Shifting Sands.

Someone asked me a couple of years ago "who are your allies"? In the context of that day I had to dodge the question; I had no allies in that room. In fact I have plenty. Many rate me far more highly than I deserve. But there are a lot who would want me by there side when the shit is flying. Sadly none of my allies have any power to help me.

On another day of relentless rain I am reflecting on an interesting couple of days. I'm irritated and struggling to switch my mind off. Cooking home made shepherd's pie did not help even though it was good. Beer is having no effect. I'm restless. Yet there is a glimmer. For what has been clear over those days is that the sands of power are shifting. None will come to me, I'm not important enough. But change might brings allies who do choose to help me.

I'm aware this is just the start. Where I am in a year is anyone's guess. The big question is how long am I prepared to wait for something that may not happen? In truth if I see an opportunity I will check it out, size it up then maybe try to change my life.

For now the mayhem of term is well and truly under way-I have 6 students to see tomorrow. Nothing dramatic has happened so once again I reflect on a another week with just 2 days to its end. I'm getting older but I'm not burning out, chronically depressed, searingly angry or in my mini mania. Just a bit irritated and restless. Time for some American football I think-I know the Rams lost this week but I'm slightly heartened that they were more competitive than the score suggested.

I Heard a Voice.

Lamb, Reading and Mozart-a Very Quiet Sunday.

Hello there. I'm back. As the title suggests I have gone back to my safety mode and had a very quiet Sunday. The Marriage of Figaro has provided the background for an afternoon of reading. A half leg of lamb with go in the oven at about 5.30 for an hour or so then 30 minute rest for my supper. Potatoes will roast in duck fat and I will have my traditional medley of vegetables the like of which I rarely match on other days of the week.

In the main it has been a relaxing weekend. I've woken up late each day and barely a thought for the coming week. It is busy there but at the moment I am not stressed by it all. We are still in early days of the new term but I have no doubt I will seem to blink and it will be Christmas.

Talking of which we need to decide what to do for that special day. Miriam and Nigel will not be there this year so could be just me and dad. I have suggested to him that perhaps we might invite Beka et al for another epic lunch but no decisions yet on that. Whatever we do I'm sure it will be fun.

So as we head towards another working week I'm doing well. Mood good but safe. Energy still there. No sign of mania or depression. Long may that continue.

I Heard a Voice

The Nearly Man.

My intention was to write this blog yesterday to mark World Mental Health Day but I ran out of time. Yes that day again. As I ever I failed to get anything organised at the University-it takes a lot of planning and the date is awful as it is week 2 of term. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that a small group of students did something on their own. I learned of the existence of a student led mental health group. Fantastic news as they will make far more headway than I ever could.

World Mental Health Day also marked the first anniversary of the publication of Charon's Ferry in paperback. I actually had 2 quite negative comments about it this week. Others though think it is better than the first book. Maybe you should decide:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Charons-Ferry-Mark-Edgar/dp/1783820233/ref=tmm_pap_title_0 

Away from that though it was the morning after the night before. Yes I attended the grand Flare Awards dinner. And pretty grand it was too. All the important people who wouldn't give me the time of day normally were there. I didn't win so another case of a nearly man-3 shortlistings for awards in 3 years but no prizes. But it mattered not. My work was completely fraudulent as innovation-I merely borrowed from elsewhere. My friend Humphrey did however win a prize for true innovation in his quest to bring mental health services to the his native rural Cameroon. That is a truly worthy winner.

I did very much enjoy the evening along with my friend Katherine who came as my guest.

I Heard a Voice.

To Lock or Not to Lock?

This may sound hard to believe but I heard a brilliant talk this afternoon about toilet doors. Delivered by a woman called Asa-A should have a little o above it but couldn't find it on keyboard-pronounced Awsa from Sweden she inspired a small gathering on the not so inspiring subject. Of course it was a little more complicated than locks on toilet doors. What it was really about was power.

A former service user now social worker she conducted some research into locked door policies on inpatient wards in her area. Not keeping patients in in the classical sense but locks on bedroom and bathroom doors that are controlled by the patients. Across 8 wards there was no uniformity on one or other or both or neither. No one knew the purpose of why it had evolved in each context given that safety fears meant staff could open them anyway.

Staff felt it was safer to have door unlocked. Patients felt safer with locks. Well wouldn't you going to the toilet? I asked if staff had separate and lockable bathrooms. Of course they did. Which brings me to my eternal question stolen from my friend Madeline, whose need does that serve?

