Roast pork, Handel and my Book.

Greetings on a milder and overcast day. I woke late and spent a gentle morning cooking roast pork, listening to opera and reading my book. 

Not quite sure how I feel today. I'm certainly not low but no sign of mania. Kinda nothing type of day.

The weekend has been good though. My friend Jayne came down from Cambridge yesterday. Marvellous lunch at The Waggoners, a walk back through the woods and a couple of pints in the pub.

As it's the summer holidays it is quite hard to motivate myself to work. I have the dreaded appraisal on Wednesday. Long time readers of this blog may recall some of the horrific experiences in appraisals past. Why 3 hours have been scheduled I have no idea. That does not seem normal. 

There are 3 weeks until my long awaited summer break. Have a few things planned including a few days in Kent with dad. I will meet friends at Borough Market 2 days before my birthday. 55 sounds very grand.

Until next time I will leave you all. Have wonderful Sunday.

I Heard a Voice. 

Another Day in Summer.

Greetings on a mild Sunday morning as the sun begins to emerge from the clouds. You find me at home alone listening to Carmen and reading. 

For the first time in months I actually feel physically well. With ailment after ailment through the autumn, winter and spring health has returned. And with it my mental state has improved. Yes I'm still wounded but not overwhelmed. Well not today. 

Summer came to the fore this week after so much rain. Hot, humid and sunny days whilst energy sapping have been most welcome. 

On this Sunday a corn feed chicken will go in the roast shortly. I made a herb butter with tarragon, thyme, marjoram and parsley which I spread beneath the skin. With new potatoes, roast carrots, asparagus and broccoli hopefully it will be a marvellous summer feast.

Tomorrow work beckons but with the coming of the holidays it will be slower. We are moving offices over the summer. I view the new working space on Tuesday. 

Must get cooking now.

I Heard a Voice. 

Still Valued and Cared About

On another grey and cold summer day you find me alone at home listening to Puccini. Apart from Gareth my butcher I haven't seen a soul all day. The nightmares came back as I tried to sleep. Not a good start.

The last 10 weeks have made me reflect on who I am, what I am and how people perceive me. The hammer blow on 9th May of someone so close slamming the door in my face with no explanation still reverberates. Like the terrifying sound of the metal door in the asylum all those summers ago.

For the most part people praise, wonder, revere and are inspired by my story of survival in the mental health world. Indeed almost exactly 30 years ago the prognosis on my discharge papers read "likely to commit suicide within 6 months". What a horrible thing to say. But I survived those 6 months, the next 12 months and indeed 29 years.

Yet I still have to live with the pain of the present. My reflection was a lot to do with the university where I worked for 14 years. There too high praise as well as poison. In the time since people from that world have fallen silent, ignored me or overtly cut off contact. That's painful to live with. 

During the week though I saw 2 people from there on the street. On Tuesday I bumped into a former student who asked if he could hug me. Then yesterday I bumped into a former colleague who also hugged me and relayed they still talk about me and still miss me.

That not all from the past want to shut down from me brings strength when needed, validation that is needed and reaffirmation that I'm not the failed and flawed character my paranoia tells me but someone loved, thought about and valued. I need that.

I Heard a Voice.

Alone and Silent.

I'm alone in my flat. I'm silent. Not uttered a word since coming back from shopping and lunch. Having been paid on Tuesday I have bought a few things. Mainly food but I did buy some things for my kitchen. I resisted the lure of a beautiful suit, I would simply never wear it.

The clear indicator is that I'm not in mini mania. The buzzy times I love so much but others don't love 

The last two months have been tough mentally. Losing people who matter and are loved has a devastating effect on my fragile self esteem. My confidence suffers, I doubt everything and none of the brilliant accolades people ascribe to me have meaning. Nor indeed are believed. 

This week my world was stunned to learn I failed my university assignment. Stunned into silence as one friend said. I don't do much well. Mental health yes, cooking maybe, writing, allegedly and academically I have my moments. Clearly I missed something somewhere. And I'm living with this in my lonely and silent world. 

