Tag Archive: Anti-Psychiatry


My New Home With the NHS

Part of the problem with the house is its almost non-existent sound-proofing.  On my side of the house we are right on top of each other bedrooms-wise and the floorboards creak when you move.  This can be heard in the next room.  My next door neighbour/fellow patient can hear when I move and I can hear when she moves.  I get nervous because of the door slamming and wonder what her movement means all the time.  The other lady doesn’t even acknowledge me when I say hello.  The door slamming started 2 days after I got there.  I had told the staff this was a pattern that was following me, but previously it has been insisted that this belief is all a part of what I believe to be my non-existent mental illness.  At the moment I feel weak and tired and my chest hurts.  My blood pressure was taken this morning and a stethoscope held to my back, because I told them I wanted to pass out when I was outside.  She told me to take deep breaths and when I did I started to cough, clearing my airways.  She commented and I felt inhibited.  Coughing and clearing my airways would have been a good start to deep breathing.

I have been afraid/reluctant to write like this about the new place I am in because I don’t want to stir up bad feeling.  But I think the building is largely responsible for the tension in the house.  Doors are made to slam which would not slam left to themselves, and they should be slam-proofed anyway.   It looks as if nothing has been done to make these buildings, which used to be offices, apparently, suitable for the purpose they are now used for.  Also even the largest bedrooms are really small.  Mine is one of the smallest.  It is 2 or 3 paces from my bed to the door.  One of the staff who spoke to me acknowledged that the unit was not fit for purpose, but the acknowledgment doesn’t make it any easier.

It is exactly the same with social housing.  The sound-proofing is appalling. I heard a story on Radio 4 recently where it said that thin walls made bad neighbours.  That is true, definitely. They also make angry, desperate people.  I don’t like to sound strident and political, but the truth is that in the places I have been in we can hear so much from each other’s space it is humanly indecent.  It really is like being packed together like farm animals.

I’m saying all this stuff, but sometimes, when it comes down to it, I feel as if I am being precious and giving myself ‘airs and graces’.  Really I am no different from anyone else except that I have been silenced by intimidation and vigilantism, delivered subliminally.  Knowing that is what is happening makes me too angry to speak.

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Relaxation Tape

I am listening to a tape that started off by saying that any sound would add to my relaxation.  I’m sure she can’t have meant doors slamming deliberately like bombs dropping.  This happens here every day.  I’ve reported it to the nurses and the nurses have talked to the other women involved but there has been no change.  I’m beginning to think about stopping respecting the night.  I can also do slamming doors.  The nurses aren’t here, they are in a building across the road.  They would have to get out of bed and walk over there (Oh no, there is a phone in the hall).  This shared NHS house is hell for me, as I thought it would be.  But one of the nurses told me they have done it to people before, and said it isn’t me or my fault.  So why aren’t they ejected if they are making people this ill and unhappy?  I told one of the nurses today that things are so bad in here I can’t cope and I want to pass out and collapse when I am out.  One of the people involved across the landing from me won’t even acknowledge me when I say hello or ask if she is OK.  Somebody I was talking to the other day (not about this) said it was obvious I was being abused.  It’s a shared house on an open ward and the treatment I am getting from the people I am sharing with is making me feel sick but all the nurses ever do is say they will talk to them.  I’m afraid to go down and cook and it is affecting my appetite.  The door slamming is unnecessary and violent and it shakes the house.  I’m even getting pain in my stomach when I try to eat.

Some people would say this is the result of unforgiveness . . .

I’ve been thinking that about myself in relation to going back to church.  I have had the same battle every Sunday for three weeks.  I wonder if anyone else can put their hands up to being a coward?  I hear the preaching style and its content and I don’t want to go back, in spite of its historical place in my life.  At the same time I do want to go back.  But if we approach each other the wrong way it could explode in our faces, again.

I;m writing this in a hotel restaurant at 22.27 09.12.2012 UK time.  In Bulgaria it has just tipped over to Monday 10.12.2012.  I was reading in the Times yesterday, which I bought with a coffee, that President Putin wants to rebuild the old Soviet Union under another name, but that the West wants to avoid that happening or slow it down.  I was wanting to go back to Bulgaria ad buy there, but I’m not sure now.  I have heard that Bulgaria, of all the old Soviet countries, is closer in sentiment and politics to Russia than any of the others.  A lot of Russians buy in the country.  When Bulgaria first entered the European Union a Russian official expressed the wish that Bulgaria would be Russia’s Trojan horse in Europe.  There is an anticipated change in Bulgaria’s relationship with the EU scheduled for 2014 which is supposed to bring property prices into line with the rest of Europe.  What we have at the moment, if that is true, is a window of opportunity.  Opportunity for what?  To exploit the average Bulgarian who is selling at the moment at around 10,000 euros?  I can’t see how someone with self respect and respect for the people of Bulgaria could do that to them.  It seems quite a ‘sharp’ thing to do, to me.  After 2014 they could sell for more.

So there, I’ve committed it to writing, that I think it is just sharp business practice.  I wonder how people will feel if this re-establishing of the Soviet Union becomes a reality, if those who have bought will quickly get out.  If I buy and that happens, I won’t be staying.  I suppose he would want to go towards being closed, like before.  What about all the murders under the old communist regime, would they come back, or have lessons been learned?

I’m just writing, for no particularly good reason.  I told myself on the way down here that if I was repentant I wouldn’t be heading for a hotel to drink wine and download stuff.  I imagine David Shearman being angry with me and believing that he shouldn’t talk to me until he sees evidence of repentance.  Do I really want to go back to seeing the rest of the world as Egypt and ruled by demons?  But that is what the Bible says, that Satan is the god of this world, the ruler of the powers of the air.  I have felt loved by some of these people, rightly or wrongly.  I can see myself sitting happily in a congregation and rejecting everything.  I can see myself doing it, happily, it isn’t even a hope or a fear.

Repentance makes amends and seeks reconciliation.  What about everything I’ve said about not being able to be in church because they validate the mental health system and sometimes use it as a weapon or offend by taking it for granted, apparently, that it is right and that the person judged as mentally ill is rightly so judged?

I feel both sombre and happy.  I’m very tired.  Because of where I am at as a woman, every time I feel I have made a breakthrough in understanding how best to handle myself ad my relationships it also hurts deeply that I didn’t know before and then I feel unable to maintain any feeling of having made progress in any solid way.

That will do for now.  A bit more self-display.  It would not be so bad if it didn’t get into the wrong hands as well as kind ones.  Where’s Tommy Boyd?  He’s disappeared off the planet, by the looks of it.  I can’t believe he’s finished broadcasting for good.  It’s only his 60th birthday this year.  I thought he was more professionally committed than that.  He’s just gone, and I feel bereft, as well as anything else.  That sounds stupid and pretentious.  I’m also a bit pleased he isn’t there so I am not constantly infuriated.  I wish he was around for me because I feel I need him.  He was there once, when I sat with him in his car.  I wasn’t, I said no.  He pointed to his chest and said ‘I’M in here’ and looking back I always remember that as very touching and tender.  He didn’t seem to be trying to pull any tricks.  Every time I phoned up he said something to remind me of that night and it was too late, perhaps, that I realised it was possibly an invitation to talk some more.  Although how I could have done I don’t know.  If it was an invitation I didn’t understand that at the time.

 

A Taste of Freedom

I went to the Pizza Express in King Street today.  I started off with dough balls with Chardonnay, which I didn’t like much at first (the Chardonay) but it grew on me.  I wasn’t going to have anything else but I ended up having a Fiorentina, spinach, cheese, black olives, egg.  Something snapped inside me.  I felt very drunk but I knew it was just a severe emotional problem.  I’m not mentally ill, I just have severe emotional problems.  Apart from anything else I am 14 months homeless now, coming up 15  months.

I feel emotionally wrecked.  I thoroughly enjoyed what I ate.  They say food is an emotional experience and it was for me.  It was great to have egg, and I sat there thinking I could just go vegetarian.

Maybe I have seen too much militant vegan stuff.  Freedom, real freedom, is the freedom not to harm.  I can’t cope anymore.  I have been vegan for over four years now and my experiences in Bulgaria didn’t break me.  Perhaps because I could get some really nice seitan there.  But homelessness in the UK began to break me ages ago with things as small as using the room milk and eating the biscuits in hotel rooms.  Also the tricks and judgmentalism of the vegan providers in the UK.  I feel completely spent.  I’m so tired, and I have to present every day for a drug caled aripiprazole.  I am experiencing tardive dyskenesia, facial muscle twitches.  Your face expresses what is going on in yor mind, and my mind’s normal working is being interfered with by this drug.  I’m in a house now and feeling suppressed and bullied.  I don’t feel as if I am allowed to sing, and they have complained about my music.  I feel as if the bad relationship is my fault.  Music and singing is part of my self-healing.  I feel completely desperate.  I really want to come off my section and off the drugs.  The best thing about this house is that I can cook for  myself.  But I had more freedom to play my music on Redwood 2 than I do here.  I’m writing stuff to Tommy Boyd which I have been taught to believe.  I do believe it.  It doesn’t make things feel better though.  I’m in love with him, or the idea of him, I swear.  The house is part of another in-patient ‘ward’.  I feel I owe him the best I can give him, and to value his best towards me.

Striking Poses

Here’s one: because I am getting on in years I am entitled to some of the luxuries of life, and to establish the lifestyle I have always wanted.

Yesterday coming home – sorry, back to the hospital; I must be getting institutionalised – I thought that was a lie put out by pension and financial investment providers.  We aren’t entitled to anything just because we are getting older and feel we have always been entitled to it.  Not even respect and facilitation of the lifestyle we would choose for ourselves.

Is that true?  Is that really true?  Because at the moment it feels such a desolate thing to say and believe.

To bring it back to my situation, I am being told that they want to transfer me under my present section to shared housing which comes under another hospital.  I have chosen, by default or otherwise, to live on my own. Knowing the kind of harassment I have had towards me in places I have lived, I am afraid of it springing up in my actual living space and turning really nasty, maybe even dangerous.  We, I and my proposed housemates, are not people who could expect to be taken seriously if we said what was happening, because I, at least, am not being taken seriously by the psychiatrist now.  I am getting tired.  I would like some peace and protection and safety on my own terms.

But I’m not entitled to it just because I am aging.  Or am I?  Have older people, like myself (I will be 52 next week) been demeaned a little bit too far?  There we are, I am striking a pose again.  I am tired, I am grief-stricken, I am menopausal.  Is a safe and peaceful living space, and a little respect and self-determination, too much to want and aim for?  What is this third age?  Is it a new age of helplessness?

Some Homework For New Readers

Put ‘Monarch Mind Control’ into my blog’s search and watch the Youtube video.

Yesterday, Today . . . Forever???

Yesterday I had my managers’ hearing, and they decided to keep me on a section 3 and ignored everything I had to say, though they took a good long time over their decision.

Spoke to John Butterworth, Benefits etc adviser, today.  He was nice and friendly and reasonable and helpful.

At 5pm, dinner time, today, Annie came and said that Dr Malik wanted to talk to me about a Section 206.  Not knowing what it was, I was scared.  Turned out that it was to tide them over the period where the 2nd opinion doctor is overdue, so they can medicate me without my consent.  First he asked me if I would consent and I said no, that I was only taking oral medication because otherwise I would be really treated like just an animal, and that forcing medication onto non-consenting people was more akin to veterinary medicine than anything to do with humans.  He said they would use a Section 206 then, and I said that was his choice, which it is.  I hope one day before I die they will be brought to book for all this.

I didn’t get to open the reports for yesterday’s meeting until after it had happened, because I didn’t know what they were when I got them on my bed just before going in.  I am wondering why things seem to be going the same way as they went in London where I always got the papers an hour before the meeting, when for the tribunal I had here I got the papers in good time.

The Trial

I am sitting in a first class carriage to London and have just finished reading the chapter called ‘The Uncle – Leni.

At this stage I think K is completely boring and self-absorbed, and I have more sympathy for the Uncle and the advocate and the director, and nervousness for K.  Leni’s approach to K’s situation is almost religious, if not entirely so ‘you have to acknowledge your guilt, you can’t argue, remedy your faults’.  I find myself feeling like this quite a lot, in most confrontational situations, that there is an element, an overriding element, that just wants to say sorry and make peace.  I’m confusing myself here.  Personal and class interest, class as in class action.  I’m not sure how much I can realistically give ground if I am to come out of this with any sense of self that I recognise.  An apology wouldn’t lead very far with people who are determined to see me as mentally ill.  It wouldn’t ultimately help.

Etc.

The Trial  So far K has been visited on by people in his flat telling him he is being tried but no crime has been cited.  So he is confused and paranoid and evasive of proper legal action.  He is playing detective and is trying to be self-reliant.  My copy has a quotation on the back from a Daily Telegraph review which says ‘This compelling, prophetic novel anticipates the insanity of modern bureaucracy’.

Pro Choice

In All In the Mind, BBC Radio 4 on Wednesday, they were talking about a new venture in Manchester where patients who would traditionally be treated with anti-psychotics, or anti-psychotics and talking therapies, are being treated with CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) alone.  The programme has several testimonials that this is working for those people.  It acknowledges that it doesn’t work for everyone, but that neither do drugs work for everyone, and stresses that it is about choice, which it says the NICE guidelines say should  be given to everyone diagnosed with schizophrenia.  The programme acknowledges that while the NICE guidelines say this, many people diagnosed with schizophrenia are not given this choice.

There is a bit near the beginning about the USA presidential elections. It lasts a short while and the above follows it.

I didn’t know about the NICE guidelines.  Maybe the team here interprets them as meaning you should be given a choice of medication.  My situation has not felt right to me for a long time.  The only choice I have been given, which is no choice at all, is oral or injection.  I am being forced to take drugs.  As I have said before, literature on our boards says that this trust does not tolerate bullying, fear and other such things.  I quoted this to the doctors and they didn’t care.  One of them talked about me being abusive when my speech became heated, totally blind, so it seemed, to what they were doing to me.

The decision makers at Highbury Hospital think they don’t have to be nice, or that niceness is all right for moving on, once the abusive decision has been made and is being enforced.  They should not be moving on like that regardless and without me.  If I am living in unreality, it is their unreality that I am being required to live in.  That one unacceptable little thing which I am visited with twice a day.  These people are not trustworthy.

My Website Design

Most of my comments go to the spam section of my correspondence, and I have stopped looking on the whole as I think there is probably a good reason.  However, it might be that my settings are too tight and that I have designed it that way.

I have noticed that some people like my site and are asking me if I designed it myself.  The answer is no, it is a theme on WordPress called Motion, by Volcano.  The only hand I have had in its design is the choosing and placing of widgets.

Thank you for liking my site.  I like it myself today, but I tend to feel that when people praise my site they are being sarcastic.  Certainly I like reading other sites which are plain white background, or at least brighter than my dark blue.

I noticed a whi;le ago when I had much more spam than usual that there were a lot of copied comments praising my site.  It reminded me a bit of organisations I have belonged to – well OK, the church – when they have said about writing to MPs that we could use a form letter.  I’m afraid that I have dismissed their sincerity, rightly or wrongly, and some of them were very praising or grateful, it seemed.

Please forgive me if I have wrongly left things in spam which were sincere comments and appreciation.  I suppose the same should go for criticism as well, but I am getting heaps and heaps of praise and I am suspicious of it.  Again, sorry for those who really meant it.

I had a conversation with my advocate today and discovered that it is possible to complain about the tribunal hearing.  I asked her, and she said it was the first time anyone had asked, but yes it is possible.  Otherwise it is a bit like having a bin lid shut on top of you.  People (including me) freak out or go into decline because they don’t realise how many rights they do have.

I’m putting weight on so Dr Jaffer wants to change my medication.  In the meantime we had hotdogs for tea, or sausage, chips and beans, followed by pudding.

The woman who screams and shouts, reportedly because she is deaf, Chris, a male nurse into religious harassment and mind games, was talking to her at 10.15 onwards near my room, with me feeling as if I was being sprayed with acid.  He was doing it in the open regardless of my feelings or anyone else’s, when he could have left her in peace (and the rest of us), or encouraged her to go to her room with him, since it was obviously causing at least me distress.  She was as sulphuric as the woman who used to live over what was my temporary accommodation, but Dr Jaffer is insistent that it didn’t happen to me there at all, even though here it is all over again on the ward.  I was so upset I was shouting at them to stop, saying things like ‘steal my home then bring me into an environment which is an exact replica’.

