Desolation
Disturbed by the desolation
Angled, incongruous, always precarious
The sky is unrefined, wild
And we worship it
The natives of this land
Discuss pre-war delicacies
And split girders outline
Anticipation of crumbling granite
There is a kind of dignity
In this display, in this decay
Citadels collapse, entire epochs vanish
At this moment opulent arrangements
Of steel birds descend
Astounding winged instruments
That stretch the webbing
Of the etiquette that constrains the hurricane
With such ruin inflicted upon this destitute nation
There is no serene ritual to repair the annihilation
Angels and Gargoyles embedded in the stone facade of the college glared at us as we approached the main building. We leaned against the wall, blending into the brickwork. I had turned into an angel carved from stone. My own blood would be shed in the war within. Heartbeat pounding in ears.  A drum bursting outwards.
Yet again I dreamt I were a witch, flying by night beneath the gaze of a big, fat moon. Darkness was our domain. We marched through the gloom. Leap across the puddles, over the clouds. Disrupt the stillness. I converse with gossiping ghosts. I hear the testimony of my ancestors. I keep in step with them as I watch their shadows slip through the shimmering air. They plunge into the moss that covers their gravestones. Until I could see them no more.
In July, 2005, I was physically attacked by someone I had regarded as a friend. Ancient history now, some would say. Â It left me numbed and afraid. I’ve never really been the same gregarious person since. Â And I’m willing to concede that my decline isn’t solely the result of the attack. That is a very small part of a very big picture.
So why is this relevant to my life now? He has been punished. I have been punished (the people I thought were my friends abandoned me. They took his side). Yesterday my friend L. telephoned. She mentioned that she was going to Great Yarmouth with some friends of hers (suspiciously sociable fellow mentally ill people). She failed to invite me. And we all know why. According to the Circuit (the name we call the ‘mentally ill fraternity in this area) I betrayed them when I agreed to give a statement about A to the police, even though his attack against me didn’t form the main plank of the prosecution against him. I did not prosecute him, the police did because their hero St A attacked not only me but a police woman who was sent to arrest him. But I am the target of their wrath.
A casual conversation with N revealed that, five years ago, when Nobby and Philip (my ex-naval officer neighbour) went to the police station on the afternoon following my assault to see whether A was still incarcerated, the officer manning the front desk said ‘His psychiatrist put in a word for him.’
Now, please bear in mind that his psychiatrist is also my psychiatrist. The problem was he had to make a choice – a choice between two of his patients and he didn’t choose me. I can accept that. What I can’t accept is that he failed to take steps to distance himself from my case at that point, declaring a conflict of interests. He carried on taking charge of my case for the next five years and I firmly believe that the substandard care I was receiving from my community mental health team was a direct result of Dr H’s personal dislike* of me.
Dr H. retired recently. And some of you may think I’m being self regarding and self dramatising. And you may be right. But I will only be able to put this behind me if I know the truth. I would like a thorough review of my case and treatment. I’d like to know what’s been happening over the last few years. Then I will move on. Promise.
I am paranoid. But they are out to get me.
*Dr. H. is, of course, entitled to ‘like’ whomever he chooses. Â This, however, should not have had any relevance to the way he treated me in a professional capacity.
Every night he goes to the door. Every night he calls: ‘Come on, come on, come on.’ Every night he is ignored. Ginger the Cat is gone.
When I’ve been in hospital I’ve encountered men and women who, frankly, should have been firmly ensconced in prison.
The last time I was in there was this guy wandering all over the ward yelling that he was ‘gonna hurt someone’ if he didn’t get his ‘Lorazies’. It was the sheer number of nurses who seemed to have nothing better to do that to run around after him that got to me. It was as though they were in competition with one another to see who they could get him to ‘warm to’ first. ‘I- Nurse A am really great at interacting with Mr Psycho Patient (No apologies made for that), whereas as she – Nurse B- can’t interact with him at all. In fact she seems to be a little afraid of him. This means that I – Nurse A – really am the superior nurse.’
Later I sat with him in the exercise yard and said: ‘Funny how you’ve got all those nurses running around after you, isn’t it?’
Response: ‘Yeah, good, innit?’ a la ‘it’s a fair cop, guv.’
A Package of Puzzles
Daughter dear do you fear
The future, the enormity
Of the world against
the vastness of the universe
Demon Daughter, haunting me
Will you never relinquish me?
For I crave liberty
But you remain tied to me
Anchoring me down
You wear the crown
You are the monarch
Of my barren country
Your speech is grandiose
And eloquent. You are
So tiny and yet
Your cry can fill a room
And I envy you
I do. I do.
So Sick of Drowning 