Ashes to Ashes.

I could not let today go by without mentioning the death of David Bowie. Media both social and mainstream is awash with tributes to this remarkably talented, elusive and chameleon man who has lit up the lives of so many including myself.

Miriam introduced me to David Bowie in 1983. Late in the day I know but his music accompanied so much of my life both before and after my madness. She took me to see him in 1989 when he said it was the last time he would play his old and great music. He never really kept that promise and the world is better for it. 1989, a year before my life went so drastically wrong.

I have spoken before of how music and words are woven into people's madness. The words from The Bewley Brothers "he's chameleon, comedian, Corinthian and caricature". I became a caricature during my madness. The words of All the Madmen from The Man Who Sold the World; they were the words that led me to seek out Izzi in person. And what madman cannot marvel at Rock and Roll Suicide?

My words are too little to describe a man who was a living legend for so long. And now like others before him including my other great hero Bob Marley he is gone. Some years ago driving a young student back to her car after a psychiatric assessment she asked me what music I liked. When I suggested I listened to a lot of David Bowie, Bob Marley and Pink Floyd she simply said "I've never heard of them". Maybe you have heard now.

I survived another day. Even avoided being chastised by my dentist. What will tomorrow bring? Who knows.

I Heard a Voice.

Chilly and Crisp.

The best way to describe today is that it is distinctly colder. The grey that has so often blighted the last few weeks has disappeared and the cool crisp air in pale winter sunlight is a pleasant change. I took my Sunday afternoon walk today for the first time in a while. Very pleasant although muddy in places. Not a day to be walking in the woods.

With this change of climate I find myself a lot more relaxed than of recent days. You will recall I was not in a good place when I posted before. The seething anger and powerlessness has abated replaced by a quiet air of contemplation. Puccini's Turandot plays after some Vivaldi earlier. The reading is good and my mind is fairly peaceful.

The big question is will I still feel like this on the morrow? As ever the weekend has gone far quicker than I had hoped. The hours march on towards roast duck then the next 2 NFL playoff games. I've not watched last night's recordings yet although in the days of mass media it has been impossible not to find out who won.

Next weekend brings Katherine's 40th birthday. We met doing the PGCE in 1999 and like me teaching didn't really work out for her. Careers? Who would have them? My thoughts still flit to doing something different. As lottery fever gripped the UK over the weekend with a jackpot of over £60 million I was not really tempted. What on earth would one do with that amount of money? Sounds great but I bet it would create more problems than is solves. Good luck to those who won.

Time now to return to my afternoon's reading. See you all in the week.

I Heard a Voice.

Why Did I Bother?

It didn't take long before expectation and reality had a mighty collision back at the ranch. My last post was upbeat, I did something important. The challenge comes when there are multiple needs and only one of me. I was so exhausted after Thursday I nearly didn't go in yesterday. But I did.

All was okay until 3 pm when I got caught in an almighty row about who would deliver a bag of clothes to a student in hospital. I am supposed to be doing a phased return but it seems some people just assume I will do things as I'm in the building.

I do not know the outcome of the row but I do know I seethed all of last night and can't empty my mind this afternoon. My instinct is just to say fuck it and go back on sick leave. It has made me much more anxious about going in next week. I cannot be in more than one place at a time. An assumption that I will deal with the shit has gone on too long.

Inevitably those in charge want a review. But we cannot prepare for every eventuality. I am tired and no longer want to know. Deep down part of me wants to walk away from Mental Health. It will follow me of course, we cannot cure my illness but there is a breaking point. After yesterday I almost feel back at that point.

So how to rescue the weekend? I have food in to cook, pork for today and roast duck for tomorrow. The NFL playoffs start tonight and continue tomorrow. But tomorrow brings me a day closer to Monday and I want to avoid that at all costs.

I Heard a Voice.

Finding Words

Some people believe I'm quite good with words. Good enough to be published twice. Good enough for nearly 32,000 hits on here. Good enough that some claim I have helped many students through my words.

In my darkness that afflicted my 20s few other than Caroline the healer ever found words to help me. I was so disillusioned with "therapy" as it hadn't worked and was then turned round on me. Effectively they told me you are the problem not madness. In my disillusioned state I firmly believed that salvation could only come in the form of pills. Despite waiting a decade I did find the pills in the end.

My career such as it is has been driven by a raging anger to prove to them that my whole life was not a delusion. I was not a narcissist. And I am intelligent. After more than a decade working with words in the last few months I had lost faith in my own words. Disillusion haunts my every day. Yet on I went.

