Another Long Day.

Well it is all still going on my end. Had a trip to A&E today followed by a meeting. It is very helpful getting to know people beyond my immediate environment. Change is in the air but some choose to ignore that. Sadly the change won't happen for another 14 months, hopefully I will have left by then. If I stay I don't know what is in store for me-that is for more important people to decide.

I think I have stepped back from the rage of the weekend. It is rage that drives relapse. As I took the train to Kent on Friday I had it on my mind to visit my Doctor and get signed off as a precaution. Maybe I'll still do that. I do need to see him but time won't allow at the moment. That is for the future.

As of now I am home, have the washing on-yes domestic tedium continues apace-and there is a Vietnamese beef curry on the hob. It smells very good and has been successful on previous attempts. We are not doing the quiz tonight so it is back to the TV and an ale of 2. Until next time, bye.

I Heard a Voice.

The Wind and the Rain.

Looking out the window of my dad's house I'm glad I did not venture out this afternoon-it is filthy out there. Rain is pouring down and the wind is sweeping and lashing that rain onwards. It is a bit like my mood yesterday.

I came home yet again late after yet another crisis that never happened. If I could have I would have walked out. Then as I waited for my train there was yet another out of hours call. Well enough is enough, I don't don't get paid enough to do this shit. Something has to change but I'm not sure what to do about it. I have been concocting potential e mails all the way down here but not come up with anything suitable. Nor do I yet know to whom I should direct my e mail-to the top perhaps.

My mind is still afire but not where it was yesterday. I'm slow roasting belly pork in dad's aga-not much of a fan of them-and there is the marvelous smell of pork, garlic and fennel seeds permeating the house. Dad, Miriam and Nigel have gone to the crematorium with a plant for mum. As we approach the anniversary of her death I too will have to make that journey. She still invades my dreams, some are good most are bad. God I hate dreaming.

Tonight I will go to the Butt of Sherry for several pints of Directors. Tomorrow with my cousin Cedric also here we will celebrate dad's birthday in a country pub. After that it will be a slow journey home, the trains are interrupted both from here to London and from London to home-they never get it right when I want to travel.

I Heard a Voice.

PS Let's hope for an England Grandslam later!!!

Laugh Out Loud.

There were many things in life my mum didn't like or didn't approve of. She hated swearing-I swear a lot. She didn't approve of drinking-I drink far too much. And in the main she detested comedians. Well much of my life I was with her on that last one. Most stand ups I simply do not find very funny. Those that are funny in the main swear a lot and that gets tedious after a while.

Much to my surprise, last night I sat and watched "Live at the Apollo"-and by God did I laugh. I'm not sure why I stuck with it but a combination of Omid Djalili, Reginald D Hunter, and Julian Clary had me laughing out loud-that is very rare! Unlike most people I never use that appalling acronym lol on my texts-perhaps David Cameron should have followed my lead a few months ago.

Talking of the PM I was thoroughly unamused when he told the media there will be no cuts to the NHS. Well at the last count my local Mental Health Trust, HPFT was facing a 20% cut in budget. Someone must be lying. They have been laying off staff for months and have had a pay freeze for a couple of years. These are indeed dark times for us.

Back in my life it remains overwhelming-I simply can't keep up. But I am okay. There is a Burmese chicken curry slowly cooking on the hob, I had pancakes earlier, and soon Rick Stein will be on. Off to see dad on Friday weather permitting. It does look bad in Kent but hopefully a big thaw will aid my plan.

I Heard a Voice.

So Much for Spring.

It is now 11.40 UK time in my quiet part of Hertfordshire. Another Sunday, another break from the chaos of my life. The Messiah plays in the background. There is a joint of beef in the fridge and a bottle of Chianti warming on the top. And I find myself on here contradicting my last post. It is bitterly cold out and there are flakes of snow in air. So different to Tuesday when I was last on here.

A year ago I was in the dark despair of my relapse. Although I have feared another one this year it has not happened. In truth I have no idea where my mood is today. I'm just too tired. After the end of last week I'm surprised I'm still standing. Believe me the mental dam at the university well and truly broke over me in the latter part of the week. But I survived. What cannot be done is to sustain such a level of effort that was required on Thursday and Friday. And it is shaping up to be a long Monday too.

So today I say fuck that, it can wait until tomorrow. I will sit back and enjoy the Handel, read the paper then watch the rugby this afternoon. Tomorrow does not come until tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.

A Bright Sunshiny Day.

It has been a beautiful day round these parts. My bipolar people of awakening from their winter slumbers, the end of term is in sight, the sun is out and day I say it spring has arrived? Brave words I guess. After my bad week last week it seems my mood too is gently edging upwards.

