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.