I’ve got a manager’s meeting Wednesday 14th November.  I hope they will see their way to being more reasonable by then.  Dr Jaffer has not told me she has changed her mind about nothing really happening.  Chris calls himself a Christian.  He did a quiz which I only became a part of because I happened to see it in passing.  In it he talked about pride, and baby animals, the sphinx.  He said it was compiled by the staff.  I tried a few times recently to say hello to him but he turned away so his gaze was somewhere else, before saying hello.  At the time I thought it was like trying to train a dog.  He calls people in my hearing like ‘yip, yip’, here girl style.

Housing has said that it might be down to the therapeutic decision as to whether or not I can be allocated a home.  There is little, in my opinion, which is therapeutic about this place.  Occupational therapy is supposed to be therapeutic, but I find it controlling and judgmental.  I don’t know what their stance is at the moment but I need it to be something better than keeping me homeless in hospital while I have to keep paying about £160 a month for storage.

Psychological Football

I’m always better when I go out.  Yesterday I didn’t go out because I wanted to save money.  Having just bought a month’s top up for my internet dongle I am down to £5 per day until next Wednesday, when I get my DLA.

Have I mentioned that there is a deaf lady on the ward who screams and shouts at the top of her voice?  I got in in time for dinner so I wouldn’t have to spend money on food and almost as soon as I walked through the door, as I was having a conversation with one of the staff, she suddenly exploded right near me, and I just felt shock waves, as I do every time she does that.  I screamed myself to let the shock out.

Going back to money, it is really hard for me having 5 hours a day off the ward when I have no home to go to.  Everything I want to do is going to cost money, especially if I want to eat.  If I use the free internet facility at places I feel obliged to buy something.  If I was at home it would not cost me nearly so much for a cup of tea/glass of wine and a sandwich.  At the moment both the housing people and the hospital are maintaining that they are waiting on each other before I can be housed.  Tomorrow I have a meeting with my key nurse and the housing advocate.  I hope some progress has been made.

Calling us mentally ill if we don’t believe that about ourselves is a visceral, mind-burning thing.  To then have people making fun of the way you speak, clashing pots and pans at significant intervals, and competing with you for your own breathing and speaking and generally acting like pack animals is more than you should be expected to deal with.  But that was what I had at dinner time.  It is open season for mockery.  Jess was scowling.  I see them hugging and sharing the love with each other as they leave, but some of us don’t even get a real personality to speak to, let alone love.  Today Linda was in the kitchen, and Liz and Luke.  It appears they thought my upset was hilarious, if Luke’s reaction was anything to go by.  It is war, nothing else.  When dealing with people who do not recognise their right to label people that way, mental health staff are engaged in a civil war with captives they hold and torture with drugs and other forms of torment.  I see their anger and sometimes I think I shouldn’t trust them and other times I think I should trust them.  It isn’t going to happen though.  Because I am writing this, and they are reading it.  I am fully convinced, after several instances that were too close to be ‘just coincidence’, that the police are monitoring both my blog and messages I have sent via my phone a couple of times.

As I came off the ward I spoke to someone on the building staff and it was obvious from his response to me that he had no time for anything I had to say.  I had thought he was a decent person, but his voice was full of derision when I spoke to him today.

There is a nurse called Vymla who has a couple of times burst out with ‘hi honey’ either to me or ‘on the telephone’ when I have been around.  Something in the tone of voice made me feel it was deliberate.  On the day that I was first due to be assessed for a section 3, having just a few days before discovered that I had been in hospital for nearly a month and none of my relatives knew, because although one had been nominated as closest relative, it came back in the paperwork that no one had been nominated, I was really upset because I was being given only 3 or 4 hours notice with no one knowing I was even there.  Vymla opened the office door and said she was sorry she had to open the door, but I wasn’t shouting loud enough.  I told her to stop being sarcastic and she said she was never sarcastic.  Am I supposed to laugh at this later when things have calmed down and take it all with a pinch of salt?

I don’t think I’ve mentioned Vymla before.  There is another one called Annie who comes at me with faces, it is really grotesque.  One day just as I got back, when the olympics were on, she got me in a long conversation and followed every change in expression in my voice.  I started doing the raise at the end of my sentences, like we have learned from Australia, and she matched me move for move.

I managed to get the first assessment for a section 3 moved to a few days after, maybe Monday where it had been Friday.  They weren’t willing to give way at all until I brought out a pen and paper, then suddenly it all changed.

My last section before this one, a section 5(2) involved a Dr Singh who acted as if he was giving me the third degree.  I hadn’t met him before.  He said, and Liz backed him up, that I had said something I hadn’t.  At that point I wished that I had legal representation and witnesses, but apparently you can’t get them for an assessment.  I forgot his name part way through and asked him to remind me and he was very aggressive, demanding of me why I had forgotten his name, I shouldn’t have forgotten, I had forgotten other things as well.  But I answered all of his questions correctly about the day, date, time, who is the prime minister (though I had to think about that one, I had Margaret Thatcher in my mind).  What I am saying is that the assessments can be, and in my experience have been, a free space for bullying and belittling the patient when neither advocate nor solicitor is there to see.  I think I should have been entitled to an advocate and I can’t remember why I didn’t have one, but as the law stands at the moment I am only entitled to a solicitor after the decision has been made to put me on a section.

Then they act as if what they have done is a perfectly normal way to behave in any relationship.

Someone recently said you don’t get any peace until they have you on drugs.  It seems to me that fits my experience, that they want you on drugs, possibly it makes them feel better.  I asked at one point if I could have the section 3 without the drugs, if they were worried about me leaving hospital with nowhere to go.  When they get you on drugs it seems like ‘fight over’ in many ways, for them.

Today’s Dinner and Matters of the Heart

I was thinking today about a couple of people we have on the ward.  One lady cannot speak intelligibly after an accident and/or damage/operation on her brain.  Another is said to be deaf.   For both of them I think this is the wrong place for them to be.  It is frustrating for them and all of us.  The lady who can’t speak has learned to speak a few words, strengthening my belief that rehabilitation of her speech is possible.  I am not aware that she is getting any support or therapy towards that end.  If my awareness is accurate it is obvious that, having not been a party to any decision on things at that level if any has been taken, I don’t know why.

The lady who can’t speak started ranting at me when she reached over me and put her sleeve in my dinner at the hatch. For all I know she might have been saying ‘sorry’, but all I knew was that she was shouting and wouldn’t stop, right next to me, with staff standing by and not intervening.  I told her to stop talking at me like that because she knew I couldn’t understand her.  I thought I heard one of the domestic staff say ‘bitch’, and I said ‘I’m not a bitch, I’m sick of abuse’, and staff standing by and doing nothing.  What are they doing, standing by and watching it unfold before deciding whether or not to stop it?  Luke said he didn’t think anyone would be calling me bitch, and he should know, in that situation, he was standing right next to the domestic that I thought had said it.  I’ve heard other things like that as well, so I’m not discounting my own understanding – angry at me and despising me for standing up for myself when they don’t stop the woman ranting at me.  Why?  I came away feeling and believing that Luke was just playing the role of the nice guy, even if he didn’t do anything to help.  They started giggling and laughing behind me, among themselves.  They rebuild themselves and help themselves relax while ignoring us.

I asked another patient if she watched ‘Doctors’ at 1.30pm weekdays on BBC1.  I told her that yesterday there were definitely 2 of the ‘staff’ characters recognisable from here and that they had done exactly the same thing with staff in London, and that they were blaming me when I had already told them from the beginning that this was happening.  For trying to act responsibly I have been told that it is evidence of ‘(my) mental illness’ and medicated into exhaustion, while having other people pull shocked disapproving faces at me and calling me bitch – or using the word against someone else and me mistaking it for being aimed at me.  Both are equally unacceptable.

Someone else was saying, before that, that she had been sent the same sort of food for weeks running, and I sympathised with her, saying they shouldn’t employ someone in a place like this who doesn’t know how to cater properly for different diets, because this is not a hotel.

The girl I said was being bullied in one of my last posts has become dependent on everyone rather than being the strong, forthright person she seemed to be when she first came in.  We all pipe sweet pipings in the end.

I moved rooms a few weeks ago.  My old one had a fan or something really loud right outside, and the cigarette break.  I’ve moved to the quiet side.  There is a man in one of the buildings who kept crying out ‘oh’, loudly and pathetically.  People kept trying to stop him.  One day there were two of them, one of them ended up crying out ‘help us’. I’ve had that on my mind ever since but for some reason I’ve only just got round to writing about it.  A woman in the ward told him to ‘shut up’, women from here were imitating him and ended up shouting ‘we love you’.  I shouted to him to shut up at least once.  When I was upset a man shouted at me to shut up.  This place is awful.

There is a lady on the ward who has been getting quite upset.  Talking about staff getting to go home and buy things on dirty money, talking about slurring her character.  Last night the staff listened to her in silence, this morning one of them was talking back at her.  She was saying they were slurring her character and she said she was going to complain and that she had before and would do so again,  Jess kept saying ‘good’ and another patient standing with the nurse was saying to her ‘do you have one’ (character), and made another comment as well, and Jess sided with her saying ‘pinch of salt’ to her about what this other lady was saying.

I’ve been there.  It hurts, it’s frightening and it shouldn’t happen.  The lady was saying that she wanted a transfer because she was being bullied by staff and patients.  It certainly sounded that way this morning.  I’m not saying it because I am perfect, but because I am equally vulnerable in this situation.

This evening I started singing, quietly, ‘the king is in the all together’.  I’ve never realised its full meaning before.  At first it wasn’t intentional.

Real Or Imaginary?

I just thought, while having my almost 0% protein content lunch:  If they can tell me that hostels here are bad, why can’t (or won’t) they ‘believe’ me when I say what has been happening to me in the community – why do they maintain that what was happening to me there, and the way the council and the police dealt with it, weren’t bad, but a product of ‘my mental illness’?

Are things only bad if judged so out of the minds and mouths of these dubious professionals?  One of them even said to me that the police are a law to themselves.  It is difficult for me to know with any certainty if there is anything to choose between these two bodies of professionals with regard to that.

At my appeal the other day they were saying that I wrote ‘derogatory’ remarks about the staff.  Isn’t it hard not to?

Yesterday was really unsettled here and a nurse interrupted my time with another nurse to say they needed to be out there and seen.  The tv room was the point of conflagration and congregation.

All Over the Place

I’m all over the place today. and was yesterday as well.  Should I go to church, or contact the media, or make contact again with my uncle?  Last time I went to him he turned me away.  So has everyone else though, at different times.

Who is the least to blame for their hacking of my computer and telephone?  Who can I least condemn for that and justify the most?

Life on the ward is violent and angry.  It runs completely counter to my life choice.  I was on a section 3 until I finally moved all my stuff out of my temporary accommodation on the Friday, then my section was rescinded on the following Monday, so technically I could leave, but I now had no home.  After a period off my section but feeling really distressed by the violently broken nights, when I tried to discharge myself they didn’t seem to know, between them, what they were doing, but they put me back on a section 3.

This place, patients and staff alike, are hurting me. Being here is making me very unhappy and repressed.  I know this place is bad for me, but they are telling me I need to be here.  I know I don’t and that it isn’t good for me to be here.    It isn’t good for anyone.  The kind of relationships that exist in a place like this, doing what they do, can only be diseased.  I can’t even discharge myself at the moment into the ‘really bad’ hostels they say exist here.  At least if I could do that I would be taking responsibility for my own life.  It might be easier if housing seemed to be doing something, like offering me accommodation.  I can’t remember the date I was interviewed, but it is over a month ago, maybe 2.  Even if I am offered accommodation I assume that the lifting of my section 3 won’t automatically coincide with that.

I keep coming out of my room to see staff members immediately change the expressions on their faces, when they see me.  There is something wrong with this and I am frightened.

Convulsed

My medication has been increased from something I was comfortable with to an amount which makes my limbs go haywire and I have minor convulsions every night.  I have mentioned this to the staff and they said they might think about changing my medication.  I was on 10 mg of olanzapine and it has been increased to 15.  I am taking procyclidine with it but it is making no difference. I wake several times a night, both too hot and angry, my arms and legs flailing and rigidity in my back.  I think that is my fault, that it is happening because I am not handling myself properly and that I need to take myself into deep relaxation and acceptance of the medication to let it work properly when I flail and get the convulsive feelings.  That is when I am not thinking that this medication and everything else I am not being protected from in here are a very brutal way to access my emotions.

How Useful is Philosophy?

When I was in my 20s I was aware of a stereotyped response people came out with about the usefulness of philosophy, ie that it was probably no use at all when it came to the practicalities of life.  In that stereotype people who wanted to study philosophy were asked what use it would be for anything.

I was just thinking about that.  I haven’t given it much time before writing, maybe only about 10 minutes.

The conclusion I came to was that every life action comes out of an underlying philosophy, whether conscious or unconscious.  That people who say they have no time for philosophy are unconsciously adopting that of pragmatism, though they would deny they are moved by any philosophical position at all.

In Colossians 2:8 it says that they should not let anyone take them captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy because in Christ we have fullness.  In the context of the chapter it says that.  I have been wary of philosophy for many years on the strength of that, as have many others.  I have thought, with many others, that true Christianity and conversion was what was needed.

He does say ‘hollow and deceptive’ though, and one hopes that he is not putting all of philosophy into that bracket.  Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.  It is true that no one comes to the Father but by Him.  Among His disciples He always preached non-violence, though He acknowledged that those who did not embrace His teaching would go to war but that the disciples were not to be afraid because wars were bound to happen.

There are many who would resent the Christian position, unadorned, being thrust into their faces as the solution to life.  I think that an awareness and understanding of philosophy is at least a bridge in cross-cultural communication between Christians and non-Christians and the arguments for the Christian position can be found in and through other philosophies which people who would consider themselves anti-Christian and anti-religion would engage with more readily.

It must be the ultimate in unaccountability to say that we recognise no philosophy or religion at all.  I think it is true to say that there can be no lasting peace without recognition on both sides of an immovable higher authority to which each side submits itself throughout.  So I find myself unable to reconcile Jesus’ statement that there would be wars with the Church of England prayer ‘give peace in our time, oh Lord’, because different people groups do not recognise the same authority, and each people group recognises its authority in ways that make them at odds with others in their communities.

So is God just an imposition of the strong on the weak?  Having experienced many things, including physical healing, I cannot say so.  To me it is not enough to say that everyone has the power to heal and not refer that power back to a giver, especially as the healing I received was in a Christian context.

But I do think that people who have no time for religion or philosophy are dangerous people to be in control.

I think I started thinking about this today after listening to a Noam Chomsky recording on Napster, about mafia and hegemony.

Gawdon Bennett . . .

WE ARE THE POWERLESS!!!!!!!

If people who are afraid in circumstances from which they cannot extricate themselves because the authorities won’t let them (ie authorities are irresponsible in their positions) get angry and start slamming doors, while it is uncomfortable for the rest of us, that doesn’t mean they are mentally ill. If they are afraid to speak about what is happening or about what they are feeling, for fear it will make things worse for them in terms of deepening their diagnosis, the professionals need to be the first ones to come out explicitly and say they have the same awareness of things happening outside of our control.

I can remember when it first started happening to me.  I would shout and scream and hit my door with my umbrella because in my fear and anger I felt I had no other outlet.

It needs to be explicit, otherwise if people are not willing to respond in an attempt at psychodrama they can be left with an added burden of guilt feelings towards the initiator.  As much as we might like them, that isn’t fair.  It is engaging our emotions in what, for us, is a non-consenting situation which is not required by law because we are children to be taught or prisoners to be punished or rehabilitated.

What Is Disablism?

After my last post I thought I had better check and see, though it seemed obvious, what disablism is.  I put ‘what is disablism’ into Google and the search came up with some sites, including this one from a feminist perspective.  I would add to it that disablism is saying that everything you say about your social situation and background is false because you are judged to have a mental illness.  Or is it that you are lying about your life so you must be mentally ill?  Though I’ve been completely honest and said nothing which isn’t true.

I talked about Emily Pankhurst in my first meeting with my psychiatrist here and I was told not to start on that one, though I meant it earnestly with all my heart and mind.  I said she had not fought for women’s rights and suffrage for women in power to subjugate other women or define them as they did not wish to be defined.  They dismissed it as the ploy of a mentally ill person who would use anything to get out of the psychiatric situation.

‘What Is Disablism’  is a good search to put into Google.  I have only used the first result but there are others of interest.

Tattle-Tale Post Review

Saw Dr Jaffur and Dr Fahy today with Alison Harrison, the ward manager.  Dr Jaffur was the only one of the three who spoke.

