Release From Prison.

A little under a week has now gone by since I was released into an autumn night. Never before have I valued freedom as much as this. Being shut in for nine days created a mental downturn different to any of my many hell holes I've been in. Not depressed just desolate. On some days I could barely drag myself out of bed. I figured though that it is better to have something rather than nothing. True my work capacity was impaired but I got through those days.

When freedom came at midnight last Thursday I walked out into the night simply because I could. There was no one on the street. A couple of police cars drove past, and a pair of civilian cars. Nothing stirred beside that. And it was wondrous.

On Saturday as the rain poured down I went out and embraced the day. I got wet and muddy but somehow to be enveloped in rain gave an amazing sense of wellbeing and freedom. Not all people in this world are free. I learned a lot of what the world must be like for many. And it wasn't pretty.

Now it is opera night and I reflect. Mozart plays, I cook and I read. My kitchen adventures have had mixed results. I overcooked the extremely expensive rib of beef I bought to celebrate my freedom. Yet it tasted wonderful. To Thailand and China I have been and today to Turkey. A dish called Kapuska, a revelation! Spiced cabbage with minced lamb and tomato topped with Aleppo pepper and parsley served with warmed pitta.

Thus far the working week has gone mainly to plan. No confrontation. No arguments, No aggression. Long may that last.

Tomorrow I go to campus and Jess will do her thing, blitzing through my flat like a whirling Dervish and order will be restored. The weekend is not far off. I have a short week after that as I'm taking a couple of days off for Thanksgiving. Roast turkey, roast potatoes, sprouts, carrots, cabbage, gravy and cranberry sauce. For all my American friends on here not sure how genuine my attempt will be but I will enjoy it.

Maybe see you all at the weekend.

I Heard a Voice.

Inglorious Isolation and Devastating Loneliness.

Is there anything so bleak as being locked in with no visitors, nowhere to walk and only one's own thoughts? There probably is, I've never been in a war zone, lost a child or been the victim of a serious crime. Yet seven days into this enforced incarceration I'm not doing great. My therapist said this afternoon it must be like solitary confinement. And that is exactly right. So lonely.

My thoughts have drifted to people in prison, to those forced for months to stay indoors for health reasons and the many of my own people who have been locked up in psychiatric hospitals. And I too have been there as you will recall. The devastating loneliness, the despair and tragedy of my loss at leaving Cambridge in 1991 is what led me to that dark place. And now it feels like that again.

I cannot fault the many who have come to me in the last week. From the zoom call with my friend Harsarup on Saturday to the endless calls. The messages of support on social media to Francois and Bronwen bringing me some Rioja. My neighbour Richard buying coffee to my other neighbour Vanessa arriving with kitchen towel and cheese. Cheese so wonderous to behold. And my kind friend Kevin sending me a lovely card and present...thanks Kevin, I will buy the finest bottle of wine I can find!

Somehow some way I have made it to just over 24 hours to go before the prison gate is flung open and I can breathe the air, feel the cold and get wrapped in the rain. Any real sensation after this will be welcome. Assuming I can get out of bed in the morning, I almost didn't today, I will try to work. People from there have also been terribly kind. It reminds me that when the bullets are flying and everyone is panicking that we would all feel much better if we are kind to each other.

Adversity can bring out the best in people. I'm not sure you have seen my best but I will get there. For now though it is Puccini, a glass of Picpoul de Pinet and a book. It all helps.

When I next speak to you I will be free. And I will value that freedom far more than I ever have before.

I Heard a Voice. 

Locked In.

Four years ago I penned a post on here to mark the victory of Mr Trump in the US election. Not because I particularly like him. Nor do I like to make political comment on here. No more to plead for unity in that great country. He had a lot of healing to do in such a divided place.

Now on a gloomy November Sunday afternoon we have another president elect. The years of chaos, disruption, arrogance and world shaking egotistical politics will have finally come to an end. USA, you have a lot of healing to do but please remember democracy is not the right of every man and woman in this fractious world. We are privileged enough to have that right. And Mr Trump says he has been cheated. Maybe he knows something I don't but that is the result and much of the world has breathed a huge sigh of relief. Mr Biden has a huge task but good luck to him and to the American people.