Mozart plays, I've been reading and trying to manage the emptiness of my mood.

On Thursday out there in the real world the General Election takes place. That change is needed is obvious to many. But what change will we get? I don't know who to vote for. But I will vote.

With that I leave you.

I Heard a Voice. 

Some Good?

I'm not sure where to start. Or indeed whether to start at all. Maybe I'm wiser to say nothing. But I cannot not post. For today is that day. 34 years since my sudden and cataclysmic descent into madness. 

A girl. A hangover. Sunshine. Myopia. Guilt. They all played a part on the sunny June morning at Selwyn College Cambridge. 

What happened next is recorded in books. In pain. In tears. In despair. And in suicide survival. 

All these years later I'm older, greyer, fatter and balder. But against the odds I survived. And that was a miracle. 

Who could have known that on the day my frail life collapsed in my entitled, decadent arrogance of youth so much would have impacted on so many lives?

My books, little read but some say inspiring  record the details and the pain. Did anyone ever give a more brutal, terrifying and accurate description of suicide? If they did I've never read it.

I'm a failed writer, a failure in relationships, a failure in family, a failure in Cambridge and a failure in what might have been. What happened happened because a bright young woman met a talented, clever but utterly flawed and traumatised man in Spain, got involved then walked away. Sound familiar from the last five weeks?

Alone again but loved, valued and respected. Could I ask for more after a lifetime of what ifs but utter failure?

I will listen to my music, look at my pictures and read my letters. I know not where she is, the woman who sent those letters. But wherever she is I hope her actions on that sunny June day in Cambridge has brought about some good. 

Many say I saved their lives. All I say is I just talk to people. 

I Heard a Voice. 

The Shadowy Past.

A face I'd not seen for some time appeared last night. She knew me but I didn't recognise her even though she seemed vaguely familiar. She flitted around in her drunkenness stopping for a few moments to talk to me.

Not until I was leaving and she insisted on giving me her number did it finally dawn on me who she was.

She worked in the pub before lockdown. Married at the time to a curry house owner clearly things had changed a lot since then.

Back at home somewhat bemused I pondered whether to contact her. A few weeks after the earth shattering news of Charlotte walking away do I really need another unstable and chaotic woman with a penchant for drugs and alcohol in my life?

I don't know the answer to that but I suspect like Charlotte Jasmine will be a flitting ghost from the shadowy past and the world of mental health. 

When I finally got to bed I endured a night of disturbing dreams. One about mum forced me to get up at 8 am, ridiculous for a Sunday. 

The sun was shining then. Now it is grey and cold. I feel tired and worn. And I know this coming week will be both busy and challenging. 

With luck though what has remained unchanged since changing job will finally shift. Probably too late but it is needed.

In the emptiness of a grey Sunday morning I'm listening to Handel's Saul and have been reading Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. Almost finished. If that doesn't confirm that despite the comments of many friends I shall not and never will work in the food business I don't know what will.

At a more modest home roast rolled breast of turkey with sage and thyme wrapped in bacon is on the lunch menu. Looking forward to that.

I Heard a Voice.

The Old Man and the Sea.

Walking along the seafront yesterday afternoon in sporadic sunshine I stopped to take a picture. What I saw afterwards was an old man who was and is hurting and the glories of nature. After it reminded me of Ernest Hemmingway's Nobel Prize winning novel The Old Man and the Sea.

There are many things that are unremarkable about me. Approaching 55, no family or partner, living alone in a small commuter town. Yet it has been a storied life. As my unofficial therapist often remarks "you've led a very rich life".

So what am I? Story teller? Mentally ill? A former world class musician? An author? A cook? An opera lover? A reader? A failure?

The last couple of years have been so tough. Losing people I love and care about really hurts.

But on this sunny Sunday morning on the coast I'm doing what I do every day. I survive, I cook and I entertain. 

In two hours there will be roast rib of beef, Yorkshire pudding and horseradish, strawberries after then cheese and grapes. The wine will flow and once again I will be home with my dad and my friends. 

I Heard a Voice.