Dr Jaffur asked me a few questions about how I was feeling.  She asked about medication.  She asked about the ‘feelings’ I was having. of being harassed, etc.  I asked her to tell me if she was acknowledging that it was not all just in my mind and she said she was not acknowledging that, she thought they were just feelings, after I had told her about the times men have drawn level with me and cleared their throats straight into my ear as they pass.  Like the people in London who used to draw level and scream in my ear as they passed.  I heard someone talking about it on the radio, acknowledging it as a phenomenon, however much it is magnified or not magnified by my sensitivity and upset about it.

I got up, refusing to continue the review.  I held my finger up and said she had a vested interest in the situation and in not acknowledging the outer reality of what I was saying.

I came out really upset and angry.  I was saying that she was stupid or dishonest, that she was insisting that my whole life experience as I recount it is just feelings born of my mind.  I was saying she had no right to say that, just because in her judgment I am mentally ill, real things like harassment don’t happen to me.  I was saying I understood my life better than she did because I had a background in real therapy.  I said ‘oh, she must have a gift in clairvoyance, then, which is more than I have’.  I meant distance viewing but couldn’t remember the term.  I don’t have any of those gifts.

Tommy Boyd once said that his dog once ate his shit.  I thought he was talking about me swallowing an act. Whether he was or not, I have swallowed this, whether he meant it or not: he said something about God and not believing in Him, but rather being alone and acting and deciding alone.  This is something I have come to value, even though I believe in God.  It is, of course, the existentialist position.  Certainly you can’t go to the Bible and apply it to your situation when it involves people in power who do not share your position.  Christians differ with Christians.  You have to think with the material and spoken facts and limit yourself to those, in some situations.  I love Tommy Boyd.  I don’t know if he could love me.

I felt, rather, looking back, that it was Dr Jaffur who was putting herself in a position of deep denial, medical book guided fantasy, spinning something from her training which is not true of my life and has no connection with it of my choosing.

We all know about hate crime, including hate crimes against disabled people.  In our dining room we even have literature on the wall which says that this trust doews not tolerate disablism.  I think that is what the doctors and nurses here are engaging in every time they relate a concern you express back to mental illness.  They don’t want to know about reality.  Especially when they themselves abuse their positions and don’t recognise proper boundaries.  They seem to reason that we are ill therefore they can be lazy, or act as if they are in a disfunctional intimate relationship as the abusive, ridiculing, begrudging, demanding and superior partner.

Linda the nurse came in and told me to calm down as there were ladies who wanted to get their lunch.  I said i wasn’t saying anything they wouldn’t say themselves and that they were on my side.  I asked another patient what she thought and she said she didn’t know what to say.  Linda told me it wasn’t fair to involve the other patients, even though she was the one who had first invoked them on her side.  I think Errol, who was serving lunch,was coming in every time I stopped speaking.  Maybe that was why I didn’t feel able to stop.  I asked the person serving with him for a plastic white spoon to take out with me, and his body language seemed to me to indicate that he was unhappy with my use of the word ‘white’, though for me it was natural and just a description of the spoon, to create a focus on what I was asking for.  He has involved me in accusations of racism in the past, and has taken his own actions towards me and made out that it is me harassing him rather than the other way round.

Linda left as I was still speaking and I mentioned the night before the 40th anniversary of my father’s death and how she had not defended me against a patient who had hatefully and angrily said that everyone had problems and she didn’t want to know mine.  I said Linda had no rights towards me at all.

We all know about hate crime.  Dr Jaffur is not willing to acknowledge any possibility that I may be subject to it in any circumstances.  I wonder what she thinks of the very publicised case a few years ago where a mother in Leicester took her own and her disabled daughter’s lives after years of harassment they had not received adequate help and attention for from the police, who I think publicly apologised for this and said they would try harder in the future.  Short of corruption and self-protection, why is it not possible, in her mind, and the minds of other staff, that I am actually experiencing the harassment I say I am?  I don’t have bruises to show for most of it, and they made a mental health assessment justification out of the bruises they did see when I was advised to go to Queen’s Medical Centre and have it looked at.

Are they so scared of the consequences of this kind of abuse towards me that, for some reason, even though it has been recognised for others, they are unwilling to recognise for me that I am in a situation of ongoing harassment and intimidation unless it gets stopped?  That is the only reason that makes any sense for this willful presentation of themselves as blind to the possibility that I am paranoid because I am being harassed.

Hillsborough Report

On Wednesday it was reported on Radio 4 that around 100 police statements were altered following the Hillsborough disaster and the situation was made to look like the fault of the public rather than the police.  Someone speaking on Radio 4 said that they did not normally believe conspiracy theories but that this time it was evident.

But that fact has taken all these years to be established and be reported.

To me it seems reasonable to believe that there are many other conspiracy theories which are equally true, including the conspiracy of the mental health system and its brutal approach to helping people to deal with their mental health problems, relationship problems, emotional problems.

I say therapy which is therapy is consenting, and nothing involuntary can fit that description or be ultimately therapeutic (unless it is shock therapy or reality therapy, but then is it really therapy, or just more repression/suppression and ‘learning your lesson’?).

Twenty-three years after Hillsborough this has come out, though the event is over and done with.  For people enmeshed in the mental health system it is ongoing and some do not survive.  People have been killed by inappropriate restraint methods and application, as well as by death at their own hands for others, preferring, I suppose, to die at their own hands rather than to keep going through the seemingly endless cycle of crisis and hospital admissions where the facts they know of their lives, better than the mental health service staff do, are often invalidated and contradicted by the insistence on a mental health diagnosis. 

I have recently felt hopeless and helpless and that, if I were a different person, I might kill myself rather than continue to go through this cycle.  I did deliberately overdose once, in 2003.  I took almost 100 paracetamol and lay down to sleep, not caring whether I woke or not.  I woke and stumbled into the kitchen and vomited.  The church I was going to at the time didn’t know this, but it was just before I was confirmed.  I ended up in hospital on a drip.

I have heard since Wednesday another programme on Radio 4 talking about the IPCC (Independent Police Complaints Commission) and the experience of some that it has failed to deliver for them.  I have only approached them about one thing and I didn’t follow it through to the end.  I tried, but the police service was not very co-operative and I ended up leaving it because of other more immediate pressures.

I spoke to one of the nurses recently and told her that the support I needed was legal support in the community when situations arose which I had not contributed to in the locality and which were a disturbance to me.  I mentioned that the police are supposed to do something after the third report from one individual, and she said that what they did would not necessarily be what the individual wanted and that they would not necessarily interpret the situation as the individual did.  She also said that the police are a law to themselves, a statement which could be interpreted her evasion of the issue, among other possibilities.

Today in Redwood 2 – Pre-Review

I have just explained part of my situation as I understand it to one of the other patients.  She has confirmed that she has been aware of things on the television reflecting us and that it has only been during this admission and had never happened to her before.  I told her I had had it for 16 years.

I’m writing this in Word at the moment, before I go out.  It is easier as it gives me a degree of privacy I can’t get outside.  I find myself wishing I had done this before, because I am feeling as if my head is beginning to calm down and I am becoming less afraid and disturbed by noises outside my room. I suppose the reason I haven’t is because of the way I was approached before by Alison, the ward manager, when she expressed concern over ‘what I was using my laptop for’.  I have been afraid I might have it taken away.

What has happened today?  To start with they told me that my review would be on Friday and not tomorrow, as I had been told by Dr Fahy’s new SHO last Friday that it would take place this Friday and that medication was definitely going to happen following the review.  That was how I understood it.  Today they told me the review would be on Friday but that medication was written up to start tomorrow, Wednesday.  I had thought it was good news that the review was going to be on Friday because as I understood it, medication was going to start again then, when I had had a chance to re-present the reasons for rescinding the section.  Before I have always assumed that waiting for the tribunal was all I could do, but this time has been different.  Because the section 3 I was under for a few weeks from May was rescinded before tribunal I realised that I could argue for it to be rescinded from day one and that waiting for the tribunal is not my only hope.

When they told me that the review would be on Friday but that medication was going to start again tomorrow I felt really upset and I said ‘this is an assault.  If the worst comes to the worst I’m going to phone a radio station’.  Anyway, later they said the staff team had talked about it and that they were going to recommend that medication be delayed until after the review, but that it was Dr Jaffur’s decision (I’m not sure of the spelling).  I was told that Dr Jaffur was away today and might be away tomorrow as well.  I spoke to my advocate who told me that she had phoned the ward last week and been told I was not on the unit, whereas the truth was that I had no leave, except Section 17 worded that I had no leave except for medical emergencies, which I have never received before.  That isn’t leave.  An emergency has to receive attention by law.  At that point I had already not eaten all weekend except for one sandwich and a few bite size shreddies.  During the weekend they decided they wanted to take any food I had out of my room, I suppose to put pressure on me to come out of my room.  But the fact was that at the time they wanted to do that I had no food.  They didn’t take great pains to find out why I wasn’t coming out for food (they knew about harassment and stuff which they keep insisting isn’t happening and that they have seen no evidence of).  The point is, I had no leave at all last week and never left the ward, but my advocate was told I was not on the unit when she phoned.  At that point the Section 3 was back in place and seeing her would have helped me.  That was probably the day she phoned to say she wouldn’t be available for the scheduled review on the Friday and left a message for me which was not passed on.

Anyway, later today they put the review which they had told me was going to happen on Friday back to tomorrow, after telling both me and my advocate that it was going to happen on Friday at a time I can’t remember now.  I found this out when my advocate phoned me on my mobile and left a message for me to this effect saying that I knew and had agreed to it.  I think this must have come from Dr Fahy’s new SHO who came to my room to engage me in a conversation about times, when I had just realised that I was being kept spinning and not allowed to stop as people kept coming wanting to discuss one piece of conflicting information after another.  I told her that I thought that was what my key nurse was for, to pass on the decision rather than different people keep coming to me with conflicting information and trying to get me involved with the conversations.  I have found it exhausting, and this is not the first time it has happened.  She did not tell me this had been a definite change and I heard it from my advocate who said she had been told I had agreed to it.  They told me Dr Jaffur was not going to be available on Friday.

I refused medication as soon as it was offered to me the first time Monday last week, on the grounds that this trust, according to its literature, does not tolerate fear and intimidation, and that this was the effect of what they wanted to do to me.  They told me it could be enforced but I argued calmly and assertively that although it could be, it didn’t have to be.  Eventually they accepted that and my nurse told me that it would be discussed again at review.  I had been told in London that you can refuse until the next review so I was fairly confident.  I had tried to say that to them before though and they had pushed it through anyway, not acknowledging the validity of what I was saying.  I suppose all the manoeuvring and manipulation today has been because that is the legal position and because I said it would be an assault to go ahead with medication before review and that if the worst came to the worst I would call a radio station.  But how many other people do not win this fight?  Every time I show signs of relaxed and healthy communication people start getting uncomfortable or looking cross or disapproving.  I am really feeling bullied and have been for ages.  Every time I speak the nurses copy what they hear.  I said that to the other patient I have mentioned and she said she had noticed it happening to me.  It is either the smile offensive or the snoot offensive and every time I open my mouth they push me and keep pushing me for a bit more, or talk over me, sometimes deliberately scrambling their own speech and being completely provocative and outrageous.

Someone on Radio 4 today mentioned ‘ad hominems’, a personal attack in an argument, and I thought about that in the context of all the times people have talked about illness and medication every time I have felt strong and hopeful in communication.  Yesterday Alison told me she had seen no evidence of harassment and she said she thinks I misinterpret things a lot.  I thought afterwards that that would be like someone who didn’t speak a language telling someone who did that they were getting it wrong.  She doesn’t see all the links that I see because she is not me and doesn’t have complete access to everything in my mind and memory that makes it understandable to me.  I told the other patient about it today because she came out of her review angry and I realised how powerless she must be feeling so I decided she was entitled to know that she wasn’t mistaken about the things she was seeing.

I can’t remember if I said in my last post that I have submitted the same complaint 3 times via the email address given on the website for the hospital and that it was supposed to have been answered within 3 days.  Today, 13 days later, Alison has received it and offered me an ‘opportunity’ to talk about it.  At the time I was flustered and wanted to use my leave and said so, saying it was now 13 days on and this was now my time and I wanted to take it, but also that the hospital has already broken its side of the agreement and that I believed the way forward now was to talk to my advocate about it. This is something her approach to me did not acknowledge.  It feels almost as if all this stuff is now being presented to me thinking they can get me to co-operate in the hope that my section will be rescinded and medication become a non-issue.  It’s a complaint about the night when staff came into my room and turned the light on at 4.30 in the morning and continued to be unruly and I reacted in anger and desperation because of that and previous broken nights through angry door slamming that I had said would make me ill if it didn’t stop, and rather than leave me alone when I said I just wanted to be left alone to sleep they kept going, one of them with her foot in the door, and escalated it to the point that, even though I was informal, they had me medicated.  The next morning the same team turned the light on at 3 am, no explanations, apologies or anything.  The first time, even though I eventually said please and was beside myself with desperation because they wouldn’t just go and let me sleep, they kept going.  Then Alison yesterday was talking about me needing to deal with this thing with Errol, who was involved in that, and it is like telling someone they need to make peace with a person in authority over them who has raped them.  They seem to be contriving to make me feel emotionally and relationally obligated here.

On the night before I tried to discharge myself I stayed out rather than go back and sleep on the ward because I thought if I slept there I might weaken and decide not to discharge myself.  I decided I was in a stronger position because Shelter’s solicitors had told me that I could not make myself intentionally homeless from a hospital.  I spent the night in a hotel room and the next morning I turned on BBC news to see all this stuff about the Home Office wanting to take away the embassy status of the building where Julian Assange has taken refuge, so they could arrest him.  This kind of coincidence has happened to me before, and as I said in my last post, when I went back and they wouldn’t let me go, in spite of having told me after the first interview that I could go and then changing their minds, police helicopters were flying over the building.  Last night I thought that the only thing that made sense to me was that the authorities thought I had absconded (I didn’t know I could do such a thing as an informal patient, but the police were looking for me, I discovered when I was able to use my phone again to get the messages – the battery had run out because of a long conversation with Shelter’s solicitor and I didn’t have the charger, that all has to happen in the office) and that the right way to deal with it was to arrest Julian Assange.  I thought they must have thought that I was going to go back to Occupy or to the Ecuadorian Embassy, whereas actually my first intention was to go back to Housing Aid and get myself rehoused.  But when I saw that on the news I wanted to go to London.  I felt helped by the timing of the first set of leaks that came from Wikileaks.  I have written elsewhere on this blog about Julian Assange and what I thought about things being reported around him, for what that writing was worth, and I feel it can’t have been much because everything I said must have been obvious to any good lawyer, and they also would have known about loopholes and things I couldn’t possibly know about.  I think most things I write are a bit silly at best and that I shouldn’t think too much of myself because of them.  But if I am right in my interpretation of this situation I don’t understand why it can have ben seen as so important that they wanted to take away the embassy status of the building so they could arrest Julian Assange.

They have been saying that they have to extradite him to Sweden to answer charges there, completely failing to acknowledge the truth that he had always co-operated with them freely so talking about extradition in his case is cause for him to be concerned for his safety.  He has always co-operated with the inquiry and the process.  Maybe they want us to forget that so they can call him, as I heard someone say on the radio recently, a stupid, self-regarding idiot, or something like that.  I think it is likely that that description might be more accurately applied to me.  By the way, there is a place in Ecuador called Quito, it has been in Radio 4 news this week.  I thought it was the capital but a member of staff said it isn’t. But I used to live in Kitto Road, at my last London address.  I feel as if I am being wretchedly ungrateful for all the protection which is being offered and exercised towards me by all my various stalkers and hackers, state and otherwise.

My advocate asked me about 2nd opinion doctors and I told her that the doctor involved in the final assessment for a Section 3 hadn’t asked anything situation-specific and had wanted to know my life story, which  thought was not good enough.  She agreed with me, that he was not there to get my life story.  Also he kept smiling at me as if he understood what I was talking about, so eventually I asked him if he understood and he said no, and when I said that he was smilingas if he did, he said he was smiling to encourage me.  I am wondering how many other such situations have been similarly misunderstood.

They keep talking as if I am going to be at the hospital a long time and keep saying they will see me next time they are on, which in my key nurse’s case is a week and a half.  It is exhausting me.

There is a right to silence.  There is also a right to not recognise any relational responsibility when those who are trying to make you feel it are in power over you in a way which allows them to impose themselves on you physically against your will if you defer to them and allow them to go unchallenged.

