Pulling the Trigger.

At the weekend The Sunday Times published a piece by India Knight talking about calling people snowflakes in a derogatory way. The current generation of students is sometimes vilified as a snowflake generation. The press is littered with reports of student anxiety, of stopping free speech, accusations of being phobic if an individual says something another group disagrees with, and trigger warnings.

I've been telling my story in word and in writing for many years now. Some say it is inspirational. Others get tearful. Many are frightened to delve too deep for fear of what they will see of themselves in there. A couple of years ago a young woman walked out of a talk I did. Apparently it was too triggering.

Until today I didn't understand what that meant. Today I learned what it is like to have a trigger pulled. In a training session on Critical Incident Debriefing my mind raced not to the subject but to so many raw and painful things. It made me feel ashamed to be battle hardened in the mental health world, cynical and anaesthetised. I have seen so much death. Today it all came flooding back.

I'm haunted by the deaths of the students I have known. I feel self indulgent and narcissistic for thinking what the experiences of this world do to me rather than the experience of those I try to help.

To Cambridge, to Prague, to Granada, to Brighton, to Hythe. The well travelled itinerant that I am, never settled in a place or in relationship or in a society. I struggled to cope.

I did stick it out but won't go there again. For so long in my life I saw the troubles of my life in a negative light compared to those around me. But today it hurt and I acknowledged quite how much I have had to do in my line of work, walk away at the end of the day and be fine the next.

The last year has made me question so much. Although I'm in a better place now than six months ago there is still a nagging fear that I have to get out of the mental health business. What price do I pay? Too greater one on days like today.

When I got home I wanted to get out all the old photos from the days when things went wrong. I listened to Alison Moyet sing Only You and wanted tears to flow. They didn't. Cried too many tears over the years. Comfort food and Mozart are my solution. Maybe it is time for a glass of Chianti too.

See you soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Roast Chicken and Petit Chablis.

Greetings on a rather windy Sunday. How are you all? I'm doing great aided and abetted by the Rams mighty win against the Cowboys last night. And West Ham won. Marching on to the NFC Championship game the Rams have no need to fear anyone. They can go toe to toe with the best of them. And there are some good teams left.

In fine fettle I took a wander out to The White Hart and had a splendid pint of Ghost Ship. Back home now I have put on Offenbach's La Belle Helene and come to talk to you all. After that a belated reading of The Sunday Times.

A treat awaits after that. Roast chicken with new potatoes, carrots, sprouts and kale with some gravy. And to splash out...there is an advantage in going to Welwyn in that I could try out the fine wine shop there for the first time...I bought a good bottle of Chablis. So I will indulge my decadence on this quiet Sunday.

What will the week bring me? I signed off in style of Friday when someone came back to me who I thought had been poached by someone else. She told me she wanted someone who was neutral to give her advice. Counselling has its place as I'm discovering in my own sessions but sometimes people want advice; and counsellors do not give counsel. Rather they pose questions and expect people to come up with their own answers. If one over thinks talking in riddles may not help.

There is a long way to go but I got off to a good start. A week at a time is the most sensible way forward. Enjoy your Sunday and see you again soon.

I Heard a Voice.

After a Short Delay.

Not often I write on a Thursday. But also not often I listen to opera on a Thursday. This week has been shunted back a day so after a slight delay Idomeneo plays, E M Forster has been read and I'm nice and relaxed with a chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

The unspoken fear that quietly whispered to me when I last wrote on here has come to nothing. I'm a day away from completing week 1 of the new term. Semester A ends tomorrow. There is a week break then into semester B. Each is a little step away. They say that centuries are made in cricket by focusing on the next five to ten runs. Thus one accumulates and gets towards the destination. Nothing has phased me yet. It will at some point. The intense energy and confidence of my October high has gone. But I haven't slumped.

There have been moments, usually related to insomnia where for just a brief while I feared catastrophe. I'm not near that now. A decade to the week since I moved to this part of town I am part of society, someone that people talk about and some I suppose respect. Do I respect myself enough? Not sure really. I fear going over the top and being branded as I was all those years ago.

I went to The Fu Hao with Sarah last night. For some reason we got on to talking about A Pillar of Impotence which she bought a few months ago but has not yet plucked up the courage to read. I told her a few things she was not expecting. She was wondering how I turned out as I did after those days. I guess she respects me. I must learn to do so without borders constructed by the arrogance of psychiatry. I don't think I was the one with an ego problem Dr Rosen.

Why should I think of all this still after so long? That I suspect is why I agreed to go back into therapy. I saw him today after a month break. It was okay.

Not sure I have anything more to say today so until next time I bid you all well.

I Heard a Voice.

Gentle Saturday, Calm Before the Storm.

On this cold grey Saturday I'm having a very gentle day. Having done most of what I needed to do in the week I just finished the cleaning this morning. Woke very late as I stayed up long into the night to watch The History Boys. Need to get back into a routine for the coming of reality.

My friends were meeting in The Plume of Feathers for a bit of a session so having done what I needed to do I drove out and joined them for a while. Very pleasant pub in winter and summer, surrounded my lush farmland sitting in the garden with my puffer was very peaceful.