The power of a lock is significant. Who holds that key? He who has power. The real purpose of today's seminar is that we have to provide patient centred care that makes them feel safe and allows them to recover. It is not about what is most convenient and easy for us practitioners.

Of other interest from the amazing Asa/Awsa is that to be on her team of peer support workers individuals need to have at least 5 years inpatient experience. On those grounds I couldn't even apply! Great speaker and an inspiration.

Back in what passes for my normality things are hotting up. Requests are coming thick and fast and the feared PDs are well represented. Looks like I'm in for a busy time!

I Heard a Voice.

Two Decades on From Cambridge.

More than a quarter of a century has now passed since I returned to Cambridge as an undergraduate. I arrived in this week 1988 as an arrogant naive dreamer. In June 1991 I graduated despite severe mental illness and was admitted to a psychiatric ward some 6 weeks later. I was battered, broken, and unable to believe in my own senses any more.

Today I have come a long way. Readers will attest to that and those gracious enough to humour me by reading my books will also attest. But has Cambridge moved on?

When I got home this afternoon I logged onto Facebook to find a message from an old friend from my school days in Cambridge. There was a link to a story in the Guardian. 

http://www.theguardian.com/education/2014/oct/06/cambridge-university-student-depression-eating-disorders 

Still the driven perfectionism that no one admitted back in my day apparently is rife in my old stomping ground. A friend Richard just started work there as a counsellor last week. He wondered why it was that despite fewer students some 600 more students a year access counselling there than do at Hertfordshire. Maybe today's story is proof for him.

I survived despite. Many blamed pressure of Cambridge. Yet there was no pressure until I got ill. I could cope. I was thriving. Then the most obscure emotional attachment destroyed what was my life. What I know is that my life was already a mess. But it was not Cambridge that triggered it.

Think of all those driven high flyers. Privileged? Flawed just like everyone else. They are just bright, bright and flawed. Just like me. Some say suicide rates at Oxford and Cambridge are 10 times higher than at other places. Who guides them back from the brink? Not me.  Perhaps one day I will return but that is in the hands of others. I tried and failed 4 years ago. Now I'm good and thriving again. There will be lows in the coming weeks. But no sign of them yet.

I Heard a Voice.

What a Difference a Day Makes.

What a contrast. After the teeming rain and cold of yesterday we have had bright sunshine all day. Not a cloud in the sky and so warm I sweltered on my post lunch walk.

Yes walking. I need to to shift this weight. I suppose roast gammon and crackling didn't help but it is Sunday. To make up for the good behaviour I had a bakewell tart to go along with Lapsang Souchong tea. A most civilised day.

Tomorrow I have to pick up the pieces for Friday. I always get a little anxious when I meet suicidal students, the wrong words and disaster can follow. But it doesn't usually. I am still haunted by the tragic deaths of 3 students known to me since I got there in 2007. In the reality I could have done no more. But it doesn't stop me asking myself that dreadful question. 3 in 7 years is a tragedy but we can't save everyone. In truth it was down to luck that we didn't lose more. Whilst some rave of my skill the truth is I flounder around in the dark in those circumstances.

Last year I saw a disturbing rise in students who claim to have both bipolar and BPD. Is it possible to have both? I have my doubts. What I do know is that such women, and they are almost exclusively women, are amongst my highest risk people. That trend seems to set to continue.

So as I bask in another kind weekend I am reminded that I must be ever vigilant. Vigilant and lucky. On a kinder note, fantastically well done Ros in completing the Cardiff half marathon, braver than me! See you all in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

The Rains of Autumn.

Greetings. I seem to have been away from here for ages. Actually it was Tuesday when I last posted. Well I survived week 1 without too much drama. Had a couple of calls yesterday that led me away from the the plan and on the move but nothing too drastic. Long may that continue.

With the exception of battles with data collection-yes they are ongoing-it was a good week. My meeting with my tutor was really helpful so now have a direction to go. Much of it will be built on my previous work and data I can already access. It had not really troubled me much but my thoughts were rather thwarted by the needs of the ethics committee whose wheels grind slowly and would almost certainly scupper a January deadline. So it will be sampling existing feedback from the last couple of years.

Now it is the weekend. The rain was teeming down much of the day, more like late November than early October. I did venture out and got rather wet. A hearty hot and sour soup with Yang certainly hit the spot then home for study. All accompanied by Cosi fan Tutte.

Work complete I have cooked, stir fried fish with black bean sauce, a dish my mum liked, I watched Inspector Morse, and now have Handel's Xerxes on the radio. I do so like opera in English.

So I bid you good night, I now retire back to T E Lawrence with a beer and a contented heart and mind.