In the first place they asked me what I would do if I wasn’t sectioned and said my answer might affect their decision.  I told them to make their decision and then I would make mine, at the assessment.  But last week in the review I didn’t attend because the advocate I had been expecting wasn’t there I felt completely happy and relaxed and in my right mind when I asked the review nurse to tell them I would stay until I was rehoused if they wanted me to but that I wanted to come off my section and I didn’t want medication, but they were not interested in that and took the control back and left me feeling insecure and unhappy again.

Jessica Blake (with apologies and sympathy)

Looks a bit like me and a bit like one of the ward nurses, Jessica. I have recently downloaded some William Blake, who I spent a lot of time on when I was studying for my English BA.  The same time PC Blakelock was killed in the Tottenham riots in the 80s after the death of a Mrs Jarrett, which was the name of another lecturer on that course.  I expressed my concerns in an email last year, or via the website, to the police.  That is not the first time my concerns have gone unanswered.  AOL today is the first time I have seen Jessica’s picture, I don’t watch tv in the tv room as a rule, it is too difficult and disruptive/competitive.  I also realised for the first time the other day that one of the Moors murders victims was called Keith Bennett, almost the same as my father’s name which I had told the assessment doctor the day before his mother died.

My psychiatrists, who have done some brutal and inadequate assessments on me over the last 2 weeks since I tried to discharge myself as was my right and they put me back on a section 3, are determined to forcibly medicate me.  They are tapping into the animal desperation in me and I believe there is potential for their actions to do more psychological harm than chemical good.  They are also disregarding the decision of my former trust that I was obviously not going to change my mind so they were no longer going to force the issue.  I had a conversation with one of my key nurses today who said they were seeing t as a fresh situation.  But I am the same person and should be respected for myself and the professional decision of those who have dealt with me before respected.  I have had such rudeness from some of them that I believe this is largely revenge for my blogging.  In spite of the fact I asked for help twice in my situation after I got into it with temporary housing, and didn’t get it, regardless of the fact Iwrote 8 pages saying why we would need help before I was even given the accommodation, on which they eventually changed the locks while I was in hospital without telling anyone, and that none of the decisions they have made have been communicated to me in writing – in spite of what my nurse said are the irregularities of the situation, these unreasonable people want to start again a battle which I have already won, after not knowing the serious and untrue accusations being made against me,with another trust.  My tribunal was successful.

I just walked in to a hotel reception where 4 men were standing, one of them saying ‘have you got any pussy organised’.  These people are animals of the lowest order.  I feel sick and frightened here, this place is evil and alien.  This is a Hilton hotel, but it is just like the worst pub people dressed up.  A few plush seats around, and men giving unwanted attention to an 11 month homeless woman who has no privacy at the moment to use the internet or anything else.

There are abusive relationships on the ward.  I think some of the staff have been willing to turn a blind eye to some of the harassment I’ve had from some patients because they know I am deliberately not naming patients.  Last weekend when I was re-sectioned I stayed in my room and didn’t eat, and they were not too worried about it.  Twice this week I have said that I did not want to go to the dining ro to be served by Errol because of his abusiveness towards me, and twice, including today, I was made to miss a meal because they would not support my attempt to protect myself.  As far as they are concerned, if there is a problem, it is me.  My nurse said that if they had done as I had asked and got my lunch for me it would have been seen as collaborating with me.  I am there involuntarily and under threat of forced medication and not being able to afford to get my food elsewhere, but also not being willing to subject myself to such a negative experience, or fudge and compromise and basically what is brainwashing if I am expected to go through that, and they are paid people employed by the trust.  If I allow myself to be subjected to harassment or assault, knowing that that is what it is, how does that show good mental health?  They said they would be collaborating with me if they enabled me to get some lunch, and they would not let me leave when I had a right without re-sectioning me (which interestingly was on Julian Assange day)and I have been saying repeatedly that my storage costs are nearly £100 per month and I need to stop the payments and have a home.  On the day they would not let me leave, police helicopters flew over the hospital.  That has happened before.  Big Brother re-enacted the Julian Assange situation in the embassy, with Julian Cleary and the woman off East Enders that I have been told looks like me.  I haven’t seen it, but I heard about it on the radio, and several staff came in exuding warmth and stuff at me.  I was angry that night.  I said the helicopters were about me, that it had happened when I first got there.  I shouted ‘God bless Julian Assange’.  For the first time I saw the footage where he shook hands with someone I had spoken to at London Occupy.  I’ve written about him elsewhere on this blog.  I told the staff that they were my captors, not my friends, and that I was terrified of them.

I feel betrayed by everyone who has ever put out anything which seemed positive towards me.  I feel as if they want me with my head psychologically kicked in.  I can’t go through this, and they can’t let me, without damage to my ability to relate to them.

My solicitor got in touch with the advocacy service for representation for me at last Friday’s review meeting.  On Wednesday the advocate phoned to say she couldn’t make it.  A message was left which was not relayed to me.  I didn’t know until Friday morning that no one was available.  On Friday afternoon Dr Fahy’s SHO told me that the next review would be next Friday and that from then I would be medicated, forcibly if necessary.  Today my nurse told me that the review and the medication has been written up for Wednesday, although she said Friday and that is what I have been preparing myself for.

I have submitted a complaint to the address given on the trust website, 3 times now over the last week or 2.  It says you should receive a response within 3 days.  I have received nothing.

I think these people are unscrupulous and will hurt me with compulsory medication if they can, whatever is going through in terms of asking my closest relative to apply for discharge for me (which need not be granted) at the time.  They have said it is not that they consider me a danger to myself or anyone else, but that they believe I have an illness that would benefit from medication, and are worried about what would happen if the same home situation occurred again, as if I had not asked for help and been failed by the authorities.  I said it wouldn’t occur again unless I was failed by the authorities when I asked for help again.  And as for a sickness that might be helped by medication – there are many medical professionals who do not take psychiatry seriously.  But a lay person in their power does not and they go to dehumanise them and denude them anyway.  I have lost most of my life to them, including the last of my reproductive years.  I have no partner and no children and now will not be able to have children.  This is a major trauma and grief for me which will never pass, and they want to add more abuse to it.  This is more like an irrational form of veterinary practice than medicine which should be practiced on a human being In the deep grief of childlessness and knowing that a lot of the blame lies at the doors of the authorities, including the NHS.  Do no harm, is that part of the oath?

‘Odd Thoughts’ Pocket Post

A few thoughts:

Coercive medicine is totalitarianism.  In itself and perhaps an expression of political or ideological totalitarianism and dictatorship.  In spite of all our fine words about freedom and a free society.  In practice it is not true.

Maintenance of the status quo.  I was thinking that policing approaches a person and a problem according to the way an area is generally defined and operates.  So rather than deal with violence and harassment and hate crime in what they have decided already is a rough area, they will just take out the person complaining.

However, in my case, after phoning the beat officer several times as instructed on my first approach to an officer who seemed very kind and reasonable, a message was left on my phone offering an appointment that I missed because of the way the welcome to messages was set up.  I got the impression from the company’s message that, before I could pick up my messages, I had to first input my name and other information vocally, and I didn’t want to do it at home and didn’t get round to it anywhere else, so I didn’t pick up the message offering me an appointment for the previous Sunday until I was in hospital, and after that nothing happened, I didn’t follow it up.

I was wondering if an individual has to be ‘part’ of something in the area to be taken seriously.

I’m in a different Caffe Nero today.  I’m wondering if staff in these places always set out to dominate, or run riot, with loud twittering and miaowing.  It is a great shame, they offer something which they sabotage and make unusable, at least for me.  Maybe they deliberately try to provoke me for the name check.  I think I have seen Coppelia use her face and eyes more naturally.

I always feel I have to be careful what I let myself be provoked into saying in hospital.  I feel as if they will use anything to get people back on a section.  I speak and the staff stop speaking in a straight line – some of them, anyway.  It isn’t only the staff that are entitled to be safe at their place of work, we the users are also, but most of us feel that as soon as we become subject to them we are not safe.  It feels like ‘no anger/negativity (from you) we’re bulies/too insecure’.

 

Further Observations from Today’s Post

I’m listening to Michael Mish, Conversations With God.  I put it on to write in the library, but as soon as  I started to listen to it I didn’t want to write anymore, and it felt as if that was all I needed for everything to be all right with the world.  Is that all I’ve been missing, all I needed, in my hospital world, for everything to be OK?  Or would I have felt undermined in that also?

I was in the park this afternoon and had tea which was meant to be lunch.  I said I felt surrounded by ugliness.  But perhaps that is because I’m not going to the park, I’m going into town, where everyone looks at me and makes comments, and I’m sometimes not sure if the comments are meant for me or not.

I think Michael Mish would not make a lot of difference to my existence.  I think the importance of his music to me would be patronised away.  I wish it had been different.  I lost all my belongings on the night of the Occupy St Pauls eviction, including my computer.  If I had had it it would have had all my music on and my temporary tenancy might not have gone so badly.

I don’t want to feel calm and pacified and happy as I do listening to this, because there were other things I wanted to say that I forgot.

Like yesterday Alison said that racism wouldn’t be tolerated and the police would be called in.  It felt like the time when my brother and sister decided to gang up and throw stones at me when we were small, and my dad smacked them when they came in after keeping me inside drawing because I was upset, then he said he would do the same to e if I did anything like that.  First they stoned me then my dad said he would smack me as well, if necessary.

I’m confused.  But everything I say gets negated if I say anything, so blogging and the complaints system feels like the only way forward.  I daren’t say I’m sorry and I daren’t say you’ve hurt me.  Pride?  Fear?  Justified or not?  In an ordinary relationship it might be a bit clearer than it is in a place where they insist I am mentally ill.  Perhaps it wouldn’t mean much to anyone.  The touchstone and the handover information from recent and distant past would still be the same.  But  I am sure that to some degree I am as addicted to writing as they are to calling me mentally ill.  I will betray anyone, even myself.  I will cause all kinds of problems for myself rather than not write.  I feel as if I am not giving myself or anyone else a chance.

While I wasn’t writing I was thinking things like all facts are for interpretation, and how you work with them affects their outcome.  If you approach them with love and through love it is better than if you try to expose people.

A practical thing about the ward is that there are no full length mirrors, and the mirrors we have in our rooms – well, mine is so high I can only see down to my nose.  And it is warped.  The mirrors in the bathrooms are as well.  I’ve been thinking that not even having an accurate idea what you look like is not good for you, especially under such circumstances.  I was wondering if I am just betraying my vanity.  I used to think that the best mirror is the eyes of other people.

Tommy Boyd used to say as well that living in bedsits was bad for people’s mental health.  I suppose it is, but plenty of rich and privileged people have mental health problems as well and commit suicide.  I used to think that if the people were nice you could live happily anywhere.  After all, I recently experimented with a tent and was looking forward to tent dwelling for a few months, the adventure of it.  I know it could have worked and, in principle, I could have been happy that way.

Back to the mental health system.  They don’t say they are sorry for the major stuff that hurts but try to carry on regardless but still call you mentally ill.  I was thinking the other day that, when they are talking about an imbalance of the brain, which brain have they been using as the ideal and the model of perfect balance?  Are we designed to live in perfect balance unto ourselves?  I read a book ages ago about temperaments and thought I had left it behind in my thinking.  Temperaments and personality types.  How they all fit together in a loving respectful relationship.

It isn’t fair anyway to be talking about imbalances in the brain while leaving intolerable situations unaddressed.  One of the problems is said to be that the brain produces ‘too much’ dopamine. Why would the brain do that?  Dopamine is a problem solving chemical.  It releases too much dopamine when it is trying to deal with an unsolvable problem.  If a problem is supposed to be the responsibility of the authorities and the authorities are not doing their job, no wonder a problem is unsolvable.  Or if a person is working with insufficient information.  For example, the mental health authorities treating me as a risk without having told me that I had been untruthfully reported to have chased a neighbour up the street with a knife.  I was accused of things by neighbours who said that cannabis was OK in their house as far as they were concerned, who looked through the slats of my blinds to see what I was doing in my kitchen when the flat was in silence and before doing so said ‘what is she doing in there?

In spite of all that I am still going to continue to be handled by them as if I have a mental health problem and might be a risk.  So if the same situation arises in the community again I have no confidence that I can report it without being considered to be experiencing auditory hallucinations.  Certainly not without feeling so degraded by the prejudice I would encounter by the things that have been said about me that living with the problem would almost have been better.

There is a very sharp voiced manageress lady here who is having a business meeting in the lounge rather than in an office.  I have Napster up as loud as it will go but every time I get a wind of where I want to go her voice penetrates.  It is a little too sharp and a little to high to feel natural or comfortable.  I am among spiritual and mental magpies again.  She always conducts her business meeting in the lounge in this way.  The other week she and her colleague even conducted a job interview right in front of me with no apparent regard either for me or the interviewee.  I have never felt more as if people are trying to tell me I am not important, or not welcome.  It is really embarrassing and uncomfortable for me, as I am not doing a good job containing and hiding my distress.  Hence another rambling post that says nothing very deeply.  I am wondering if I am ever going to be free to write as it comes to me, or if I am always going to have to make do with the approximation I am permitted?  It makes me think that maybe I shouldn’t be writing at all.  If frustration is all I am going to encounter I wish I wasn’t writing, especially when it is so important to me to communicate well.  I am wondering if they can hear a certain flow developing in my typing ad are reacting to that.  That is how it appears.  I think they are trying very rudely to get rid of me.  They must have an office for their meetings.  It is the Mercure on George Street.  I’ve been embarrassed here before.  The woman on reception is very perfunctory in her welcome and looks down at the desk.

I was thinking about the racism thing and feeling Alison had a point and that I had missed an opportunity to deal with an issue. I don’t know if I am right or not.  I can’t think here.  They are going right on, not apologising or recognising my distress or offering to move into an office.  They are being really rude.  It is like wave after wave of provocative, spiritual sludge, deliberate.  As soon as I started to type again after a break of a few minutes she started to raise her voice even more.  My audio is right up.  It feels like deliberate sabotage.  As someone who is paying for a drink here and use of the internet I shouldn’t have to approach them.  My frustration and discomfort are obvious.  I feel as if I am being grabbed by the throat all the time.

People keep positioning me at the moment, with their tone of voice.  They use a ‘professional caring therapy’ voice and I just want to talk normally, but when I do, when I am my open happy self, as I was the other night, one of the nurses immediately banged something down in front of me and started talking.  I was talking to Jack and saying hello and it was a controlling gesture.  I’m afraid I don’t get it, the reasoning, or lack of reasoning, behind that.  If it wasn’t deliberate, in light of things that have happened in the past it was frightening.

Yesterday afternoon, after I had hidden in my room all day feeling intimidated, Alison came into my room and started accusing me of racism.  She wasn’t concerned, or didn’t say she was, that I hadn’t been out of my room all day and had missed breakfast and lunch, she just came in saying that people had said I had been making racist comments.  I said instead of accusing me and assuming it was true, as she appeared to be doing (she asked me if I was aware that I was being racist in a way which sounded as if she was taking it for granted that I was), why didn’t she tell me who had said what, what I was supposed to have said to whom.  She never did.  It was me that brought up an incident which might have been perversely interpreted as racism with a girl who has been very aggressive towards me – note I said aggressive, not violent.  She didn’t raise anything else, so I suppose that was it.

She stood over me on my bed and suggested that I might want to come out and she would sit with me at dinner.  Part of me wanted to co-operate with that, but another part of me felt defensive and not confident after her initial approach.  I felt a lot of warmth from her which wrong-footed me.  I wanted the warmth and needed it but she had come at me aggressively and accusing in the first place, so I rejected it.

I talked to her later in her office.  I was upset that as my body started to show signs of relaxing (I batted my eyelids while talking, clearing my mind and emotions), she immediately copied it with her eyes fixed on me.  I felt controlled and suffocated.  I was shocked and offended that she did it  It felt like a denial of my individuality and an invalidation of (I’m in Caffe Nero.  I’m always frightened by ‘pussycat dolls’.  I knew what I was going to say after invalidation of but now I can’t remember.  That happens to me a lot.  I think I was going to say something like an invalidation of a movement into confident normality).  People borrow me or react to me all the time.  It freaks me out.  I suppose I’d like to say something to the ‘pussycat dolls’ but I daren’t.  I believe in psychic phenomena and know it is not a mental illness thing.  Every time I take control of where I am going I seem to get hit by ugliness or mirroring and I can’t cope with it.

