvious, too much of a problem they will pay you off and silence you.

Although my troubles follow me I have escaped to the seaside. Alone at dad's flat I'm enjoying the silence. He is at church. I will get going on roast pork shortly. When it's in crackled I will turn it down and walk to the beach.

I'm here until Thursday. May peace and silence reign.

I Heard a Voice.

An Evolutionary Response.

Sunday lunchtime on International Wonen's Day. I'm home listening to opera on yet another grey day. Grey or not the fight for equality, safety and acceptance goes on. As an unknowing and weak ally I can only add my quiet voice of support to the extraordinary women I know.

Tired is probably the best way to describe me. An intense working week assessing the White Paper on SEND Reform filled my week with review and analysis. That work, a distilled version, will soon be presented to the Executive Board of the Trust.

Getting noticed in high places is not something I seek and if I'm honest makes me feel uncomfortable. But it is happening.

The way forward may be too radical to be seen as evolutionary. The report has profound implications for our staff, our training and our model. I've been saying this from day 1. We must change.

Most importantly it means that children and young people caught in the nether world between mild to severe will finally get support. That must be a good thing.

Aside from my work my recent brush with devilry still impacts and hurts. But I still get through each day.

Next weekend I will be home by the sea with my family and friends. Let us hope the sun shines and I can walk along the beach, hear the gulls and the wind and see the waves breaking.

I Heard a Voice.

Winter or Spring?

As winter ends and spring begins there is little to choose between them. Grey and wet. Grey though mentally is better than the eternal darkness that pervaded my mind for nearly a month. The blackness returned yesterday, today more grey despite horrible nightmares in the early hours of this morning.

In the cold light of day I'm tired but functioning better. I've lost so much weight and barely eating for a month cooking has been a mountain to climb. But I did cook today, roast rolled breast of turkey. The plate looked mountainous by my standards but I managed about two thirds of it.

The washing up lies undone as I'm listening to Puccini opera with a chilled glass of white Toscana.

I spoke to three people on the phone yesterday. All helpful in understanding the mailstrom of emotional chaos recently. It's still raw and hurting though. Hard not to ask the question why me? I tarry too long in the dark recesses of the mental health world and get trapped. What people think matters but I always seem to get burned.

The question of what is my purpose is a common comment on men's suicide notes and testimony of survivors. Not that suicide is on my mind but as a survivor who fought through years of illness, unemployment, poverty and despair I had to find a purpose to recover. That purpose is to help others. Is that a healthy purpose? Well yes and no. I'm great at looking after the mental health of others but terrible at my own mental health. Be kind to yourself even if others are unkind to you.

With I'll leave you on this first day of spring.

I Heard a Voice.

Echoes in the Silence.

Another week done. The drama of the week before has retreated into silence although echoes of memories keep coming back. I however am talking. Talking to those who care and love me. And they are many. I need my friends in hurt times.

A word I have been reluctant to use is betrayal. Yet two friends have both used that word a month on from the emotional earthquake. The devil remains silent but the echoes of betrayal still hit hard.

Aside from that it was payday on Wednesday. Turkish barber after work then dinner at The Waggoners. On Thursday I went to Lam Nam Moon with Jess. She's met the devil in person so knows. Jess remains one of my most trusted friends. Yesterday I went The Neem Tree with Sarah. Sarah knows the meaning of betrayal.

Now the weekend must be filled. I woke today tired, flat and lethargic. No motivation to do anything. But I must do not just ruminate. Lunch, washing and dinner must be done although I feel no drive or intereste in any of those.

Do I got out today? It is cold and wet out. Not enticing. I feel like isolating myself from the world. Not the best plan that.

In the wider world it is a wider war in the middle east. I know little of Iran but I know a lot about military things. I don't see what the objective is or what the end game is. The world has gone out of control.

I Heard a Voice.

Unmasking the Devil.

