Don't Wear Red.

Those you who know me will recall that most of the time I'm attired in Levi jeans and a rugby shirt. I do dress up on occasions but the nature of my job sometimes getting down and dirty precludes me dressing up often. When I got up today with the intention of going to meet my friend Katherine in China Town I donned said Levi jeans and my red Ralph Lauren rugby shirt.

I wasn't overly enthused by the rugby world cup even before England's dismal performance so had no knowledge or interest in the fact that Wales are playing today. On the train I was surrounded by red clad Wales supporters and it was only a matter of time before so one assumed I was in the throng. I was not. I have never been confused for a Welshman until today. My only connection with Wales is that Miriam studied in Cardiff. I couldn't care less about either game, it has been that bad.

Welsh confusion aside I had a lovely afternoon with Katherine. We tried a different restaurant today, a place recommended by my Caymanian friend Lisa. It was very good but not quite what we planned for our occasional meeting. I had forgotten the Chinese love of meat on the bone and soon realised my chopstick skills weren't really up to little bits of bony chicken in the hotpot. Not to either of our taste. The ribs were outstanding but not quite what I wanted. The belly pork was to die for.

After lunch I spent a fortune on opera, Verdi, Beethoven and Purcell. That's my next 3 Sundays organised then. Tomorrow will be Beethoven's Fidelio - never heard it before. And rare roast beef. I splashed out on forerib, how divine is that?

Enjoy your weekend. More tomorrow.

I Heard a Voice.

Men Behaving Badly.

I never watched the 1990s sitcom Men Behaving Badly. It was something of a cult series. At that time in my life I was extremely isolated and long departed from the decadent days of Cambridge before my breakdown. The great Bernie Rosen once asked me if I had lost all my friends. My affirmative response elicited him to say "it is inevitable". Well I got them back again.

Last night in The Windsor Castle pub in Marylebone those men of Cambridge met once again and behaved badly. What a night. I was laughing so much at one point tears were streaming down my face. I cannot believe not only how badly behaved we were in those days but also that this collection of highly paid....except me....professional men could slip so easily back into that puerile world. But by God it was fun.

I look forward to our next adventure as I marvel at how far I have come and how I have resurrected important relationships even if it is just a couple of nights a year. I have good friends.

I Heard a Voice.

Disgraced.

On Wednesday an 83 year old man called Peter Ball was jailed for nearly 3 years for his history of sexual activities with young men. Peter Ball is a twin, a monk and an ex bishop. He and his twin Michael made eccentric media figures in the 1980s, twin bishops.

I knew him as Father Peter in the 1980s. An old boy of my old school he used to visit from time to time to provide spiritual guidance to young men at a public school. I do not know anyone who was abused by him. What I recall is a gentle and kindly old man who looked odd in his monk's habit.

In the early 1990s after he had moved from the Bishopric of Lewes to that of Gloucester, Peter Ball's proclivities were unmasked. He admitted a charge and caution and resigned. The comment of the former Headmaster of Lancing at the time was "we did all warn him". He fled public life in his disgrace.

It took the Jimmy Savile scandal of the last few years for the truth to come out. Father Peter was a serial offender. Oh how the world has changed from that moment on. Some claim many of the allegations against high profile people are attention seeking and money grabbing. Some of it was true.

If his activities were known to my old school Headmaster why on earth did they ever let him into the school? These questions burn like beacon in the post Savile days. But that was what went on in decades past. Peter Ball is the 3rd OL I know who was sent to jail for sexual activities with children; doesn't sound great does it? At least 2 teachers have also been quietly pensioned off too to my knowledge.

My career in mental health has been littered with the victims of such men, if only they knew. Or do they not care? One of Peter Ball's victims killed himself in 2012.

I Heard a Voice.

A Modicum of Vindication.

Making it in this morning took all the emotional strength I could muster. Limbs wouldn't move, mind remained stuck, emotion was all encompassing. Curious after a few better days. Yet in the face of the rains of autumn and the slate grey sky I almost gave up and retreated into the world of chemically induced sleep. But I didn't.

Somehow, and I don't know how, I made it in and for much of the day I floundered. I have lost all belief, I'm confused, I'm torn in different directions and though someone finally hearing my many fears last week nothing concrete has changed. That terrible fear of burn out lies over me. I had almost forgotten what I do well.

Then something changed. I connected, I talked, I made sense and I made some of those amazing breakthroughs that remind me at least temporarily that if left to do what I do best I am pretty good at what I do. So my fears have abated a little, my anxiety lessened and mood not slumping.

Back at home I have had enough of TV so have returned to my love of opera and reading. I must make a start on The Quiet American which came out of the book cupboard several weeks ago but has sat resolutely unopened on my sofa ever since. The opera is La Finta Giardiniera, I noted listening to it on here some months ago.

My eye has been distracted by flashing lights in the car park behind my flat. Not sure why but there is a fire engine out there but no sign of fire. I do hope nothing untoward has happened.

