A Day in the Life

I used to take life pretty seriously. You could say that I was weighed down by it. Having gone through an emotionally traumatic time and then become quite seriously depressed, responsibility seemed to impose itself at what was, looking back on it now, quite an early age. Passing exams was of utmost importance, getting to university was imperative, and getting a good job after it was an equally serious matter. But, although I did manage to get a degree and then work for some time after it, it wasn't long before my illness took hold and I was unable to do any of the things which everyone in my peer group were doing. I lost friends, I lost the ability to work, I lost myself. It wasn't long before abject misery turned into mania and psychosis, and it seemed questionable whether I would ever regain some semblance of normality. I was ill for a long time, and even on getting somewhat better, there was still the prospect of facing up to the things I'd lost. Perhaps my illness had 

The above title comes, of course, from Alan Bleasdale's drama, "Boys From the Blackstuff", in which the unemployed Yosser Hughes tries to find work in Thatcher's Britain. His saying, "gizza job", became part of the consciousness of the '80s. Now, it seems, I myself may be repeating that sad, affecting slogan as I have just started the process of trying to find some paid work. On Tuesday I went to see a Disability Employment Adviser at my local job centre. I haven't set foot in such a place for many years, and I have to say that there seemed to me to be a marked improvement in the attitude of the staff who work there. The DEA herself was polite, even understanding about my position, and gave me some valuable advice about writing my CV and also on other "soft" skills. She pointed out, after making some calculations, that I would be significantly better off even if I only did part-time work at minimum wage and, frankly, that's something t

The other day at the Media Action Group for Mental Health we were discussing exactly what is meant by that nebulous term, "stigma". It seemed to us that it is used as a catch-all phrase to describe a number of different things. It encapsulates problems of knowledge (ignorance), attitude (prejudice) and behaviour (discrimination). In trying to come up with our own definition of the term we began to talk about our own experiences of stigma - how it had impacted on our lives and how we had felt about this impact. It soon became clear that stigma, as it is actually experienced, is both an internal and external problem. There are the external, societal problems, such as the ones highlighted above, but it is also how we deal with those issues that is at stake. The problem, then, of "internalised" stigma came  to the fore: the way in which some with experience of mental ill health can absorb the social and cultural negativity surrounding mental health conditions, and perh

"Everything I know about morality and the obligations of men, I owe it to football" Albert Camus.  OK, so I'm not a particularly sporty person. Nor am I a particularly ardent football fan. But, I like to think that I do appreciate beautiful things, and could it not be said that football (when played as it should be played) can be aesthetically beautiful? Is it any mistake that it is sometimes referred to as "the beautiful game"? I write this because Euro 2012 is upon us. Somewhat unfortunately it is taking place in between our recent Jubilee celebrations and, of course, the London Olympics. This seems to have had the effect that not too many of us appear to be that bothered about what happens in this particular championship. Unusually, it has been said that the expectations amongst fans for our own England team are at a low point, or perhaps we should say are, this time, after a woeful performance in the World Cup, more realistic. We do not, it seems, exp

In my journey through mental health services, I have met a number of people, both in hospital and outside it. As those of you who read this blog will know, a serious amount of drinking accompanied my mental ill health, and it was through this that I was admitted to our local drug and alcohol rehabilitation unit. It was during my time there that I met people not only with problems with alcohol, but also "hard" drugs, like heroin. I am somewhat intrigued by the subject of addiction, and although my own problems have only ever been to do with drugs of the legal variety, i.e. tobacco and alcohol, when I was admitted to the unit I was, therefore, curious about what other drugs actually did for people. The downside of drugs is well known and overtly publicised, but as many people succumb to them, there must be an upside, otherwise why take them? Why take all the risks if there is no reward? It seems to me that the taking of a drug in an addictive fashion might replace, or be a su