Audio: Readings by the author
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Postscript:
In 2020 after two decades of stability I felt it was worth testing the waters to determine if my balance could be maintained without major tranquilisers.
Over a period of five months, with the use of a nail file, I gradually reduced the dosage to zero.
During the weeks that followed my spirits were buoyant. I was proud of what felt like a monumental achievement. Everything appeared to have gone well amidst a backdrop of a changed world which seemed to have gone stark raving mad at precisely the same time I’d reclaimed sanity. My soundness of mind was in sharp contrast to the hysteria spawned by the outbreak of the Corona Virus Pandemic.
I spent my days tending StarDisc in spring sunshine, where I’d sweep the Milky Way, paint the stars, pick up litter, mow grass, and converse with visitors. I listened to so many absurdities while on site - ‘G-5 Covid 19 cover-up’, ‘Revenge of the Lizards’, ‘Permanent Police State', ‘Governments Eugenics Programme’, conspiracy theories everywhere! My response was, everyone get a grip and get off my cloud, I'm the Paranoid Schizo!
Then, quite suddenly, on receiving the transmission ’Everything is as it should be’, I lost my own grip on reality, was seen by a mental health crisis team, and admitted to hospital.
Twenty-two years prior to this I’d been treated deplorably in the same Psychiatric Unit. Although I, and fellow activists had campaigned for many years, I was unaware our calls to end Psychiatric Assault had been taken seriously, I anticipated the worst.
But in the summer of that year, during a nine week section, against all expectations, it transpired our cries had been heard and heeded.
Much had improved. I and my companions on the ward were treated with dignity and respect; I felt consultants and nursing staff genuinely had our welfare at heart.
That said, my jaw hit the floor when it was deemed that my life time diagnosis should be dismissed in favour of ‘Bipolar Disorder’, only to be reinstated when I explained that I was not afflicted by depression! The irony of receiving a contradictory second opinion after forty two years was priceless.
Whilst my unease about institutional settings prevails, and of course there were faults [further improvements are most definitely required], there is reason to be hopeful. At last in our country, after centuries of maltreatment, attitudes seem to be changing, and a belated overhaul of the mental health system occurring.
As for me, knowing positive reforms are being implemented brings its own kind of healing, and though I continue to take the tablets, or to be precise monthly depot injections [administered in the arm!], I remain deeply grateful for the miracle of life, and can say that in my world, truly, everything is alright.
In 2020 after two decades of stability I felt it was worth testing the waters to determine if my balance could be maintained without major tranquilisers.
Over a period of five months, with the use of a nail file, I gradually reduced the dosage to zero.
During the weeks that followed my spirits were buoyant. I was proud of what felt like a monumental achievement. Everything appeared to have gone well amidst a backdrop of a changed world which seemed to have gone stark raving mad at precisely the same time I’d reclaimed sanity. My soundness of mind was in sharp contrast to the hysteria spawned by the outbreak of the Corona Virus Pandemic.
I spent my days tending StarDisc in spring sunshine, where I’d sweep the Milky Way, paint the stars, pick up litter, mow grass, and converse with visitors. I listened to so many absurdities while on site - ‘G-5 Covid 19 cover-up’, ‘Revenge of the Lizards’, ‘Permanent Police State', ‘Governments Eugenics Programme’, conspiracy theories everywhere! My response was, everyone get a grip and get off my cloud, I'm the Paranoid Schizo!
Then, quite suddenly, on receiving the transmission ’Everything is as it should be’, I lost my own grip on reality, was seen by a mental health crisis team, and admitted to hospital.
Twenty-two years prior to this I’d been treated deplorably in the same Psychiatric Unit. Although I, and fellow activists had campaigned for many years, I was unaware our calls to end Psychiatric Assault had been taken seriously, I anticipated the worst.
But in the summer of that year, during a nine week section, against all expectations, it transpired our cries had been heard and heeded.
Much had improved. I and my companions on the ward were treated with dignity and respect; I felt consultants and nursing staff genuinely had our welfare at heart.
That said, my jaw hit the floor when it was deemed that my life time diagnosis should be dismissed in favour of ‘Bipolar Disorder’, only to be reinstated when I explained that I was not afflicted by depression! The irony of receiving a contradictory second opinion after forty two years was priceless.
Whilst my unease about institutional settings prevails, and of course there were faults [further improvements are most definitely required], there is reason to be hopeful. At last in our country, after centuries of maltreatment, attitudes seem to be changing, and a belated overhaul of the mental health system occurring.
As for me, knowing positive reforms are being implemented brings its own kind of healing, and though I continue to take the tablets, or to be precise monthly depot injections [administered in the arm!], I remain deeply grateful for the miracle of life, and can say that in my world, truly, everything is alright.