As for tomorrow I need more energy than today. Otherwise the occasional sense of doom that creeps over me from time to time may amplify just a little. The question is how do I stave it off? I don't know at this precise point. But I'm still standing, still loving Mozart and still can make it through to the end of the week.

I Heard a Voice.

The Recovery Conundrum.

Way back in 1996 as I lived severe mental illness I met a man called Ian. He did a talk at my local day hospital about education and mental health. That building epitomised the moribund stuckness of my life as a madman. Allegedly a high intensity therapeutic environment in which we would all be cured and sent back to marvels of reality with new life skills. I stayed 8 years and learned nothing. Yet on that evening in October 1996 Ian convinced me that there was merit in education and that it might help me get somewhere other than the awful place I inhabited at the time.

Open Door as he called it began life as a pilot scheme in the spring of 1997 with the express purpose of getting those of us with severe and enduring mental health problems back into mainstream education. As a graduate of Open Door I went on to study A level Philosophy, the PGCE in History at Cambridge and finally back to work with Ian. Education was vital for getting started on recovery; Risperidone did the rest. Of course not everyone was as successful as me. Many progressed so far, it helped in their mental health but did not allow them back into what society deemed relevant; work and paying taxes.

My journey took me in 2007 to the University where I found the Centre for Mental Health Recovery and the Hertfordshire Annual Recovery Conference. In 2008 I presented a workshop to 60 people on employment and mental health; it was a triumph. Yet we still lacked something. And that something is how do we measure outcome? Outcome is in the eye of the beholder. And the beholder realistically is the funder.

Today I attended the 9th Annual Conference. Theme this year was education. A key part is so called Recovery Colleges. Yes I heard inspirational speakers. Yes I met many friends and collaborators. But I could not help thinking that we are merely recreating what we did in the 1990s and those mixed results that brought. Open Door no longer exists. I suspect cuts came as a result of only anecdotal evidence and testimony. The most telling statistic today was that of 385 attending such a college in Yorkshire only 7 had found paid work. I truly believe that recovery is not all about work, conformity and convention. But I'm not funding it so what I think is irrelevant. We must judge our own recovery but society will also judge us.

It made me feel quite sad really. We are driven by the money trail. What I call the Tripos holds true, the complex relationship between the system, the workers and the money. For without each other nothing in mental health would exist but illness.

A friend described Charon's Ferry as being s very bleak book. As she put it "I didn't realise being well could be so difficult". We all want a magic solution. I found one in Risperidone. But then I had to find my place in society. A society from which I hid and it hid from me for all those years. Food for thought I guess.

I Heard a Voice.

Misty Mornings.

A few days have now passed since my meltdown. Thursday was indeed a calm evening. On Friday morning I saw the autumnal mists rising over the River Mimram as I drove in. A fine sight. It was another day of chaos but I coped and came home relieved it was all over for another week.

This weekend has been devoted to cooking. A pork chop roasted on a bed of fennel with crushed new potatoes dressed in rapeseed oil and lemon zest was last night's effort. Today I roasted a rack of lamb. Both efforts were splendid.

In contrast to the last few Sundays I am not anxious. Not I fear because I'm coping better but more that tomorrow is a conference rather than office day. I'm hoping that extra 24 hours away from the chaos will aid my recovery.

This afternoon I'm watching the Jets - Dolphins game at Wembley. Not the most inspiring game I've ever seen but great to have the NFL back in the UK. I'm working on getting tickets for Nigel and me to go to the next game at the end of October.

I can't quite work out where I am mentally. It is not so much that I have been depressed this week. More that sense of feeling so pressured I couldn't cope. Anxious yes, depressed maybe. Where will I be tomorrow? Anxious I expect. But now, I'm okay. See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

In the Eye of the Hurricane?

They say that it is calm in the eye of the hurricane. Today feels finally like the eye of an epic storm that his simply engulfed me and others this week. You will recall from my last post how difficult it is to be powerless in the face of a crisis. You will also recall my long recorded fears that I was simply not energised or stable or anxiety free enough to meet the demands of the new academic year. Well it got worse.

On Tuesday with the bullets flying and being completely out of control I lost it and went into meltdown. Once upon a time I walked out on a job after I was asked to fake some paperwork. For very different reasons I got to that point again that afternoon. Not sleeping at all the night before probably precipitated this meltdown.

A series of emergency meetings and the offer to take time out ensued yesterday but I chose to fight on. Now at home after a day that has been like a mill pond compared to earlier maybe for one night only my ship lies at anchor in the eye of the storm.

Given what is in the media a meltdown in young people's mental health services we and other universities are reaping the whirlwind created beyond our control. Universities are now facing an epidemic of mental health crises.

I fear for tomorrow but at least today I feel okay. I will have a nice dinner, read and try to enjoy the peace. It may not last long.

I Heard a Voice.