Rare is the day I get deceived by who people are. I've made a living getting inside people's heads. Some have described me as a mind reader, someone who can see into their souls. Not my words but the words of others.

My recent malaise, depression, intrusive thoughts, fear and doubt is as it transpires the result of a deep deception. I try to be kind and supportive to everyone but that kindness can be used by some. As someone said on Friday your kindness has been weaponised and used against you.

Knowing many people can be helpful though. And some can say things that instantly diminish the emotional pain. It took a while coming but it is diminished. Not that I feel great but better than I did. Do not trust too much; too dangerous.

Battered and bruised I'm working my way through Sunday morning. It's a nothing kind of day outside. Mild though. Inside I'm listening to Tosca and preparing to cook roast beef.

After a week of doing nothing but online mandatory training and some of it was pretty harrowing and emotionally draining. Triggering is not a word I like but how shall I put it, caused flashbacks and brought back the shame of old. Next week my diary has some structure.

Back in Kent preparation for dad's birthday in mid March. Restaurant is booked, Miriam and Nigel have booked to stay and an invitation has been extended to Beka.

Must get on with lunch preparations.

I Heard a Voice.

Interpreting the Tone.

It's another filthy day here in Hertfordshire. We had a brief respite from the rain yesterday when the sun came out but it was bitterly cold. Today it is hammering it down with rain again.

My mood is as bleak as the clouds outside. A really horrible three weeks. That it is different from my usual depression is clear. Dark, low mood accompanied by bewilderment and confusion. The sense of what have I done lays heavy on my mind. I try to always be kind and supportive to those around me. To curb my anger and display to the world a quiet confidence.

I feel anything but confident at the moment. In this age of instant messaging it is easy sometimes to misinterpret the tone of the written word. Maybe that's what I have done. But when a reem of messages come in from the instigator of my current malaise all of which feel hostile, aggressive, condemnatory and frankly plain nasty it is hard to know how to respond.

Silence endued. Simply not knowing what to say hurts. Am I playing games? Punishing? Being unkind? After a two week gap the messages recommenced. Not in a kind way. My response was a video message. Maybe that was right. Maybe wrong. But I hoped interpretation would be easier.

The morning after I'm too anxious to look at a response. Fear pervades. Maybe I should have blocked her or ignored her as so many of my friends said. But those who read my last post I consider such actions childish.

So for now messages are unopened. I'm listening to The Magic Flute and cooking roast pork. I have friends coming round.

I Heard a Voice 

A Puerile Action?

I have long considered blocking people online a rather puerile action. Puer meaning boy in Latin, by extension childish. In this age of digital media, incomprehensible passwords, digital footprints and paranoid suspicions I have never felt threatened enough to take such sanctions.

A week ago I felt I needed to do such a thing. I'm ever cautious on here because of the paranoia of others. Others who by their own admission have stalked me, checked out my social media and even circled my flat to see what can be seen through in windows. I let them in and they betrayed me.

That word betrayal is a powerful, risky and argue self absorbed word. I have struggled with it for more than two weeks. To commit makes us vulnerable. To be betrayed makes us dangerously vulnerable.

My world is one of despair, instability and damage. Mental health can be brutal. Many claim that epitaph but few have see  what I've seen.

Friendships and relationships in that world are unstable and dangerous. Yet again I've been burned.

There are many many flaws in my character and many mistakes in my conduct and decision making. I'm only too aware. But I always try to be kind, be loving and be supportive. This time I failed and I'm paying the price.

Tonight I watch the Super Bowl. Tomorrow I go back to reality.

I Heard a Voice.

Ripple Effects.

None of us live in total isolation. We are all interconnected in a complex web of people, work, home and the interactions we have every day. When I entered the mental health system on a stifling July day in 1991 I kept being told not to become institionalised and must be independent.

That I ended up there was in part because one person made a decision that exploded what I know now was my very fragile life. Still to this day I have no idea why she made that decision.