Last night while I had my radio on in my room there was a woman who kept banging her door hard about once a minute for about an hour and a half.  She couldn’t hear my radio.  I don’t know if it was the same person, but someone was also purring something that sounded exactly like what was going on in my old temporary accommodation. I told one of the nurses afterwards and she said she knew.  At 1am the previous morning there had been people repeatedly slamming doors on or near my corridor and giggling.  She told me she had pleaded with them to stop.

You say something and you get told that there are a lot of ill people on the ward at the moment.  But I think that is evasive.  I think if these people are acting out of illness it is because they know what I know and the nurses know but the nurses won’t say.  Rather than talk about it they are doing with others what they have done with me, calling them ill.  If they don’t know or understand what is going on I suppose it will make them ill, to be kept in the dark and fed the proverbial.

I am in hospital because the authorities have let me down.  Alison was asking if I thought I misinterpreted things.  When people are treating me the way I have been treated, it hardly matters whether I am misinterpreting some things or not.  First deal with the mistreatment, then deal with the misinterpretations, if there are any.  I’m having a misinterpretation of myself constantly presented to me and forced on me if my behaviour doesn’t fit their interpretation.

As we finished the conversation in the office Alison said that they would have to be vigilant when I was around.

Before that when talking about misinterpretations I said that people also lie and that sometimes the staff were naive to take their word.  I suppose it could also be a matter of convenience.

The untrue accounts of me locking someone in my flat and putting the key down my trousers (!) is still doing the rounds when it comes to risk assessment.  I had an interview with someone from Gateway, for housing, last week.  It is prejudicing people against me even before we meet.  I have been told we can add a disageement to our information, but I’m not sure if we can get it removed altogether.  If we can’t, I can’t bear the way people are going to keep viewing me and writing about me in light of this malicious lie.

Staff who have been rude and unreasonable to me and even abusive keep forcing themselves on me to say hello without apologising or anything.  I feel bullied by it.  It is disrespect of my privacy and freedom of association, or right to not associate.  Errol still keeps forcing himself on me and on ordinary casual conversations which ave nothing to do with him.  I never ask him for anything, and when he is in the office and I ask someone else he exchanges derisive looks with people ad raises his eyebrows.  I’d rather go without than ask him for anything.  After the way he treats me, I feel embarrassed in a way I shouldn’t.  Because sometimes I see him weak and feel sorry for him and guilty.  But I feel so suffocated I can’t breathe and my mind is not in control at that time.

4 patients set on me at lunch time the other day and he was behind the hatch smirking.  There were other staff standing around.  No one told them to stop.  But they would have been straight on top of me.  Their practice of conflict resolution consists of finger wagging and telling people to shut up.  They don’t differentiate between aggressor and victim.  So it all keeps going and festering.  Luke came to sit with me.  At the time I didn’t see it as helpful.  He asked me if I wanted him to leave and I said yes please.

I keep feeling the only way out is to go back to Church.  But they promote the mental heath system and assume that, if a person is subject to it, it is necessary.  These days they say go to the doctor, take your medicine.  They are no more qualified to say that than they were to tell people not to, that God would heal them without medicine.  They have gone from one abuse of leadership position to another.  Surely they should be telling people and freeing people to make their own decisions.  They must be very frightened to need to take a position towards other people’s handling of their health decisions in that way.  But while they are I am frightened to go back.

These places are awful.  They see the expression of fear or anger or like emotions as things demanding to be medicated, not as an opening to a meaningful conversation with another human being.  Very roudy lady on the ward at the moment.  Threw a few things around, was screaming last night.  She has my sympathy,  The quality of some screams make you want to go to the person and help them.  She came in trying to be friendly, placatory, I suppose, but before long she was screaming.

I was thinking that they lock us up in these places in an enforced codependency.  They want us to be like them, and insofar as we are not, and the authorities can be made to look as if they permit us to be treated this way, they lock us up until we are a bit more like them, or whoever else it was that wanted to get us sectioned.  I can’t even spell this word, but it is a form of eugenics.  Tommy Boyd had some conversations on the radio about this subject.

I was thinking today that, if Tommy had confidence in me way back then and he is, as he has said, anti all the labelling of ordinary human behaviour and emotions as mental illness – if he had confidence in me and I didn’t respond as he had hoped, it might be right that I recognise that I have contributed to suffering and suicide over all the time I have been listening to him, which might have been prevented.  If these places are, as I keep saying, the UK’s concentration camps.

I have mixed feelings, always, about this.  Today there was a story about someone being force-fed because she did not have the capacity to make a decision herself. These are the kinds of stories which make me stop and think that maybe the psychiatric profession as we know it is necessary, even for those of us who are unwilling, because our fear of something so emotive and identity-challenging as being called mentally ill blinds us to the necessity of the treatment plans enforced.

If that is right then bang goes my assertion that medicine without consent is not medicine, ad that these places should only be fore people who are there voluntarily and no coersion should ever be used.

Maybe this is and should be a different issue from the incessant inconsistencies of application of policy and procedure within the institution, and the cruelty, contempt and violence, psychological and otherwise.

I don’t know.  There have been plenty of times that I have wanted to scream in distress and anger but have not dared for fear of the ‘consequences’.  I put that word in inverted commas, because so often I have heard parents say that children need to be taught that undesired behaviour has consequences, by which they mean a forfeit or a pnishment, sometimes physical.  If the consequences of behaviour are not inherent in the behaviour anything negative a person says is necessary for the offender to feel is not direct from the behaviour and therefore has nothing to do with it.

I’m tired.  I know there is more I want to write but I can’t think at the moment.

I talked to someone at a day centre in Chichester once, asking her if she knew of Tommy Boyd.  She said she didn’t like him and had heard him say that all psychiatric patients should be locked up.  I have a problem with this because I don’t know what to think of it.  I didn’t hear him say it.  And he has often said he sometimes says things to be provocative.  I didn’t hear him say it.  And he has had access to some of the essays I wrote for my English degree.

I keep being angry and ashamed, at the moment, of the ‘fact’ that I have been so arrogant and conceited towards Tommy, thinking he was taking from me rather than that he was representing to me what I had already learned, and also things of his own.  My heart twists when I think how hard he was trying to communicate with me and needing my co-operation.  Then I remember that the reason I have wanted to go it alone, as it were, was that I didn’t want this issue to be decided on gifts and abilities or social standing or connections. I didn’t want to be heard in the psychiatric situation because of who or what was on my side.  I wanted to be considered level and equal with the least gifted and the least desirable, because to fight this issue any other way is just another form of eugenics, in someone’s favour rather than against them.  From the start I have said and meant that I don’t want to be a hero (how can I be, there are areas of my life which are too awful to permit that, though I hear that the great Gandhi used to beat his wife).  I don’t want a statue erected to my part in the downfall of UK’s concentration camps.  I don’t want a foundation in my name, or my name in history for anything to do with any of this, should this great and necessary work be successful.  Because that perpetrates a mentality which says in the face of such awfulness ‘we need another (whoever)’ ‘there is nothing we can do, we don’t know enough about it, no one will listen to us, we know but we can’t do anything’.

I’m not special.  I love it when I feel I am, I feel happy and energised.  But I know that no awfulness anywhere is going to be stopped by maintaining the belief that we need to depend on the emergence of a special person.  If anyone is special, it is the people who are making me feel special.  I hope I wouldn’t be just a stepping stone along the way.  I want to be in the truck that swings the demolision ball for the whole system of coersive medicine.  I’m a Christian.  One special person, to me, did something decisive 2 millenia ago, and the Bible says that he took the keys of death and hell at that moment, and told the rest of us to do the work.

I was thinking about George Orwell’s book 1984 as well.  Where, at the end, after the ultimate betrayal of each other (so the book presents it) in wishing their own greatest nightmares on each other when faced with them physically, they pass each other without acknowledgment, the male protagonist hears the voice of ‘Big Brother’, still surrounded by his images on hoardings and everywhere, and weeps as he realises that he loves Big Brother, and that is where it ends.

I’ve always felt that to be awful and tragic, brainwashing.  That is how Orwell wanted it to be seen, isn’t it?  A very pessimistic outlook on falling into the loving arms of Big Brother and returning the love.  I was taught about the unreliable narrator.  Surely the most unreliable narrator can be the writer him or her self.

I have been ‘loving’ my Big Brother recently, who is all around me and inescapable.  Is it the government, or the media, or a combination?  If it is a combination, what happens when they fall out of love?  If they love me now, what happens when they stop loving me?  The book ended on this broken man’s realisation that he loved Big Brother. It didn’t take us any further than that, though there would have been a further to go in his life.  Is the purpose of the book just to show and present a picture of the effects of torture and brainwashing and leave it there and let the rest of us pick it up and deal with it?

Does Big Brother love me?  Who does Big Brother love?  The political Big Brother is not the same from age to age, with the same agenda.

If we are, in the positive sense, Big Brother to each other, who or what is keeping us apart?

Biggest boo-boo

On eve of the 40th anniversary of my father’s suicide I was being mimicked and I had had enough, so I said ‘tomorrow is the 4oth anniversary of my father’s death’.  One of the patients who has been harassing me for ages said shut up, we’ve all got problems, we don’t want to know and the nurse on duty let her get away with it and whe I challenged it said ‘I didn’t know your father’.  OK, she didn’t know my father, but she had a therapeutic duty towards me in which she failed, and had been rude to me before.  I went angrily to my room saying if that was the way they treated such an important anniversary in my life I didn’t care if they were suffering in any way because of their connection to me. A few minutes later another nurse came in and I asked her what she wanted and she said they didn’t normally let people eat in their bedrooms.

The same nurse who told me she hadn’t known my father last night shouted at me for coming out of my room coughing, when I was coming out for medication to help relieve it.  She was really stern.  I got down near the treatment room and the other nurse on dty asked me what I wanted, but I was so far away that when I told her she motioned to me to shush, again very sternly, as if I was a naughty child or deliquent.  I asked her why she had asked me if she hadn’t wanted me to answer.  She has had that attitude to me before, the day before my mental health act assessment for a section 3. She went to the other nurse andshe was giggling. Before she went to her I said they were trying to make imbeciles of us all.

I went back to my room upset and angry, and Linda came in with a tablet, saying I seemed agitated and that there were other patients on the ward.  I refused to take the tablet and she said if I didn’t calm down they would IM me (inject).  She had a nurse called Errol in to back her up.  This is an all female ward. I have said befre I can’t see the necessity of men on an all female ward, and to have had him used that way felt threatening.

On 18th May, just after Dr Fahy had told me she was considering having me assessed for a section 3, he was staring at me while I was eating.  I moved saying I didn’t want to be stared at while I was eating, that it ws rude, and he said ‘they are my eyes, I’ll do what I want with them.  He followed it up with ‘get your dinner down you’ and ‘stop havinfg a tantrum’  When I got really upset with him and pointed my finger he told me not to point my finger, it was rude.  He tried to make me go to another room to eat.

A few days ago he was carrying his alarm thing right near to his penis.  I’ve noticed this with other male staff.  Errol is black, his alarm thing there looked like a statment of dominant black male sexuality, that was how I interpreted it at the time.  I know about the idea that black men targeted white women for rape.  I am reading a book, or at least have started, called ‘The Other Side of Silence’, about the abuse of wmen, and the ritual rejection of some women where the men would bare their backsides at them and shake their veined penises at their rejects.  That is why I think this might be a significant thing for me to record.

It was about 2am when this thing happened last night.  I was so upset I couldn’t sleep again until 5am.  I was so angry, wondering why they escalated it as they did to threats if njections, instead of apologising for the sternness and taking responsibility for the way t had made me feel.  Linda is covered in tattoos.  I still wonder what kind of personality does that to herself.  It isn’t one I want over me.  Before, when I talked about me, a 50 year old menopausal woman being cheeked by girls barely in their twenties, she told me I was rude and all their staff were . . . she didn’t finish.  After I rallied from that I said that that wasn’t rude, it was complaint material which she had tried to put down. Now she keeps calling me love, my love, my lovely, darling, as I do other patients out of what is probably at least sometimes misguided and unwelcome identification and sympathy with them.

Sometimes I feel I am telling tales out of school.  But there are people who don’t know what to do with this and who feel more destroyed by it than I did, and might take their lives at such provocation.  That is partly why I am writing this.  This stuff happens everywhere.  I think I might be one of the few writing representatives.

Awful 2 vegan days. Last night I ate a McD chicken sandwich and a Twix McFlurry and thoroughly enjoyed them both.  Later had an egg and cress sandwich in Tesco.  Day befre had 2 Fish filet sandwiches from McD’s. Thoroughly enjoyed those as well. My reasons for being vegan are moral and spiritual.  That is what makes my lapse so inexcusable and awful.  But right now I could easily throw the whole thing in.  It would seem so much easier to stop depriving myself of good food in a place I can’t cook for myself.

Wow, So Busy (in my head)

I’ll make time to draft tonight and post tomorrow.  At least now I have my own laptop again and can draft it offline in the privacy of a room which is not going to disappear!

One comment only:

I wrote everything about the deaths and everything to my psychiatrist. She still decided I was section 3 material and I have received no support following my letter, certainly not any based on the content of my letter, which people who know my blog is personally sensitive, and I asked her if she considered herself responsible for the information I have given her, and she said no.  My immediate response to that was to thank her for that piece of information.

Wrote to my uncle, am now in touch with my sister again.  Wrote to Tommy Boyd, but not with this, have to clear my flat by Friday, they decided I don’t have a close enough connection in my uncle.  That was before they knew I had a sibling here, and before I did, because I didn’t know where she was, but she told me that our uncle had been accepted as a link in her case.

Does the plot thicken,or have the rules changed?

I’vehad nothing in writing about anything, just threats of getting rid of my stuff, on the phone, if I didn’t turn up with basically an hour’s notice.

Love you, you-know-who.  It feels so delusional I daren’t even say your name with that statement.

Forgotten Film Name, Help Please.

Dutch, I think, commune, brainwashing, spazzing.  Opens with nude men in the shower, near the end a woman from the commune is taken to spazz in front of her parents and she does so while eating cake and they slap her face, the group members keep betraying each other, as policy, into terrifying situations.  Woman blisses out and everyone comes round and makes a fuss of her, kissing her and everything.  Man who appears to be strongest in group strips naked in the street and his friends turn it on him by treating him like a mental patient and restraining him and doing panic stations and holding him down.   Closes with group members a few years later sitting in a room saying how the commune had changed their lives.  Something about going beyond boundaries.  I saw it in the 90s in the Prince of Wales cinema in Leicester Square, the cinema that hosts this kind of film.

Please, anyone?

(Public Health Warning: more mangled blood and guts, but also an attempt to address the issue of goading and chain-yanking, failed, unfortunately, on the whole, and I’m not the sort to incubate a post and try again.  I talk about the guy who got water thrown in his face by Spurgeon, I think, when he told Spurgeon he was perfect, and he got angry, which I think might have been the perfect reaction to Spurgeon’s mischief and therefore did not disprove his statement).

That is my open mouth, made silent with hysterical fear.

I’m living in Sofia now.  The woman above me screams hallelujah in the most hateful voice every time I feel I have a good communication and I can communicate it.

I want to scream for help and I can’t, it is that psychologically, emotionally and spiritually abusive.  I can’t express anything without feeling dishonest or that I am going to disintegrate or, if I am angry, be attacked, even physically.  She makes me feel she is my friend and I should ask her to forgive me and help me, whatever I feel she voices differently.  I said that because . . . well, if you read this blog, you know.  There is a man from whom the only vocalisation I hear is an angry or frightened throat-clearing.  That feels to me like part of the illusion, if it is an illusion, of their goodness.  If he spoke it might not persist.  But his vocal silence is also part of the oppression.

She is attacking my soul and spirit with razors and bludgeoning me with hatred which feels like a physical mallet to the head.

Combined with the banging . . .

So is this orchestrated, because it is happening everywhere I go.  Who is behind it?

The most torturous thing about this for me is the church’s dishonesty and use of these things.  Someone on Premier was talking about chain yanking this morning, and that is what she is doing and that is what Premier and the church have been doing for years – the way they have kept saying ‘crazy’, for instance, and pushing psychiatry.  This man said so this morning, he pointed it out himself.  What they have been doing is sadistic, cruel and abusive.  That must always have been obvious to them, surely, and if it hasn’t been . . . either way they are not fit to  hold ministerial duties of any description.

I don’t know if I’m imagining that when my recording was interrupted near the end this morning, John Pantry became annoyed because his attempt to build a bridge had been interrupted.  How would he have known, without illegal access to my computer?