Despite my fear I returned to work yesterday. I had no confidence and was so anxious that I feared I would not make it through the day. Not much happened. Then today came and I had to find words. And those words came, came in their torrents and a connection was made. For that I am thankful. I had to be at my best in the most difficult of circumstances. I do not think I was found wanting. Is faith restored? Maybe. But I did it.

The price I pay is exhaustion. Once again I'm drawn to me default of Yang and the Fu Hao. I can't think enough to cook myself.

I Heard a Voice.

Escaping the Mud.

After my unexpected mud and rain soaked trip to Kent I am back. The rain disappeared the further north west the train travelled. Back here in Hertfordshire it is quite nice. Home now trying to take in the last few months.

Illness, exhaustion, death, holidays, new year, it has been anything but quiet for me during that time. Sue's funeral went to plan. There was a fairly good turn out although perhaps not as many as I thought. A Catholic service is not too familiar to me and I was somewhat taken aback when the priest declared that only those free from sin could take communion...and only Catholics of course. Does a sinless person exist? Faith can be strange at times to the uneducated.

I discovered the other day that Izzi's funeral will be on the 15th. I remain stunned by her passing, we had planned to meet during the holiday. As I know none of her family, her partner or her friends I will not be in attendance. But I will be remembering on the day. Another mentally ill friend gone too young.

All will be over tomorrow. Work beckons although I'm still not yet certain what is expected of me during a phased return. There was talk of going to Occupational Health. A couple of years ago I would have relished their support. But those I knew are all gone and a new team is very unknown to me. Whatever happens the anxiety has not gone away.

Day 4 of the Test has just ended. Barring something strange a draw beckons. Of more importance the 1st black South African to score a century is being rightly lauded. Elsewhere in my sporting world my beloved Rams filed for relocation back to Los Angeles today. Having spent 50 years in that city before a bizarre move to St Louis in 1995 many hope they will go home. A storied team less talked of than others because of just 3 championships Los Angeles must be where they will go. Who knows about the chances of the Raiders and Chargers who have also filed to relocate. I await a result.

In the hours I have left before the return I'm not sure what to do. Some Beethoven perhaps? Or a film? Or Inspector Morse? I'm 2 episodes from the end of my journey through his history.

I Heard a Voice

Vile Outlook.

For those of us who live in the south of England despite the incessant grey gloom of recent weeks we have been very lucky. Those in the north have been deluged by storm after storm and there is huge debate on the future of flood defences across the country. Today no one is lucky. It is truly vile out there with pouring rain and gusty winds. It has kept me indoors all day.

Well much of the day was spent sleeping. Still my big snooze goes on as the days tick by for that feared return. In reality I should be in Hertfordshire preparing for a return tomorrow. Instead I'm in Kent preparing for a funeral in the morning. Those deaths of friends recently have hit me harder than usual as I have been struggling so much day to day. That doubt, that lack of self belief, that questioning of all I believed has been plaguing me for months now. Is it possible to walk away? Of course not, I have to live.

My mind remains empty at times, that sense of nothing. At others I worry about the smallest thing. And time ticks by just as the rain falls outside in the dark

When I get home I must once again turn to my mood diary; it won't be very upbeat. Today is a nothing day, 0 or possibly -1. Maybe that will change by bed time. I must rise early tomorrow as the funeral service begins at 10 am. If I recall from previous Catholic services it can go on some time.

I Heard a Voice.

Late Night, Late Morning.

So here we are. 2016. The grey and rain continue and outside is not very inviting. It was very late when I got to bed, nigh on 3 am and exceptionally late that I emerged, gone 1 pm. It has been a day of tiredness, nausea, boredom, listlessness and wondering what is going on. Why do we drink so much to celebrate?

In truth I didn't drink a huge amount but probably stayed for one too many. Judging by the handful of texts I have received today everyone is feeling a little delicate too. I really ought to eat something. My plan was to have a nice lunch of smoked cod and a gentle afternoon. The cod was ghastly, no flavour at all and that pretty much reinforced my view of today. Back to bed might have been a better idea.

It will change though. Nothing ever stays the same in my life. The building of anxiety about my return on Wednesday has already started. Can I cherish the days before? I hope so. My travels take me back to Kent tomorrow; seems only yesterday that I came home.

Despite the inauspicious self inflicted start I do certainly wish all my readers out there a very Happy New Year and have a prosperous 2016. Back soon.

I Heard a Voice.