She's gone from my life now but she lives on as a central player of my first book A Pillar of Impotence and on certain dates. But I'm still vulnerable to the decisions made by others that impact me, my shattered self esteem and my incredibly negative way in which I view my life.

This week has been another devastating one, a mangled wreck of overthinking, doubt, fear, paranoia, intrusive and obsessional thoughts and general you are bad and undeserving. And on and on goes my mind.

On this Sunday morning I'm listening to Mozart's Coronation Mass and trying and failing to switch off. Yet I've done the washing, had my coffee, put my lenses in, brushed my teeth and made my bed. A lamb shank will go in the oven shortly. The nitty gritty of life. Hard though it is I must keep fighting through, doing and surviving despite the emotional turmoil that is in my hesd.

I Heard a Voice.

Stay Silent?

Today I do not know what to say. I need to say something but for once I cannot find the words.

When life patterns keep repeating it is hard not to turn it inward and look at oneself. Guilt and shame. I've battled those for years. Last year someone actually explained the difference in words I understood. Guilt is I made a mistake which I can do something about it even if it is only an apology. Shame is I am the mistake.

My feeling that I am the mistake, that I'm the mistake feels very strong. And it is very painful.

Letting people into our lives makes us vulnerable. Maybe that's why some seek solitude. In a lifetime littered with mistakes, self inflicted pain and rejection I might have learned from those mistakes. Yet still I make them and on days like today I enforce solitude despite the pain that causes.

I have long tried to avoid responding when I'm angry. But whilst I'm sticking to that I know I have to respond sooner or later. I just don't know when, how and what.

Life feels bleak today despite listening to Mozart, a table booked at The Waggoners and the Rams game later. Just get through one hour at a time.

I Heard a Voice.

Winter's Progress.

Sunday morning in Hertfordshire. Beethoven plays. There is a pheasant stuffed with bay, rosemary and thyme and wrapped in bacon in the oven. All is peaceful at mine. My friend Marie has been staying this weekend. She'll catch her train home after lunch. It has been a good weekend.

Whilst I'm at peace the wider world crashes on in its destructive way. The west is divided. The east is at war. And somewhere in the middle Europe teeters in a precarious position. What was known is no longer certain. Who can trust whom?

My thoughts go to many as this winter progresses. At this time to Persians as well as people caught up in war. I have a couple of Persian friends. Who knows what will happen to this most ancient of people?

In my quiet, peaceful flat I'm lucky. My working life has improved immeasurably. Others though are feeling vulnerable. Why do we make work so hard on ourselves? Thursday takes me to The Royal College of Psychiatrists. I've been before but a long time ago.

As for today, when alone I look forward to watching the Rams in the playoffs in Chicago. Going to be mightily cold. 

I Heard a Voice. 

New Year, What Next?

A year ago my life felt brutally grim. The vultures were circling, betrayal surrounding me and never knowing where the next knife would come from. Everything was a complete mess. Not being able to switch off for the holidays had happened three years in a row. It has been a bumpy ride since I left the university in 2021. All around me people advised me to get signed off by the doctor.

Ultimately I held off for five months before collapsing into a mass of despair, self doubt and staring inside the gates of hell. The day I went off I feared at best the crisis team turning up, at worst a Mental Health Act assessment.

Hour by hour, day by day, month by month things turned around. I lost friends, some I expect for good. But those who stuck by me really stuck by me. I gained new friends too. Somehow after four months I tentatively made it back to work.

With a different direction that I was not able to predict slowly I began to flourish. It was hard. But I took it one day at a time. As 2025 moved inexorably towards its end I learned my destiny. A new job, a chance to be a pathfinder and an opportunity to do some good.

As we start 2026 I made it through the holidays, saw family and friends, dined and drank without fear. Nearly four years of fear. Life is hard but I'm keeping going one step at a time.

Happy New Year everyone.

I Heard a Voice.