Sometimes it feels like protection and I feel unworthy and shameful calling it criminal.  But it isn’t really.  It isn’t really protective.  They are keeping me imprisoned by their evasion of responsibility, procrastination, holding on to power, refusal to apologise officially, if not openly.

I don’t want a bridge back to the world where leaders are not first prepared to own their wrongdoing before I cross that bridge.  Own it where everyone can see, in a committed way. . .

One of the ministers involved, I think it was R T Kendall, but I’m not sure, told this story of someone who said to Spurgeon, I think, that he, the person speaking to Spurgeon, was perfect.  That he believed he was perfect.  Spurgeon (if it was him) said ‘oh, really?’ and threw a glass of water at him, and the man became angry, and everyone laughed at him.

The same chain-yanking.  That is hardly perfect, is it?

Now, was the man expressing imperfection to express anger in that situation?  Is anger a sign of imperfection?  But the Bible says Jesus was angry.  Our teachers have had it for ages that Jesus’ anger was different, that it was perfect and righteous anger.

It doesn’t say, though, that He ever pulled anything like this self-righteous, judgmental, proud, debasing, mischievous and malicious chain-yanking.  At least, not on true seekers and people who expressed something they thought they had grasped as a truth.

An exception comes to mind, possibly, in Mark 7.

Jesus Honors a Syrophoenician Woman’s Faith

24 Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre.  He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet he could not keep his presence secret. 25 In fact, as soon as she heard about him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an impure spirit came and fell at his feet. 26The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.

27 “First let the children eat all they want,” he told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

28 “Lord,” she replied, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

29 Then he told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.”

30 She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

I’m not supposed to criticise this man, but what was he about here?  If he wasn’t being provocative, it could be put down to insensitivity because of tiredness, or some sort of irritation.  Our leaders say He was correcting her attitude.  But if it wasn’t that, if it was a lack of perfect response, where does that leave us in terms of my Friend Jesus’ perfection?  He;s my friend, I can’t talk about Him and theorise about Him like this.  But I just have, and for the usual reasons it has to remain.

But back to the perfect man who got angry when the person he told threw a glass of water at him.

In the Bible David said that God’s enemies were his enemies, and that he hated them with a perfect hatred.  I’ve heard it said that David did not have the complete revelation that we have today.  Would they say that of this occasion?  No, not all of them.  There would be different opinions backed up with chapter and verse and personal experience they felt was surrounded with the approval of those that matter to them.  I know for sure there would be some who agonised more over the truth than to be satisfied with that low standard of agreement, potentially low, at least, but I don’t know how many.

I got to this stage with St Barnabas’ Church.  They opposed me in every way, locking down on me and preaching at me.  I had read a book recommended by a Christian counsellor, on boundaries, which said that negative emotions were a sign that something was wrong.  I was going home, time after time, feeling devastated, and one night in bed I was frightened by a feeling of hatred.  I was also angry, I thought they were opposing what God was doing in my life.  I find that a bit embarrassing now.

But that was the verse which came to my mind, and I embraced it, because I couldn’t get rid of the feeling of hatred, so I actively justified it.  Hindsight says if I had done this or that . . . but nothing within me which is saying anything gets much chance to be heard at the moment, it is silenced by the violence around me, and as soon as I can strongly own and express anything from within, the harassment starts without and I am left too hysterical to cope.  I’m trying to argue something when I want to scream and beg and cry, since every time I feel I can and should surrender I refuse it.  I feel I should go up to them, apologise and ask what the problem is, then we could begin to sort everything out.  That is what I see and what I feel condemned by.  Her hallelujah makes me feel joy, but what about the rest?  It is chaos.  It is also illegal, and they know what I think of that.  It is the word I am reacting to, not the people or their activity.  I feel she even steals, with her occult violence, the tone of joy which would be in my own voice if I said it myself.  That must be where the confusion comes in.  I can’t validate this, it is so wrong.  I’m not the only one who hears them, and not everyone rejoices, I am sure.  I don’t want to be patronised by people saying poor Sue, come home.  I want people to focus on the issue of chain-yanking, and if I could focus on it myself it would help!  I try to be serious and have to be humorous.  Why?  I feel thumped in the head and I can’t cope with the pain.  There is no point waiting for a better time.  It never happens.  Don’t get bogged down in the circumstantial stuff that comes pouring out just because I don’t know how to edit it away. They seem to feel it when I calm down and start justifying them in my mind, and I hear them say dobre with a smile.  But I know what they are doing and it isn’t OK?  Or is it here?  Is this a valid and acceptable expression of Christianity here?  If it is, I’m out of step.  I feel as if I want to join in, like a party.  Go up and say hello and bubble along with them.

It’s a form of psychological harassment and censorship.  Who wants to read the silage that I insist on letting pour out of me, or allow by default, instead of being a normal, generous, kind, forgiving, friendly person and neighbour?

The point I was going to make was that I think there is something wrong with the theory and theology of leaders who can make a good and positive thing out of this incident of cruel chain-yanking in one of their traditions major heroes.

If that anger from the man came out of a damaged emotional place, it was incredibly cruel for him to expose it in that way.  Granted I don’t know the whole story, maybe it was just a bit of robust male joshing. I don’t know how the man took it after his anger was over.  But what if it wasn’t from a damaged emotional place?  What if it was the perfect reaction to such mischief and malice towards what he believed God had said to him?  Then who is the laughingstock?  If there should be one at all.  If our emotions are appropriate to the situation then they are perfect in that situation, aren’t they, so what he said wasn’t disproved at all.  In a sense we are perfect, and not just by imputation.  In a sense, as individuals, we are perfect, if people don’t interfere with us.  But they do, when we are too vulnerable to resist or realise.  I can’t do this, I’m tired and hurt.  I can’t think and write it through.  I’m mixing everything up all over the place when I started out believing I knew exactly what I wanted to say and where I wanted to go with it.  I’m already editing after first reading, and that isn’t doing me much good either.  I am ill and traumatised, I must be, to put this abortion out.

Another thing:  I believe this thing we call robust joshing is itself a manifestation and denial of pain.  Or is it just a healthy switching off every now and again?  It must be.  It must be me that is crazy.  So someone invite me to come and have some fun?  To live your whole life in the perfect therapy session and healing moment after healing moment, at least one participant has to be perfect.  And where have I got this idea from that therapy and healing is all about deep and querulous and earnest talk and tears and quietly and meditatively going about your business? ‘Tain’t, is it?

But what if, instead of throwing water over him and laughing at his anger, he had accepted the statement with respect and watched his friend over a period and tried to understand what he was saying and learn something instead?

It is thump in the back salvation.  I’m wondering if I am being a pathetic wimp if I object to that.  The people I have felt close enough to to love over recent years, and want to model myself on, I am thinking possibly I have only seen them awkward and afraid and desperate and making an effort, because of me and my situation.  Maybe they too are back thumpers and I have just not seen it, and I myself need to enter the real world of rough and tumble where people do not always treat each other with reverence and respect and it is OK.

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

OK that is it.  That is my communication after being butchered by upstairs and everything knowing my account/computer is being hacked is doing to me, turned into a bucket of unmentionable stuff and screaming.

Enjoy!

Writing and Typing

I would say that, for me, as originators of communication, these are two entirely different activities with entirely different energy and feelings.  I rediscovered writing yesterday.  Taking the pen, adjusting my handling of it and its pressure on the page, looking at the script which came out and thinking it was quite nice.  Interesting, an easy biro with a nice flowing feeling.  I usually like a rollerball to approximate a fountain pen, which is what we were taught to use at school and expected to use at my grammar school.  I made do with a biro.  Pens aren’t cheap here, not even biros, not in the supermarket I went to, anyway.

I felt I rediscovered a connection with myself in the physical act of writing, and a new feeling of being relaxed and confident in the world.  At first I was holding the pen limply and loosely, casually scribbling notes.  Then I thought, ‘how ridiculous, who am I trying to emulate, with my casual, toss-off notetaking?’.  I held it tighter, with my whole self and not just my hand, and it felt good.  Completely different from dancing fingers on a keyboard.  Focussed rather than dispersed.  A pinpoint rather than – whatever.  Another crash attack.

I felt bad about my blog.  I felt sure I couldn’t have written such trash if I had been writing privately and offline with a pen.

Blogging: how to be a nasty, treacherous bitch/swine and hope to get away with it?

Casualty

Today’s Casualty, Just Because You’re Paranoid

The young doctor, Ruth, who is sectioned for Bipolar Disorder and prescribed Lithium, is the exact image of one of my first nurses, but I can’t remember her name.  As it happens, I bumped into her at St Barnabas Cathedral in Nottingham a few years ago.  The character of Ruth, I would say that her whole reaction was about fear of the drugs, maybe about not being able to walk away, and about the fact that this man Charlie is someone who won’t listen to anything she has to say.  To me that seems obvious.  And in spite of the fact that she makes a perfectly reasonable case for why she doesn’t want this kind of ‘help’, even as a doctor she isn’t heard and respected.  She is on section, and takes lithium.  I suppose a doctor would know that they had a right to refuse, in which case it would be brought up for review (that is what I was told in hospital and how it was for me sometimes), but she took it the same way as someone who didn’t know they had any other choice – resentful and trapped.  And no one cares about your feelings about taking the drug, even if they are so obviousl anti.  That is my experience.  I have’t seen this for a while.  I’m not sure if this is part of a developing story line or how it has been handled so far.

Charlie is P J Charters, who used to be the charge nurse and, the last I knew, worked at Speedwell in Deptford.  He’s not a lot different from Charlie.  I think he also might be asked why he never listens.

They mention a doctor or Mr Jordan.  One of my nurses was called Mark Jordan.  He brought me in some Enya tapes, in this programme they talk about him doing his best schizophrenic, I’m not sure if that is supposed to be significant.

The guy with dreadlocks, the porter, who often appears, is a nurse called Peter.  I daren’t say anything about his attitude, I might be called prejudiced or accused of racism or discrimination.  More appropriate might be classism, but people always go for the obvious.

Christians are supposed to protect people.  Who should I protect, myself and other patients, or these people?  Or all of us?  I could say much, much more than I have.

I can’t remember if I mentioned the time, early on in my experience with the mental health service, when I was listening to the kind of music station, in hospital, that was doing loads of ‘shout outs’, one after the other.  I think it was D J Spoony, and I was thinking of him then as David Shearman.  He was doing all these shout outs, and I thought I recognised the names, and in the end I thought it was about me being demonised and the names of demons I needed deliverance from.  I went up to two dark skinned male nurses, I can’t remember their nationality, and told them I thought I needed Christian deliverance.  I think they just stared at me or something, because the next thing I knew my hands shot out, as if trying to grasp for safety, or recover something.  They both just stared at me and one of them said, ‘those hands could kill’.  I’m not making it up and I didn’t imagine it.  I can’t even remember who they were.  I feel as if I shouldn’t be writing this.  To me all of this feel like coded support, that is why I feel wrong about publishing something like this.

I’m a point of contact.  That is obvious from what I am seeing and hearing on the TV and radio, and the parliament site, and from what people are doing to me here.  The constant vocals and violent banging, the territory marking/taking, the shout and/or bang from upstairs as soon as my TV goes on.

There was a state broadcast on this evening on BBC World News by a woman, which was translated by a man.  It was soon after I put the TV on, and upstairs did their stuff, and I started cooking.  People often pinpoint my activity as I engage in it, and Nik Gowing said, quite pleased-sounding, that what had been on the back burner was now on the front burner.  He draws on my neighbours and makes the situation worse.  When he does it and interferes with my state of consciousness, that is when they start doing what they do.  He is a spiritual and psychological molester.  That is what I know from what he has just done with the no fly zone and how he has used it.  I think he is trying to present himself as someone who has a right to discipline.  And a savage little girl-woman has just come on.  That smile, that ‘look at little girl me’, it’s forced.  It isn’t real, it’s false.

I was in mind mode for this when I started writing.  He deliberately changed it into awe mode.  Changing my mode of consicousness, my appropriate state of consciousness, into wonder, then hitting me with molestation, in a situation he knows is violent, and I know he knows it is violent and illegal because he reads my blog.  Is targeting a member of the public with the practice of spiritualism while appearing just to be presenting a programme, is that also illegal?  I hope so.  The gathering of information must be, even if they have used my family and former teachers, it is stalking, harassment and mobbing in which those people should never have participated.  He has left me feeling I should go to my neighbours.  But all of them, media and my neighbours, are using me as a point of contact with each other, and I have said I won’t validate that.  He said in strict tones something about something being technically outside of the no-fly zone, just after he had done some of this.

During the broadcast I mentioned, the man’s voice was all over the place.  I knew what my neighbours were doing and I challenged it, and they kept changing, and as they did, his voice did as well.  This was during The Hub, Nik Gowing, as I have said.  They have been violent several times today and this afternoon, and I assume she is a witch using hallelujah as a point of contact (maybe that is why the word has become so popular throughout the media and performance world, together with the Harry Potter stuff and all the serious literature aimed at children and teenagers about witchcraft), and that she shouts it out when she feel a loss of control or force or something.  In the end the man’s voice settled into a Bulgarian tone, and the people upstairs started saying ‘yes’ and commenting.

You people must hate me very much to do this to me and to let me be taken advantage of in this way.

I wondered after Nik said something about from back to front burner, who he was informing.  I thought it might be a welcome to me, then I thought, ‘is he telling other media people, including in Bulgaria, so they can get on my case and start putting more stuff out about me?’  I’m not sure which is more likely, I thought the second might be, but I always come back to knowing that it is their medium techniques (for instance, I sent Tommy Boyd some crystals, and there are crystals in the weather report, and the globe looks like lapiz lazuli, which featured in a poem that was in a course taught by my Critical Method lecturer) and that it is wrong.  I’m wondering if Tommy passed them on to someone like Derek Acorah, whom I have met, even though I have made it clear that I am anti-spiritualism.  One of the things I had sent to him, which I bought new from Ebay, it was received and signed for, but he didn’t acknowledge it and I emailed him saying please acknowledge it or send it back, but he did neither.  He knew I wasn’t happy about him keeping it without acknowledging it, and I have often thought since then that it was being used as a point of contact.  In recent years I never even thought about it on the odd occasion I phoned his show, and he asked me my name, every time.  I’m not sure if that was on his mind.  I just wanted to talk to him on his show.  I only phoned when engaged and friendly was what was in my mind.  When I phoned in I was never even thinking about taking him to task about anything off-air, though I suppose now that I could have asked him if he had received it and if he liked it or something, but I had dismissed it ages ago and decided I was happy to let him have it and keep it on any terms.  If keep it he did.

Nik said it was The Hub, and in light of all this I thought, ‘no, it isn’t, this is, so the name of the programme is just another point of contact’.  It was a realisation which registered with Mr Gowing, his body language and facial expression changed, and he looked pained and afraid, and I felt betrayed and he seemed to register that and interpret it as love, which I suppose it is.  I know how stupid and false I sound, I am furiously angry and suffering badly from false guilt and fear, of what my neighbours seem able and prepared to do, and also what the authorities, albeit illegally, might do and how they might treat me, suffering as I am from stalking and other people’s exercise of witchcraft and spiritualism against me while I am vulnerable.  I’m writing this, I believe it is what I have learned in Church, maybe developed a bit, I’m not sure, but while I’ve been writing I’ve been thinking I should drop the pretence, apologise to my neighbours and deal with my psychological problems, if any remain after doing the first two things.  They are working as a team against me, vocally, and every time my eyes open (I do mean my physical eyes, as I go focussed at something, she utters a dark and angry and terrifying sound.  The rest of the neighbours are just keeping quiet, for the most time.  Tonight they have been a bit more vocal.  But they don’t do anything, they just complain.  They don’t, as far as I know, go to the police, but they know I want them to.

He turned away, at which point I dropped my guard a little or was a little less attentive, and when he turned back he walked strongly, like big cat, up on the camera.  I had someone do that to me before, years ago.  It seemed to be about inhibiting and taking control.

When I think, she speaks.  It is as if she is a medium or something, and deliberately voicing vibrations.  That is the only thing that fits for me.  Unless she is deliberately putting out menacing sounds into the air and into my ears.  She sounds as if she is droning.  She has all sorts of tones and registers she employs, which might not mean anything in itself.  When I try to break it in writing, my browser crashes.  Also, I have to sign in to WordPress manually all the time at the moment, in spite of the fact that I tick the remember me box and don’t normally have to bother.  It’s like swatting flies and dealing with constant playground squabbles.  They demand my attention, literally, and I fail to give it to more urgent things.  While I am dealing with stuff on my doorstep, sometimes I even forget the more urgent things.