Back here in my small part of the world not all is going to plan. True I had a week without incident or conflict. However as I was coming home from the pub on Wednesday just as the country was shutting down again my covid app bleeped and ordered me to stay indoors until next Friday.

Here on day four of my house arrest I'm really feeling it. My outlook is as bleak and grey as the sky outside. The instructions on the app tell me I'm only allowed to exercise in my garden. Sadly I have no garden and the balcony is small. So nowhere to go.

As ever though my friends have been extraordinary. People calling, messaging, texting and zooming. And they have shopped for me. There should be a delivery of Rioja this afternoon.

The last time I was locked up like this was in an old asylum in the summer of 1991 after my breakdown. Shit though my world looks today it is nowhere near as terrifying at that desolate summer all those years ago.

I have my opera, I have my books, I have my kitchen. And I have wine. Day by day I will crawl towards salvation on Friday. It seems a long way off today. But I will get there intact.

Until next time.

I Heard a Voice.

A Halloween Full Moon.

The rain has been hammering down all day. It is gloomy, desolate and not enticing. A shame as I was looking forward to seeing the first Halloween full moon in 76 years. In a way it is our day. Many have said to be over the years that their mental illness is at its worst on full moon. There is no scientific reason why this might be but the world of mental health is not one of science, more one of anecdote.

My apologies for my recent silence. Many times I have wanted to write. Usually on the hard and angry days. But that is not wise. Better to let anger dissipate. I've learned that through bitter experience.

The days where I want to give up, walk away and tell the world to fuck off keep coming. Usually just a day in duration they nevertheless affect my sleep and my anxiety rises. The older I get the more I realise anxiety has been there most of my life. With each passing day I'm beginning to make sense of mum's last tormented years before her sudden death in 2012. That my life was unstable then is a memory. Well it should be but it keeps coming back. Why worry about small things?

The last two weekends I've had visitors. Great but what worry I experienced. It came into sharp focus how out of control I feel in my life. My cooking is so important but I need to concentrate and not be distracted. I need a cup of tea. I want a bath. These requests are little but to my delicate sense of self they sky rocket my anxiety. I certainly struggled with patience earlier in my life. Seems others do still.

My little life is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I give it two weeks max before we are shut in our homes. I've watched from half way round the world what lockdown has done to my friend Georgia in Melbourne. They are finally allowed outside but what price have they paid with their minds? I think that will come to us.

So I must focus on what I can do. And on this wet day Handel lightens up my life. I have a chilled glass of wine. I'm nice and warm. And I have lamb to cook. Flavoured with rosemary, thyme, fennel, bay and cooked on a bed of onions and steamed in white wine. Never tried it before but pretty much everything  from Sam and Sam Clark's Moro books comes out brilliantly.

Take care out there in the rain, marvel at the full moon if you see it and remember my friends, madness is not constant. I have a mental illness but a lot of the time I cope. Just letting go of the bad days, the powerlessness, the fear and the anger, that is the key to surviving mental illness.

I Heard a Voice.  

A Pint in the Autumn Sun.

That glorious golden light of autumn pervades this still and quiet October afternoon. On carpets of russet leaves I ventured forth for a little drive. Stopping at The White Horse at Burnham Green I sat alone in the garden, pleasantly warm and contented in my mental stillness. Not often that happens in term time. But I'm not there today. After a long weekend what better than a lonely contemplative pint in my favourite season?

Being away from work even for just a couple of days was what I needed. I plod on each day seeing all I have achieved slip away as with an hour glass. My time feels over. What next I do not know. I need a job but all that comes with it feels scary, empty and isolating. I have my supporters but none are in position to help me. In my own self derision I used to say I'm only as good as the students I can help. If I can't help I'm a waste of space.

The plaudits, the comments, the cards and the history count for little now. There is a new world, one I do not understand and I suspect to the detriment of future generations. All will be seen in time.

What I do hope moving forward is that I get clarity. Support means many things to different people but it is very hard to define. On Wednesday I go back to therapy. Peter will tell me what might help and I will be dragged kicking and screaming away from my way. For my way is no more.

Yet on this quiet afternoon I'm trying not to think about that. The morning will come soon enough. A day at a time and a task at a time.

