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. 

Roast Beef of Old England.

Greetings on a now sunny Sunday morning. Tosca has just finished, I'm alone in the silence of my flat and drinking iced water. Sounds idyllic I guess but not all has been well since I last wrote to you all.

The reverberation of the hammer blow of just over two weeks ago continues. Hard to describe the mental impact, bewilderment, loss, sadness. What is lacking is anger. 

My friends are all very angry about what has happened. I can make no sense of it but others are voicing what needs to be voiced but I cannot voice myself. 

I try to be kind and caring to all. Sadly that is not always reciprocal when it comes to what happened. Another cherished and loved person walks out on my life with no explanation. 

Ruminating is never good but at present I can't stop it. At least physically I am better. 

Each day is struggle that must be filled. Today it is with the legendary English culinary masterpiece and signature roast beef. I have a table booked at The White Hart at 1 pm. The beef there is stunning. 

Sadly it will pass all too quickly and I suspect my mind will turn and fold in on itself. Mental illness, twists of fate and bad decision making still pervade my life. So I will take it one day at a time. 

I Heard a Voice. 

Farewell the Past

You must accept my recent silence. Not sure who is reading anyway. Maybe no one.

The truth is that the last month has been really tough physically and mentally. Not a good combination. 

When I went to London a month ago I knew it could trigger a bumpy ride. And it did.

What I didn't expect was that at a time of vulnerability someone I care so much about walked out of my life.

That I've made catastrophic decisions on friendships and relationships is a given, well documented on here, in my books, in my guilt and in my shame. But I struggle to understand why someone would walk away without any explanation. That sadly is what just happened to me.

A lot of my friends are very angry with her. All agree I didn't deserve that and that it is not something I've done but more about her. But it still hurts. Really bad.

Alongside this hammer blow I have been really sick with what the doctors think is a virus. They signed me off last Thursday. Slowly getting better I think. No longer have fever or headache. The cough is less dry and painful. 

Life has not been kind to me this last month. But I will prevail. 

I Heard a Voice. 

A Hacking Cough.

On a beautiful sunny Sunday morning in my small part of Hertfordshire I'm listening to The Marriage of Figaro and reading. In truth the last two weeks have been plagued by a mystery malady.

Three doctors on Tuesday could advise only that it is a virus. An unusual one at that. Horrendous sore throat and hacking cough accompanied by fever and headache. I worked as long as I could before finally taking to my bed on Friday. 

It shows no sign of abating so going back to the doctors on Tuesday. 

Tomorrow is a public holiday here. Never find them easy but will probably take myself off for a pub lunch somewhere. 

On matters pertaining to today I decided I'd cook later rather than earlier. Roast Duck with plum sauce is on the menu. Got some Medoc to accompany it. No one is coming round. 

My flat has been a lonely place the last few weeks. No visitors. Cyberspace too has been quiet along with the phone. My old friend Anna did reach out to me a couple of days ago. I think people are maybe a little worried about me but just don't know what if anything to say.

I will recover though. I always bounce back even it's a slow and painful process.

I Heard a Voice.