A Day in the Life

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

So, the dystopic science fiction film, "The Girl With All the Gifts", recently opened to largely favourable reviews in UK cinemas. The film stars, among others, Glenn Close, Gemma Arterton, Paddy Considine and newcomer Sennia Nanua. It's set in the near future where humanity has been ravaged by a fungal disease, with those affected losing their ability to think freely, eventually turning into flesh-eating, zombie-like creatures known by survivors as "hungries". The only hope for humanity's survival is a small group of hybrid children who also crave human flesh, but somehow retain their ability to feel and think. The movie has been widely advertised and, as I have said, has garnered several favourable reviews, some calling it an unusually intelligent addition to the zombie genre. However, what you may not know is that a small portion of the film was shot right here in my home city of Stoke-on-Trent. A few years back our city centre, Hanley, acquired a new bu

I don't know whether you're aware (then  again how could you not be), but the Paralympics recently took place in sunny Rio. It was a particularly edifying Games for our Team GB, as they are affectionately called, who returned to Britain this week triumphant, having won an incredible number of medals (64 of which were gold) and coming in second place with only China doing better. How could one fail to be proud of such a magnificent, almost super-human achievement? How could one fail to be inspired? How could one fail to have one's mind opened about what disabled people are truly capable of? Indeed, it seems to have been an aim of Team GB and the Games itself to inspire a whole new generation of Paralympians, and they appear to have been successful even in that regard. But, enter, stage left, one cynical, old fart: i.e. me. Don't get me wrong, I'm as impressed by our athletes as the next person, and when I see people like Ellie Simmonds or Sarah Storey clutching thei

After writing in my last post about how the Tories, under Theresa May's leadership, seem to want to convince us that it is they who are the true party of social justice, I thought I'd just give a taste of what's happened to mental health services in Stoke-on-Trent since the Conservatives took office. It's a sorry tale, told from my own perspective, full of sound and fury and signifying, hopefully, a great deal. As I take the pulse of our beloved NHS, it's once mighty pounding now seems but a faint, hollow, weak ticking, drowned out by the roar of the philosophies of free marketism and austerity. It has always been my aim in this blog to give a positive spin on people's ability to recover from even the most severe of mental illnesses. By using my own experience as an example, I have sought to say, in numerous posts, that leading a so-called "normal" life is possible, given the right support and treatment. However, as I look at the sorry state mental he