Away from my small world I suspect it will not be long before I'm locked down again. My friend Ros is already headed that way as she lives in Wales. My area has rising infections but is okay at present. My friend Marie came for the weekend to beat any shutdown. I do like visitors but I also like the solitude of the afternoon after departure. She got home okay.

For me my kitchen beckons. Thai prawns with chilli and basil will adorn my metaphorical table tonight. Not sure about tomorrow.

Enjoy this sunny day before the rains come. For they will come. Until next time.

I Heard a Voice. 

Still Standing, Still Fighting.

Cast your mind back to late winter 1994. My life had been ravaged by mental illness for four years. Fred and Rose West has just been discovered and some of the most heinous crimes in British history were unfolding in the glare of the tabloid press. John Major was our Prime Minister. And Donald Trump was already a clown...a very rich clown. Mental illness was not talked about. And I was desperately lonely.

Back then I was waiting for admission to a specialist psychiatric facility in London. They took the untouchables. The ones who no one wanted to work with. The angry. The damned. The ones everyone else had given up on as too damaged and too toxic. I entered that ward in March.

When I emerged in the summer of that year my last hope was gone. Well it wasn't gone, I had simply not done what I was told and was thus forward too much for the NHS to deal with. Bernie Rosen once told me that I would never find a medication that would work for me.

Going back to my small world was soul destroying. There was no hope. Yet I was determined to do something and that was to read my medical notes. A few weeks later I did so. And it was like they were talking about an alien completely detached from my life, my experience, my emotion and my compassion. It told my GP that my prognosis was to kill myself within six months.

All these years later on World Mental Health Day I can say I'm still standing, I'm alive, I'm kicking, and I'm fighting. It takes a lot of courage to fight mental illness. I did find a medication  and it worked.

I have a life. I have a career. I have friends. And mental illness is now just a part of my life. Covid aside the last few months have been tough. All the doubt has come back. I feel all I have achieved is being swept away. And my legacy is crumbling.

Yet I must recall the words, the cards, the nominations and the kindness of my friends who have helped me, the students I have helped, the sun shining, having my own place, having opera and books. Having my kitchen. And having life.

Many of my friends from those days are dead. So on our day I bear testimony for both the living and the dead. I have no doubt that the few people who read my musings fight their demons day to day. I certainly do. If that is you please stand up and congratulate yourself for surviving. Keep fighting for that way we will prevail over our demons.

Take care out there.

I Heard a Voice. 

Splitting Apart at the Seams.

Way back in March when I was sent home from work and the world shut down for the first few weeks it felt to me that people were pulling together and being kinder to each other. Early in lockdown I read a piece in the Sunday Times by the former Tory minister Liam Fox about the book he was writing on the history of pandemics which illustrated that much social good comes from these disasters.

Sat at home on a cold gloomy September day six months on I'm losing the will to see human kindness. The central part of my community here in my small part of Hertfordshire is the pub over the road. Having been shut down for 15 weeks, opened again and now restricted again friends are turning on friends and it is all falling apart.

I despair the political bloodletting, the division and the hatred. Nothing like this has happened since 1918/19 so how did any government know how to respond? We are all in this, if we fight each other we are in trouble.

On a much more important level the deep racial divisions in my society and across the Atlantic have been starkly exposed. I do not know about Black Lives Matter apart from what the press tells me but I do know that peace and reconciliation must be a way forward. I'm lucky in my life that I have so many friends from all races, creeds, beliefs, gender orientation and sexuality. I'm lucky enough to see that diversity in my work place. Please let us fight together not fight each other.

In my small and insignificant part of the world I too have been struggling. I had an awful week. I haven't switched off all weekend and I'm heading for a showdown that will be brutal whatever the outcome. My future is clearer but more foggy. I'm delighted for friends but have a sense of doom in my own career and future.

After a tough weekend I will try to highlight the good. I had fun with Gary and Ali last night despite their inebriated state. I have listened to Mozart. I cooked fantastic roast shoulder of lamb. I have chatted to friends. And I get to watch the Rams at 6 pm. It is not all bad.

Take care everyone.

I Heard a Voice.