My mind is all jumbled today, it has been pretty packed with activities and observations.

The smoking square is right outside my bedroom and people raise their voices at my radio, even though it isn’t loud.  It makes concentration hard.  Blow it, it makes just listening hard.

I had a review today.  I asked them to decrease what they have been giving me for anxiety because I am walking around feeling the same as I used to when I was on sleeping medication every night in London.

They have left my leave as it is, 1 x 4 hours to break up and use as I want, plus 3 x 1/2 hour for local shops etc.

They also told me they wanted to increase my olansapine.  We got into a heated discussion about that.  They talked about ideas that I was being harassed, and I pointed out that they didn’t live with me and why were they so insistent on calling it ideas instead of accepting it as reality.  Dr Khan, the SHO who was conducting proceedings today although Dr Fahy was there, asked why I thought I was the only person being harassed and I said I didn’t, but he insisted that I had said that, and I said I hadn’t and insisted that I didn’t think that.  He asked why I thought I was so important that this could be happening to me, and I said he was being rude and asked him why he thought I was so unimportant that it couldn’t be.  He asked who I thought was doing it and I said how could I know if it was organised crime.  He asked me why I thought they were doing it which, as all illegitimate and out of bounds questions do, left me feeling hit in the head, and I said I didn’t know and that what mattered was that it was happening, not why.

Dr Fahy, or Dr Khan (I can’t remember now) said they were also worried about the level and degree of distress it was causing to me and people around me and she tried to fnish her sentence before I came back at that, which I insisted on doing, and I pointed out that the distress comes from other people before it comes from me, that if it were not started from others I would be happy. I didn’t get the opportunity I wanted to say that the degree of distress is because they always handle me like this and that they were giving me no hope or protection for the future.  But afterwards I wondered what they thought was the maximum degree of distress allowable in my circumstances.

I did my laundry this afternoon.  I went to the office to ask someone to unlock the door for me so I could get it out.  Jess was there with a big fluffy bear slipper or something.  They didn’t even look in my direction as I knocked, but she started touching the slipper or whatever it was in what, on a real animal, might have been its private parts.  On purpose, it looked like, and continued to not acknowledge me.  When she came to the door she had a really strange smile on her face.  I later remembered when Tommy Boyd had talked about licking the underparts of a badger, I think he said, to cure a headache.  That people used to do it and it worked.  He used to say that he wondered how people first got the idea.  Or was it a beaver?  The first time I heard him refer to the badger or beaver was the night after I had broken down in sobs, years ago, waiting for the phone to pick up the other end, or something, phoning someone else (I don’t have his private number), and the next day he played something which sounded like me sobbing the previous night and asked people to guess what it was.  Someone said it sounded like a woman crying, but he later declared it to be the sound of a badger or beaver.  I can’t remember if anyone got it.

He also played this game with Allison Ferns with the Queen song, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’, where he kept stopping it as it was building up and Allison was getting frustrated.  I remembered that after catching some of the Steve Wright show this afternoon on Radio 2 and thinking that they were deliberately reproducing the action of dopamine or seratonin blockers, verbally, bringing it up to interest level then smashing it down so I, at least, was not able to maintain the interest and the thought that came from it.  It made me angry.  It was the first time I had thought of what they were doing in that way, as reproducing the action of dopamine and seratonin blockers.

While they are playing these coy, or not so coy, games, a programme is on Radio 4 tomorrow at 9pm called ‘All In the Mind’, which is going to look at the ‘fact’, so they say, that between five and seven people die every week under a mental health section.  This is not something to play with.  It isn’t fair.  I’ve taken every baseball game position possible to ask for help or if I can help, over the years, and I’m now wondering why.

AOL is featuring a story of the queen with a bloodshot eye, and a piece of film where Prince Philip first looks at the camera then looks into his binoculars.  I’m not sure if there is any actual connection with the fact that Tommy Boyd has one eye he can’t see much out of because he said he was bitten by a dolphin, I think.

Being a write bloody bitch is hard.

Mine is not to reason why
Mine is but to write or die

Or risk trying to explore these things in a real face to face

Or try to retrieve any chance of a relationship buried under my cowardice and shit.

One woman has been on this acute ward for about a year.  Another for two.  So they have said.

A lookalike of a new patient, who is in turn a lookalike of Dorothy Shearman, came on Come Dine With Me this afternoon.  Everyone reacted, silently.  We are afraid to be the first to say anything in case no one else joins us.

I really think the drugs companies and the psychiatrists are knowingly dependent on each other, to some extent, for their living and have no wish to rock the boat with real reality.  The obviousness of it is so filling my mind with words to speak of it that I can only reduce it down to ‘disgusting’.  Love covers everything except organised abuse and agreed cowardice.

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