I’m not a witch, though the abuse and betrayal from the church make it hard for me to feel sorry for what I did that made them call me one.  But I think they were calling me one before that anyway.  I’m a person who feels constantly embarrassed, and afraid to go out, for fear of possible violence or because I feel worked over from what has been happening while I have been at home. 

I have nowhere to go with this.  How can I go to the police and say that I am being harassed by people using spiritualism?  The people involved would probably lie anyway, even if the police took it seriously.

I don’t want to go to the church, because my idea at first was to take my stand with other unwilling psychiatric patients, and the church encourages people to think of people with problems or who they don’t know how to help or who they don’t like, perhaps, in psychiatric terms, and church leaders force the issue, from the platform, in a way which is torturous at times, and deliberately so, which is something I know from my own experience.  No, psychiatry is not for me, neither are church leaders and ministers who insist on making me see things that way, and making other people see me that way.  That is where I stand.  My mind is being so messed with I’m losing my certainty over whether it is the only place I can stand.  The banging violence and the verbal violence and hatred.  It doesn’t have to be in the words, it is all in the tone.  Hallelujah hasn’t worked, all day, and resulted in peace, so she has gone back to  occultic control and hatred.  Every day the same.  I think they hold a seance over me.  From their actions, they might just as well be doing that, even if they aren’t.

My church leaders know that is why I don’t go back to church, as well as the fact that I don’t want to validate their stalking,  They use my blog all the time, weave with it and mock me with it and appeal with it, anything but make a proper and open approach.  But they still use my stuff, and anything else they can pick up from whatever stalking methods they use.  I’ve apologised for what I can apologise for, to my church leaders, and I keep saying my church leaders, because I want to be there, it is what I have known most of my life, but I am serious about the psychiatry thing.  So what I am saying is, there doesn’t seem to be anyone I can turn to.

They have used my music – Osho, Michael Mish – they like the rhythms, they tried to replicate them in their services, in a very obvious way.  I’m not sure how much they got off my computer and how much they heard from the local black church a very few doors away.  To know the names of the artists I would have thought they lifted it directly from my computer.  They have known about telephone and email communication as well, quoting it.  I sent something to Michael Mish in an email once and Kensington Temple commented on it, and gave the impression that Michael had said it was toxic, or something like that.  It was part of the Apostles’ Creed, or Nicene Creed, I wanted to know what he thought.  I assumed at the time that they must have been bugging his phone or computer, if he used Skype.  I get confused sometimes because John Pantry, at least, likes to present him as being under the covering of the church, and he also does that with Tommy Boyd.  Me, I’m just a standalone which probably no one is interested in.

I went out in my garden once, one Sunday morning or afternoon, once I had got round to feeling able to deal with someone in order to get it cleared and turf laid, and discovered that the local black church, The House Of Bread, was singing all the songs that I played on my CDs and sang to in my flat.  I didn’t know until then.  I thought that must be why there was so much of a problem between me and my neighbours.  I had never really been out to hear it before, but all my neighbours were telling their children to go indoors.  I was out on my lawn, with my door open, playing some of my own music from the lounge, but to hear what was coming from the church the music must have been turned off or something, or maybe that day I was reading a book.

I need to go shopping.  I feel like an occult prisoner.  I can’t get myself out of the door, feeling able to cope with it.  If I focus, my neighbours start their stuff.

Then that stupid woman upstairs, with her violent male (if it isn’t her) and all the neighbours knowing what is going on and doing nothing, maybe even part of it, shouted hallelujah.  Whatever the dynamic and explanation, she does it every time my mind comes in to land.  It makes me feel I am being unreasonable losing it in a situation like this, because I am just telling myself that if I didn’t get upset at what they are doing, I wouldn’t need to calm down, and this wouldn’t happen, and everything would be OK.  They impose a sound or vocalisation over everything I do here, whether it is turning on the television, or something on my computer, and if I go into thought it is something that continues, as I have just said.  They have been messing about over my shower and toilet for ages, and today I was having a shower and they started a commentary over me, and I shouted at them to go away, and one of them hammered on my ceiling.  They have been like this almost non-stop for 8 weeks.  If I cough in the middle of the night, she complains with savage contempt and anger in her voice.  And whatever she does, she has to bring herself back to an innocent little girl voice, and I’m still living with what they do.  Today I realised that, at least for a moment, I had turned my shocked and frightened animal reaction to her hallelujahs into a duck.  I just ducked it and smiled and thought, yeah, this is OK, I can do this, I don’t have to be ruled by it’.  Then about 5 or 10 minutes later she shouted it out again, only this time it was more aggressive, and I had an ‘I don’t believe this’ reaction.  She does it just about every day, every 10 or 15 minutes or so.

Now, hallelujah is for me a heart word.  Does that mean I owe this woman anything?  I’m not sure she is even a Christian, she just uses the word.  Jesus is also a heart word.  Someone in computing knows that, because Iwas in a computer shop the other day, and saw an advert for something called ‘Asus’ or Isus’ or something, and it said, ‘it touches the heart’.  To me that is a misappropriation of language.  That kind of misappropriation of language is responsible for a lot of distress and violent feelings in society which are sometimes converted into action and mental illness.  It is deliberate, and aggressive as advertising and brainwashing are, and even violent.  I think I have just realised, since it has been going on for so long with such clockwork regularity, it must be deliberate, the hallelujahs, and she is deliberately using brainwashing and torture techniques.  As soon as I said so, they banged violently on my ceiling again.  I’m a nice person.  I like people.  They can’t treat me like this, it is inhumanly cruel.

I don’t run and get out immediately.  I still have too much of the mental coping mechanism and muscle memory of not being able to run away from frightening and anger-inducing behaviour from both staff and patients on a locked ward.  Also i have no confidence in the authorities over this anyway once they discover I have a mental health diagnosis, they are more likely, judging from past experience, to have me put back in hospital, than todeal with the deliberate violence and harassment which has started in a brand new place with no provocation from me whatsoever.   As my home this should be my refuge.  They have turned it into a place of torture.  I want to dissolve in tears all the time, I want to fall into the arms of those who are harassing me with violence and think maybe I’m imagining the harassment and violence and all I need to do is dissolve and go to them and say i’m sorry and everything will be OK.  Thinking like that is the nearest I ever get to seeing normality on the horizon.  I daren’t go to the police, even though it seems I obviously have to, if they are going to react to me with the disdain that people here react to Roma and people they call gypsys, like someone did me the other day, because I feel volatile and that also wouldn’t be tolerated, and having been abused for so long I’m a bit of a mess, and people don’t sympathise with you for that here, they treat you with disgust, even more than they do in the UK.  They judge you.  If you are a mess it is your fault.  I suppose that is an easy mistake to make, with so many abusive media and government people looking so smart and the picture of innocence.

Anyway, I was going to say, I’m watching Animal Planet, and a man was handling an animal with his legs, and it reminded me of when I saw a man in the West End, lying on the street as if asleep, and the police came to move him on, and when he didn’t move, one of them shoved him with his foot.  This isn’t an isolated incident, and I’ve had equivalent things done to me, but people like the squeeky clean church brigade advise people that, if they have committed any crimes, they should go to these people, these thugs, and confess their crime.  Yes, thugs, whatever the consequences.  I know too much about them.  And certainly I don’t feel able to go to them with crimes of harassment and violence which are being committed against me, with the sweet little girl trusting adoring attitude, or just togetherness, which appears to be required here.

I was angry the other day about the language used about sports teams and people.  how much they talk about punishment and humiliation and being humbled and similar things.  They must feel this, and it must affect their behaviour.  A day or two ago I saw a sportsman on BBC World News, delivering the most grovelling and abject apology and saying how they had been given chances and how they had offended everyone, etc, etc, and if this is what they are being made to feel is required of them, as people, the hypocrisy of those who require it of them makes me feel sick, and I’m glad I don’t contribute financially to that world.

I had a ring at my door about 20 minutes ago.  I felt nervous and defiant for a second and almost didn’t answer.  Then I thought it might be the postman, so I picked up my intercom phone and answered.  I said ‘hello’, 3 times, and there was no response.  Realistically I suspect it was my harassing neighbours, who shout and hallelujah and screw their voices round to ghostly and tap over my apartment, and worse, when I challenge them.

I was also afraid it might be the police, who might have come on the strength of what they have been told about my recent responses to the harassment, which have been desperate and unpleasant.  Every time I try mentally to break the feeling of my neighbours’ control and think for myself, she goes ‘hallelujah’ today, in a way which goes straight to my stomach.  As I said yesterday, people on UK news programmes are imitating them and me, and I think they are latching on to each other for control.  I’ve wonderd where they have got some of their information from, on BBC World News, and have thought perhaps my neighbours are recording it and passing it on.  It’s a good impression with some of the content. But my neighbours keep doing this spiritualistic stuff which is harassment, and are they also passing stuff on to the media, who got them started in the first place?  I know they did, because of what they were saying and dumb-showing.

Anyway, within 5 minutes of my doorbell ringing, I had an email land in my spam folder, claiming to be an invitation from an organisation called ‘Someone2Do’.  Police do people, right?  Who is responsible for this?  I get a lot of situationally and relationally relevant emails like this and have for years.

I get really afraid and desperate.  Am I the only person who can understand why and doesn’t think it is abnormal that I should or a sign of mental illness?  People have been insisting for years that it is a sign of mental illness.  i think it is a sign of some sort of gang or mafia type stalking, if not government.  You say this kind of thing and media people always treat it as a joke and the person who thinks it as crazy.  But a lot of people know it is anything but, so what do these people have to hide that they consistently treat it and us with anger and intimidation and contempt and ridicule?  The woman on now has just said ‘our team’ like RT, as in R T Kendall.  Sophie someone, one of the many Sofie’s who has come out since I have been in Bulgaria (Sofia is the capital of Bulgaria).

Edit note:  While I was writing this someone started with a drill upstairs.  I’m wondering now if it was him come to explain that he was doing some work.  But no one answered my door when I answered the bell.  It isn’t OK.

Who is this little savage, stripping people bare with her blasphemous imitation of speaking in tongues, stripping off the flesh then sounding pleased?  Coming on all offensive and aggressive, then going out tweeting purity?  She’s a bastard (biblical sense, if she is even that).

What point is she trying to make?

Why does she need to make it?

What are they trying to achieve by it?

Spiritual rape and armed robbery, it can only be.

They talk about ‘Twitter’ every time my mind and speech come strongly together, which probably means I have invalidated their deception and control at a deeper level and feel released from observing civil rules with stalkers and criminals.

This listen to mummy/daddy act they do.  It’s rubbish.  Mummy and daddy have told you the news.  Yeah, right!

9.30pm UK time.  the man who comes on treating really serious things as if they are a Talksport phone in has just come on, with the latest headlines before Hardtalk, and he said ‘turd’ for ‘third’, and talked about Vladimir or Vladivostok which consequently, deliberately or not, sounded like ‘bloody’.

BBC World News.  Making up emails or reading out plants.

10pm Jamie Robertson just said ‘spike’ as if he was spitting the word ‘spite’.  I get really upset at this.  I keep finding myself with the same expression on my face and attitude of mind (I suppose) and body as the News of the World guy who was done for phone hacking/bugging.

Anti-Psychiatry

I’m really embarrassed that, as someone who has never really believed in psychiatry, and as someone who lost her father to death by overdose at the age of 11, I have got to the age of 50 and never pursued the anti-psychiatry movement with any degree of commitment.

Although I am against the psychiatric view of people and their problems, I know that I am nervous of psychiatric patients and ex-psychiatric patients and don’t really want to spend time with them.

One of the reasons for this is that I think we are all too desperate, and in our own minds too undermined.  Most of the time we are grasping desperately, even at each other.

Another reason is that I think we develop a self-protective dishonesty, even if we didn’t have it before.  I’m not going in there in this post.

Another reason is that, in a structured group, the people running it, in my experience, are usually people who validate the psychiatric approach, or at least won’t speak against it.  For an angry and volatile anti-psychiatrist, like myself, that is not a good place to be.

Today I feel that my life has failed to mean anything, because I have failed to follow this in a committed way, when following it and investigating it properly was my obvious duty, as my father’s daughter.

I put ‘anti psychiatry’ into Google as a search term.  I’ve just started reading the first of the results that came up, the website www.antipsychiatry.org.  It looks as if it has some very well-written articles.

There is a whole school of thought behind this, from the 60s at least.  R D Laing I’ve known about for some time.  I didn’t know Foucault was one of them.

This might sound really selfish, but I feel really upset.  My life could have made so much more sense and been so much richer, if I had only known this before.  To me the obvious reason that I feel this way is that I feel I have something in common with these academics and might have grown up with them and in contact with them.  Obviously that doesn’t necessarily follow.  The feeling I have is, ‘oh no, not you.  I didn’t know you were into that.  Why didn’t you tell me?’, as if they knew me to tell me and I have always been a part of this community and I’ve got lost.  Or something.  I don’t know much about them anyway, I only know their names.  I don’t know why they seem to mean that much to me.  I never studied them adequately when they were part of my education, and they probably just represent this (supposedly) wonderful thing, education, to me, and the youthful ideal of education is what is invoked for me when I read or hear their names. 

What I am thinking, whether I like it or not, is that if I knew something about their lives, I might not be so keen to identify with them in their anti-psychiatric views and see them as the best proponents.  I don’t know anything about their lives.  Even if I did and didn’t like what I knew, that wouldn’t necessarily invalidate what they have to say.  People don’t like my life.  That might make me an embarrassment to my beliefs, or not, but in itself it doesn’t invalidate them.  Right beliefs are right beliefs, whoever holds them.  Like the belief that two and two make four doesn’t become untrue because of the life of the person who holds it.  And I have been taught two things about the universe, that it is both mathematical and moral.

Lady ‘hallelujah every time I cough or anything’ harassment upstairs has been on for the last half hour or so, latching onto my cough and my audio.  She’s doing my brain and my feelings in.  She’s savage.  I don’t know what I mean or what I’m talking about as long as this is going on.  I feel that maybe I never will again.  She is the nearest I have been to a demon and this is the nearest I have been to living with possession.  They frighten me so much.  It is so indecent and spiritually and psychologically violent, I feel beaten about the head just about all the time.  They combine violence and rejection and indecent invasion with a santa madre scenario.  Both at the same time I want to break down in totally reduced and beaten tears, and hit back.  They have been playing a locking and shutting doors game every time they hear me in the corridor recently.  She says ‘hallelujah’ when I cough.  What is wrong with this stupid moron?  Is she frightened of me or something?  Why can’t I cough and fart, etc, in peace, without this indecent and terrifying and desperation-inducing invasiveness?  I really can’t take it much more, and I wish some of these people who want me to think of them as friends (whether they are or not) would listen to me and help me and get me away from them.

I’m wondering if the idea is to make as much invasive and control-taking sound as they can, coming up to 10pm when everything is supposed to go silent, and then just shut up?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00zmc6f/The_King_James_Bible_The_Book_That_Changed_the_World/

Available until 9pm (8.59) tonight for watching or download.

I’m opening a new file – the VW FILE – Vulnerable Women Fall In Love Easily.

In this case the name came before the acronym.  Good though, innit?  On so many levels it would be a really long post if I wrote the explanation that suggests itself.

