A Day in the Life

I don't know about anyone else with enduring mental health problems, but my own have resulted in me having an excessive amount of time on my hands. As I wake relatively early, I often fill this time in the mornings watching TV, and during more recent times I seem to have developed a liking for "The Wright Stuff", Channel 5's morning talk show where various celebrity panelists discuss the day's issues alongside host Matthew Wright. At least it keeps me away from Jeremy Kyle on ITV! However, while this programme may provide a mild distraction from other more prurient fare, it does often discuss problems which I find relevant and of interest, and the other day the subject of mental health was raised. In the first instance, a young woman rang into the programme saying that she'd read an article in the "Daily Mail" which dealt with the recent flood of accusations of sexual misconduct, which began with revelations about movie mogul Harvey Weinstein. The a

"Then they got rid of the sick, the so-called incurables. I remember a conversation I had with a person who claimed to be a Christian. He said: Perhaps it's right, these incurably sick people just cost the state money, they are just a burden to themselves and to others. Isn't it best for all concerned if they are taken out of the middle [of society]? Only then did the church as such take note. Then we started talking, until our voices were again silenced in public. Can we say, we aren't guilty/responsible?" Martin Niemoller, in his speech for the Confessing Church, Frankfurt, Germany, 6th January 1946. The German Lutheran Pastor, Martin Niemoller, (please forgive the absence of an umlaut over the "o"), from whom the above quote is taken, is perhaps most famous for his poem, "First They Came...", which deals with the rise of the Nazis and the apparent lack of protest against their evil policies. The poem's main theme, then, is how per

Some years ago now I wrote a blog entitled, "Domestic Disturbance", which examined the role of the family in mental illness. As I remember, I quoted from R.D. Laing's book, "The Politics of Experience", alluding to the so-called "double bind", a situation in which a person receives contradictory or conflicting messages, thus placing them in a position where no matter what their response, they will always in some way be wrong. Some would say that an example of a double bind can be found in Joseph Heller's World War II novel, "Catch 22", which examines the sometime sheer craziness of bureaucracy. Heller creates a situation where those who are deemed insane should be judged not fit to fly missions, but the very fact that they declare their insanity shows a rational concern for their own safety. This contradiction means that anyone judged insane is still sane enough to fly. This edict is referred to as Catch 22, and as the main character John

"Do you ever get the feeling you've been cheated?" John Lydon (aka Johnny Rotten). When I was under the care of secondary mental health services, I think that you could safely say that one of their main objectives was for me to become capable of living independently. Indeed, when one is in the throes of a psychotic episode it is more than likely that one's life becomes chaotic. I remember quite clearly from my own experience that I was so bound up in a delusional frame of mind, that managing money, paying bills and attending appointments all became problematic. When help came, therefore, it was understood that I would first need support in carrying out such practicalities of daily living. Indeed, I remember being allotted a care worker who was there specifically to help me back on the road to eventually having the capability of doing such seemingly everyday tasks independently. However, as time has gone on and a saner frame of mind has taken the place of that

"The cultural work done in the past by gods and epic sagas is now done by laundry detergent commercials and comic-strip characters." Roland Barthes, "Mythologies". The other day, watching a film entitled "The Take", an action thriller starring Idris Elba, I was reminded of some of the work I'd done as an MA student of literary theory. The film was concerned with a plot hatched by an elite team within the police force (who were disgruntled at their apparent lack of financial reward for their dangerous work), which was designed to create havoc within the city of Paris in order to distract the public from the fact that they were, in truth, carrying out an audacious heist. It wasn't the plot which grabbed my attention, though, but rather the way in which, at the end of the film, all the bad guys were either killed or brought to book and justice was seen to be served. It struck me that lots of movies, certainly of the mainstream variety anyway

"What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel! in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?" "Hamlet", Act 2, Scene 2, by William Shakespeare.  I am about to write a very personal blog. It's going to be one from the heart, I think. For as I sit here in my comfortable home, my dad is lying in a hospital bed, drugged on morphine, going through the last vestiges of his life. He has advanced lung cancer, among other things, and we were told recently that he has deteriorated somewhat, and that the end can be expected within weeks, perhaps days. Dad himself remains remarkably sanguine, saying at one point that he probably got six extra months life by initially being treated for a problem with his liver, which inadvertently led to the discovery of the tumour on hi