Home now I am listening to Haydn and just relaxing. Rare steak and Medoc are on the menu tonight. Tomorrow will be spent alone with some opera and the salivating anticipation for slow roast pork in the evening. It will I hope be the calm before the storm.

Come Monday morning I will need to get up and go back in. I'm told last week was quiet. Let's hope it is not too fraught. In a slightly unusual change from the norm I'm doing some filming that afternoon as some students are working on a film that is mental health related for their project and for YouTube. A year ago I simply couldn't have done it. But then a year ago I was barely leaving the flat. Now that my fear is less prominent we will see what happens. It will not be the first time I'm been filmed there but not been asked since the terrible coming of the all pervading anxiety and fear that descended on my life back in 2015.

I anticipate drop ins from people who have panicked in their exams. I do feel for them going straight into semester A exams after the break. Then time will fly to May for them and all will be over. Can it really be that I'm half way through my twelve year mark by then? All seems a life time away now that I packed up and moved here. Thoughts of going back home sometimes come to me but for now I will stick with what I know.

During the dark days of 2018 it never seemed possible I would ever resurrect myself. Now I suppose I have. Just need to keep going a day at a time.

See you all soon.

I Heard a Voice.

Moving Unscathed into 2019.

Greetings, welcome and happy New Year to you all. The first post of a New Year. After a magical but flawed night out I woke to no hangover, no rain, no anxiety and no ill effects of what was. Brunching on bacon from The Ginger Pig I decided to have a bit of a walk. Only a couple of miles but was quite invigorating. The saw throat is threatening to morph into a cold but so be it.

There was some relief on my part when Sarah text last night to say we would be having a late lunch. Will head over in the next hour for a planned kick off at around 3.30. Bit like Christmas all over again, late, long, leisurely lunch.

The days of my holiday seem to be passing so fast. Soon it will be back to the chaos. I wonder what has happened in my absence? Thoughts have started to creep back into my mind. Work has been put aside and must remain there at least until Monday morning.

As is often the case on Bank Holidays I do find myself at a bit of loose end. So the radio keeps me company until the time comes to go to Sarah's.

Hope you all enjoy the day and that 2019 proves to be special for everyone.

I Heard a Voice.

Goodbye to a Troubled Year.

The final day of 2018 did not dawn terribly auspiciously for me. I slept terribly after staying up late following the Rams, it was getting light when I finally made it to sleep. Waking anxious and uneasy memories of a year ago and what insomnia can do to me came flooding back. Coupled with a very sore throat the omens did not look good.

A few hours later I feel okay. Tired yes, croaky too. But okay. It is another gloomy day here, what a contrast from the glorious Christmas Day. Is it really that long since I posted? My posts on here have slowed considerably in recent months and this last post will end a year in which I posted less than any year since 2012.

The lights are on in my flat and Handel's Arminio is playing. Opera to the end. My thoughts are mixed as I write this. Relieved that we all made it through the year. Still pleased with the flat after my enforced move. Happy to have gone to the depths of hell earlier in the year but to have bounced back. On this day last year I was hugely anxious about dad but did not foresee the calamity that was on the horizon.

Reflecting now it has not been a bad thing to be under a psychiatrist again nor much to my surprise to be back in therapy and finding it helpful. Perhaps I have been too harsh on those who ply their trade as therapists. My previous experiences were awful. Now I'm pleased to be doing it.

You may recall that this blog is dedicated to mental health and food. The world has leapt on the mental health bandwagon in the last couple of years. That makes me uneasy at times. Uncertain of who I am much of the time I must remember that my experiences are real and did happen. Sometimes I feel I made it all up and am just lazy. But that belittles what I have achieved.

That other great love of mine that is food and cooking continues. I celebrate good things to pick up and savour. Friday took me to Borough Market by way of getting horribly lost in Shoreditch and accidentally finding The Clove Club. Celebrated a couple of years ago as the UK's finest restaurant, the menu was simple and tatty. A single typed piece of paper looking terribly old fashioned but the  content looked sublime. But at £145 for the tasting menu and £145 for matching wines it will remain only in my dreams.

Sarah is entertaining me tomorrow with a three course lunch. I get to meet her sons and her grandson and mum. I'm taking camembert, cabrales and English fizz. Let us hope I'm not too hungover.

And thus I leave you for 2018. Enjoy yourselves tonight and may I wish you all a very happy New Year.

I Heard a Voice.

Setting of the Sun.

We watched the sun sink over the western horizon at the beach on this beautiful Christmas Day. The sky is still clear and blue, the rain is nowthere to be seen and although a little cold it is pleasant to be out. Our walk to the beach is a preamble to pudding.

The roast turkey, glazed ham, roast potatoes, red cabbage, sprouts, carrots, pigs in blankets, stuffing, bread sauce and cranberry sauce were most triumphant. A successful brother sister partnership. Dad fell asleep before lunch but didn't spill any Prosecco. Slowly does it on the wine, only just starting our second bottle of Rioja. But there's a long way to go.

Christmas pudding and cheese will come forth later. The most important things is we are all healthy, alive and kicking. That seemed a distant prayer this time last year.

As is my wont on this festive day I will keep it short. Merry Christmas to you all and a Happy New Year when we get there.

Goodnight.

I Heard a Voice.