Tuesdays are often difficult for me; last week was dreadful. Today was better. For today I had one of my most powerful allies visiting. With her came the vision for mental health in Hertfordshire in the future. Some parts sounded really exciting, others were terrifying. But what is clear as I point out at the end of "Charon's Ferry" is that being a professional nutter is no longer an option. Actually I fear many of my compatriots will not be happy with what I have to say about benefits and work. But as Miriam pointed out someone had to say it.

Coming away from the new vision though I still ask myself the questions, what is different? We embrace recovery, that is not new. We are asked to do more with less, no different. There will be a hierarchy of need. I have been saying this for years although it does appear PD may move up the pecking order. Get everyone in and out as fast as possible. They have been doing that ever since I entered the mental health system on a hot steamy day in July 1991. They failed then, will they fail now? Have we really overcome discrimination in the work place? Well I would say I am an exception not a rule. But the biggest question remains the same, who makes the judgement of severity??? That is where they got it catastrophically wrong in my case-it could have been resolved 5 years earlier. That story is all in "A Pillar of Impotence". My jury is still out on the future.

Of course I can't talk madness all the time. I'm home, had my fill of belly pork, I enjoyed my trip to Cambridge and I did some good today. Now that is always the bottom line, did I do some good. So I return to a quiet night of beer and TV-Rick Stein is on at 9 pm.

I Heard a Voice.

PS I now have 3 5* reviews for Charon's Ferry":

http://www.amazon.co.uk/product-reviews/B00AR2V0GO/ref=dp_top_cm_cr_acr_txt?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1

A Small Change.

Back before Christmas I received a very aggressive and formal letter demanding on pain of contempt of court proceedings and £1000 fine that I go to St Albans Crown Court on 2nd January to do jury service. I actually rather relished the idea but did not want my holiday interrupted by a call on such a ridiculous day to open a court.

Furthermore I was required to fill in a form again on pain of punishment. This form required me to declare any "disorder of the mind". I filled in the form and another letter duly arrived. I was politely told to fuck off. Whilst I was pleased to be able have my holiday as planned I did found it most insulting. Given the recent retrial order in the Vicky Price case surely any jury could have used someone as educated as me? But it wasn't to be. You ask why?

Well there is a law dating from Elizabethan times which say something along the lines of "fools, idiots, and lunatics" are banned from parliament, juries etc. I have been aware of such a ridiculous law for years but always felt I was safe as I had never been put on a section 3. But I was wrong.

Today, the Mental Health (Discrimination) Act received royal assent and we are on our way to repealling this utterly stigmatising law. It will come into force later. Maybe today the world moved on a little.

My dad rang me very worried after my last post. Whilst I remain vulnerable today has been a better day. The anger has gone and I'm able to think more clearly. I did some good today. Now it is another evening. Wondering how to use up my leftover duck I made a very tasty spicy Cambodian salad. And very good is was too. Tomorrow I'm lunching with my former head of department and our amazing chaplain. Then it is the train north to Cambridge to see Jayne. It will not be straightforward as once again I will face the dragon we buried in December; I wonder if anyone will give me a memorial service? Doubt it, I'm not famous enough!

Won't blog again until next week-see you then.

I Heard a Voice.

Deceiving the Deceiver.

Sometimes it is good to wait. Had I blogged yesterday I might not have liked it the next day. Certainly others would not have liked it but last night I didn't give a fuck about them. It had been a day of deceit and delusion, of isolation and flashback. I recalled how appalling "therapy" was. I put that in inverted commas because in reality it was a complete fucking joke. Now in the world of smoke and mirrors where nothing is quite how it seems I must beware. The question is who is the deceiver and delusionist? The cretins who "treated" me always believed it was me. But they were wrong. I am who I am and if people can't handle that they are fools. It was not a good day.

A year ago I relapsed, then there was a suicide, then there was mum, and then a whole host of other deaths. Now it feels the time is ripe for relapse once again. Yet as I sit listening to Mendelssohn's Midsummernight's Dream the rage that always seems to drive madness is at least partially assuaged. It occurred to me recently that for most that is the trigger to relapse, pure rage. Others may disagree but I have been at this for years and it comes time and again. In October I spent 2 hours convincing a raging, troubled and suicidal girl that is wasn't worth dying because some arrogant deceiver had enraged her. I saw her again today. It has not been a good week for her either but she is far from where she was.

I wonder what she would say about my power to treat mental illness? Apparently I am not qualified or skilled enough to do so. All I say is talk the scores that I have helped that no one else could and you will get an answer. They are my judges not the arrogant ones who live in their own world. If you stay indoors the world will not come to you. I stayed indoors too long but I did go and find the world in the end.

So my madness teeters on the cusp of returning but I will do all I can to stop it .Even if sometimes I don't know why I bother.

I Heard a Voice.