I was just watching BBC World News again.  It is the only British based news channel I can get on my television.  It’s about 9.30 am UK time.  (edit note: I think I’ve got it.  These people need a catastrophe to make full use of what they are doing and the way they stalk me.  If it isn’t a catastrophe what they do jars with the mind much more.  They absolutely love it.  They have faced this kind of thing so many times, much of the concern and grief must be acted.  Like charity fatigue, it must be, surely.  They are no different from the rest of us.  Just criminals.  Da Boga.  Rasbiram. 2.17 pm UK the woman sounds angry, and she is lashing language in a reversal, psychologically, and because I know it’s happening and the malice and criminality behind it, I find it intimidating and terrifying.  That is how I am supposed to find it.  It is open contempt.  She just slipped Premier in.  Look at her.  Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  As my grandmother used to say.  And she knew.  And I think now that she knew because it was happening when she was alive. Nice one.  ‘Let’s kit’ followed by a disciplinarian ‘who is in control of . . .?’  And I think they are deliberately coming on acting drugged and half asleep.  On the basis that they are opposing the strongest people they stalk in the most appropriate way to hurt them, making them look out of it and mental or hypnotised and psychologically clubbed, as they are, and traumatised, because they know that you become what you look at, so they put it out, these most of them acting trained people, as a blanket policy for everything they do.  They have just hit a surface, like batting a fly away.  The programme was ‘Impact’.  She went out on ‘engineers’, slipped in like a date rape drug.  John Coles and John Knight at St Barnabas Church in Finchley are engineers, and that is where this most painful part of my life started.  And my bastard, sabotaging neighbours, trying to silence me but not going to the police.  They must be criminals in other ways, as well as over this.  They just banged at the end of that sentence.  She shouts something that sounds like shut up as soon as my tv goes on, and interjects at points, taking control, because at the moment she can because I think she can.  I’ve just said I’m going to the police, but they let me down in my last place, and they have let me down for years, in the UK.  It’s the right thing to do, it’s what I should do, but they don’t do what they should do, and they intimidate me and make it obvious that they despise me, if I get the wrong ones, and I always seem to.  It can’t just be me.  Peter Dobbie who has just come on, his voice moved and warmed to my feeling of self-doubt while I was writing this.  They talk in a place just out of the reach of letting you feel.  It is policy.  I think I heard it, but am not sure, in Bob Geldof on the Robert Elms Show, and he looked very sheepish and caught out the next day on The One Show.  I have both recorded.  This next man just sped up his speech in a tongue lashing way to talk about ‘shutting down’, and they keep shouting.  I’m not the only one who shouldn’t have to put up with that.  For me it feels like an accusation because I shout and become hysterical.  Everybody who communicates anything also knows this is true, but they leave me in it.  That is treacherous and devilish.  For me and everyone else they do it to.  And we are many.  They are shouting over, projecting.  It’s spiritual interference and molestation, and my neighbours are feeding on it, and on me, like vultures.  Not like disciples of Christ feeding on His body and blood.  This is different.  End of edit note.)

I am so much under siege, it is the rubbish, and not the story, that I tune into.  I’m terrified of it so sensitised to it.  What I am really terrified of is the way I am being treated where I am, my reactions to it and the total contempt and hatred they are met with.  I think that is called rejection, in this case aggravated rejection. The so-called Christians upstairs are doing psychological interrogation and appear to be insisting that I go to them on their terms.  Every time I concentrate on something she shouts hallelujah, really aggressively from deep down, not just in her voice, or someone bangs.  They go between all those things and whining, if I say anything, she will get on top of it with the exact opposite of what she hears in my voice. If my voice is strong she sweets and tweets, and if I sweet and tweet she comes back with something that sounds really awful.  I think we are at war!  I coughed today.  I feel really inhibited about coughing, because they always put a sound on top of it, strike a surface or comment or something.  So first I coughed with deliberate insistence, then I coughed the cough I wanted to cough.  They immediately struck a surface, and I went wild.  I have said they are using spiritualism, I have said they are thugs, I have called them interrogators and Satanists, I know and they know they are using interrogation and torture techniques and violence.  I have repeatedly said if they have a problem they should go to the police instead of doing what they are doing, and that the fact that they don’t makes them criminals, especially since they continue in what they are doing and have not apologised.  She speaks a bit of English, I don’t know how much.   Enough to confront me with a ‘how dare you, behave yourself’ look and say ‘what’s the matter?  Shut up!’  I don’t know if she has more than that.  She put on a head-cocking show outside my apartment the other day.  I think now she did it on purpose and that she deliberately pretended she didn’t know I was there.  But I saw her husband/boyfriend, and he was acting like a very naughty thug, who knew what he had been doing and that he had been doing it deliberately and was a bit embarrassed that I had actually seen him.

But anyway, I’ve started writing to complain about BBC World News again.  As I said, it was about 9.30 am when I started this post (hello, nice to make contact, I love writing, the sun is shining and it makes me feel really happy).  If I knew her name I would use it, she is Indian or somewhere around there, she has long hair (can I say it as it is?) and an expression that looks as if she has tasted something horrible, like a lemon or something.  Maybe that is because of me.  When I first put the tv on (it was on for about 20 minutes)  they did their usual strong ‘OFF’ bit, followed it up with something that sounded like ‘schitz’, which I immediately took as a kind invitation then felt annoyed and said to myself, maybe out loud, I can’t remember, ‘I might if you get my name right’.  But I continued to listen and as I did I found myself allowing the changes in my perception and that the thing they said was the thing they meant and not the interpretation I put on it, and I felt ashamed of having refused the label, because the label got my attention and accepting it and the change in my perception, I felt, went together.  Wanting and accepting the change in perception depended on me accepting the label, at least at that time in that context, and maybe always.  I wasn’t watching at the time, I was making breakfast, which here is late, we are two hours ahead.  So I wasn’t overwhelmed with sensory information.

I came to sit down and saw who it was, and continued to watch and think whatever I wanted to think, partly that her accent modulated between levels of  ‘poshness’, thinking that was an annoying thing they had got from – well, I don’t know, now I think of it.  But her voice changed a little, and she said something I’ve forgotten now but picked up from a Bulgarian estate agent’s website.  Since they use a lot of this in definite clusters it seems obvious to me this was deliberate again, I had no hesitation in recognising it as so.  I’ve remembered.  It was ‘and yet’.  It sticks out to me because it is a slightly poor translation.  When it is used on the website it usually means something like ‘also’.  When she said it she rasped and cleared her throat in what seemed to me to be a pointed and significant way, and it seems obvious to me it was a coded recognition that I was watching, either because they have been physically informed by some kind of commercial network employee, or through some sort of psychic sensing.

But I thought something about it today which I haven’t thought before, and even as I approach the thought it seems ridiculous and an embarrassing thing even to have thought.  Just crazy paranoia.  But I’ve often felt a bit sorry for them because I’ve thought perhaps they don’t know anything about me and are just reading what they have been given to read, but this time I thought she was telling someone that I was watching and asking for ‘appropriate’ material.

She did what they always do: ‘here’s one, here’s one, here’s one, here’s one’  with bits of my information, then she went out on an aggressive, psychologically violent and aggressive and provocative rush of words, leaving me feeling as if she was shouting at me or telling me off right into my face and wanting to shout back.  I did, after being afraid and trying to resist it for a few seconds.  But if I’m going to feel better, and maybe if I’m going to be able to stop them, if there is a level of psychic stuff involved, I’ve got to stop telling myself not to do it and just let it go, straightaway, and not be afraid.  That is how I feel.  I think they are relying on me being afraid and inhibited.  It might not be psychic at all on any level, it might just be abuse.

I was thinking as well, yesterday, that Peter Dobbie comes on and he is very insistent and serious in an almost fatherly way about ‘correcting’ the things I have said that are ‘wrong’ or that I have ‘misunderstood’.  Like a teacher.  So that seems to be an acknowledgment.  That is obvious.  Why?  And he shouldn’t be doing it.  I really don’t think he should.  And who is he doing it for?  Me, or other viewers?  Is it a public image control thing, for the channel?

Got to go to the post office today.  I’ve got some mail waiting for me.  I’ve got some things I’m waiting for, so I hope it is them.

I hate failing and being humiliated, anywhere.  I asked myself today why I am hanging on here so much, since I knew I hadn’t come to stay forever and that it is only rented.  I realised it is because I have no faith for the future, that if I go out of here on a low and with things really bad, it is going to follow me as it always has.  Not because it is me, but because people are pursuing me with it.  Robb Thompson, wily old codger, says if things are always bad for you in relationships, guess what the common factor is – you.  I’ve never been able to swallow that.  I’ve tried, but I’ve had to go into a ‘yes, he’s right’ mode to do so.  It is actually a quite insolent and contemptuous thing to confront someone with, I think.  People learn from experience.  In my case I’ve decided if things are always bad for me in relationships, someone got there before me and queered my patch.  Guess what the common factor is?  The slander and persecution of my stalkers.  I might be wrong.  I might just be in the wrong place, but I don’t think so entirely.

OK that’s enough.  I’m going to go about my life today.  I don’t know what is going on upstairs, but every time I pause to think about how I want to say something or how I want to change it, as soon as I go to try, they speak.  It’s freaky.  I’m not sure what is causing it, but it is invasive, and when I apply myself to it I feel guilty about resenting it because I think the whole thing might just be a manifestation of my bad conscience about what is happening between us.  I don’t know if they have any authority from anyone actually behind them in this, I wonder if it is church, I wonder if it is mafia, I wonder if it is all sorts of things, or if they are just using things they have picked up from the media about how to keep me in check.  Even with the Japanese crisis the media are still contriving to present it to make me believe reports to the police and mental health authorities are being submitted about me and I’d be best to watch my step.  But it feels as if they are not saying it to me but about me, that is what is most frightening.

I know who some of the people are who read this, and I think they are very unkind, cynical and irresponsible, knowing this, not to communicate with me properly and directly.  They see me fearing this and asking these questions and saying these things, and no concrete communication is made, just things that leave me feeling guilty and sheepish and disempowered because they are not actually given to me.  In fact some of them, even in parliament, play the same game.

I know they use code.  I had Something For The Weekend on last night and there was a clip about a counter-terrorism thing and I thought maybe the reason they get so upset is that it is code designed for counter-terrorism purposes.  But then I think, ‘so what if it is?  I’m not close enough to be in a position to say anything that will be harmful’.  So why is it that every time I talk about someone, they come on looking guilty and caught out and defensive, or angry?  Is it unrelated or related?  Is it something to do with me, or is it just trickery, media and parliamentary?  And church, I suppose.  Should I have refrained from writing this when I was confronted on a very strong feeling level by an image of David Cameron in distress just as I was about to write about code? 

I know the answer, the answer has to be ‘yes’.  This is my rationale:  my computer is being hacked;  David would have known I was about to write about code but stopped; because I had stopped (and they even seem to know the things that go on in my head, so he would have known about the image as well and been moved by the fact that I allowed it to stop me) he would have sought me out directly to help me; because I didn’t stop, he won’t directly offer his help; if I hadn’t written, he still might not have offered his help, and I would still be stuck on my own with the burden of what I am thinking; he has tried so hard to make it clear in the past (this is part of my rationale) that he wants to help me, I feel so guilty, and because I am bound in my situation by this awful couple who physically invade my every thought, we could not possibly connect.  Their silences after the invasions make me anxious, and that leads to a schizo moment where I am deeply convicted that everything I have just said is completely wrong.  Are they praying, are they holding a seance, do they, or what the hell is going on here?  This woman goes between sweet and acid just to keep control, and I can’t take it, it is making me really hysterical.  I think she is impersonating my as well.  I’ve had that a lot here.  I’ve just realised that is probably why I feel hysterical, and that it might be empowering the manifestations, and I’m not sure what is empowering what, as far as the psychological interrogation is concerned.  There are moments when I feel really happy about it and really bad for not accepting their love and friendship.  But if I think about it, that has to be a media driven feeling, even a fellow blogger driven feeling, from what I have seen on the Christianity board.  I wonder if the terror they inspire with the foul nature of their interrogation is what drives and empowers the ‘manifestations’.  Every time I get strength, they speak or bang or adjust their position.  It is like being sat on by gigantic toads.  It’s all I ever see these people do when I am out as well.  They never give themselves, it is always observe, mimic, adjust, observe, mimic, adjust.  I’m sure I should find it funny and endearing, but it feels like some sort of demonic dance.  And Oh God it is frightening.  And the interjections, the sweet, clear as a bell interjections.  She makes me feel it is me that is wrong.  But I’m not harassing, I’m reacting.  I feel really groggy and tired and sick.  I was so afraid earlier at something that happened I was afraid to go out, they sound as if they could hurt me.  I’ve felt like this for ages, both stripped and embarrassed under their gaze, and afraid and angry.  I think she has lots of people in with her and they are keeping silent, and acting as if in a seance, or a prayer meeting resisting me, the devil.  Otherwise why the banging?  A single, intermittent sharp rap?  I first came across that in hospital, from a male nurse with a mug.  I just coughed, and the woman talking to Peter Dobbie acted as if she was trying verbally to seduce my neighbours.  CliveNyrie was on a bit ago, and he went through all the stuff I’ve basically aid about him being an actor.  He did the lot, slightly spaced reporter, raga, distinuished actor, he went through them all.  At every break the woman upstairs shouts afresh, almost subliminally, but just enough for me to hear.  it is spiritualism with violence.  I know Bulgarian authorities are reading this.  Please help me.  These are criminals.  If I leave they will do it to someone else.  Me leaving should not be your answer. Please get this Christianese shouting spiritualist and her violent friends off of me.  That is the right and lawful thing for you to do.

Peter Dobbie is affecting a facial twitch when he starts, I saw him deliberately put it on, in his session that just ended at 3.30 pm.  After that he and his fellow staff were channeling me, I watched it all, I saw it all, my thoughts, my emotions.  At the end he seemed as if he was in tears, like me, after my last paragraph, or close to, like me, then he paused, talked about cut off, and there were no tears in his voice.  Every time I get my own emotions she cries out or strikes a surface up there, and people across the way shout out as well.  I feel as if the whole community is ganged up on me, and I have no idea how many of these satanic animals are ganged up in the flat above me.  And I daren’t go and see.  They are pelting me with sound, both vocal and banging, from every corner of their apartment.  This has to be wtichcraft, and if it is Christians praying against my wishes in a way which is obviously harassment, I have been taught in church that that is also witchcraft.  So these Christain bastards who set out to manipulate me and make me feel guilty, are they now going to be true to their own teaching, or keep insisting I should be grateful for what is happening here?  As for Peter Dobbie, it seems to me I have given him this power with me, and I would like to take it back.  I’ve had some emails from Derek Acorah’s thing recently, after years of occasional emails to him which have never been answered and I have never received anything else from them, suddenly they are emailing me.  I’m just saying it as a fact.  I can’t put emotions in it.  what they are doing upstairs is taking that ability from me.  I would like to be angry and I think I am.  And the people upstairs, I find their behaviour disgusting.  When I let myself connect with that disgust I feel as if I begin to come back to myself.  At least, I did just now.  They started moving around a lot and moving chairs, while I was writing about Derek Acorah.  I don’t want to have to connect with these people as people that I love.  Their behaviour is appalling, violent, tormenting.  If these people are Christians and right in what they are doing . . . I feel as if they are.  Every time I come to a stopping place they bang.  The weather forecast has just come on and someone rapped again, and this is the pattern.  It will happen again in a few minutes as well, when the next change happens.

Tim Willcox just came on with an ‘I’m the man’ stance, and shed it as he went into his (all the right words escape me) script.  Then he talked about an ‘injection’ of something into something, and he turned away on the word ‘injection, and turned back again.  ‘Who is in control?’  The law says I should be.  These people are psychologically abusive and criminal stalkers, whatever their motivation and however they feel about it.  And however I do.  They are whipping with their speech patterns in the same way that Bulgarian folk singing women do.  And I feel certain they are courting my neighbours.  I break away and they (BBC World News) seem to try to reconnect.  Tim Willcox is a smooth savage.  They all are.  Their image with me is not what they care about, and they attack all the time.  I could kill him, he is that violent.

Yes, there has been a major disaster in Japan, a place, for some reason, which is close to my heart, but I am too much of an ignoramus and too alone to have much to say or contribute.

But apart from that,  I know, even with what I am experiencing in my own locality, that most of what I am being exposed to is spiritual impersonation, much of it rapacious and debilitating and violent and viscerally accusing and manipulative and dishonest.  Just about everything you feel while exposed to it is a demonic imposition.  Even though I might not be able personally to possess that, I know it is true.  I’m failing to live in the knowledge, which is a bit new in it’s present formulation anyway, I don’t feel at all empowered by it, my neighbours keep yelling and banging, seeming to think somehow that might help them, or opposing me, or something (I feel differently at different times, and probably they do as well), but I still know it is true.

It is easy to know that when dealing with non-Christian sources.  When it involves Christian sources or sources which appear to believe they are Christian sources, it’s a bit more complicated.

I’ve been watching BBC World News.  That was when I realised in a way I never have before.  It is a spiritual impersonation and a form of spiritualistic, psychic phishing.  It is also a source of the most scathing and cynical accusation, based on stalking and psychological profiling dressed up as a news report.  The story is the vehicle for the persecution.  I know that is a grievous thing to say, but from what I have seen and heard I have no reason to think anything different.  I’m not saying ‘all hail the church and its organs’, even though I feel it to some degree when I write something like this.  I know that what I am saying is the truth and I don’t know what to do with it.  I know this sounds awful for a Christian to say, but my neighbours are spiritually leeching on me to such an extent communication isn’t something I can cope with very well.  When I am trying to write something like this, that I need to have believed and accepted and not separated from the essence of who I am, the interjections I get from my neighbours leave me feeling terrified and hysterically desperate, it is like spiritual theft and murder.

I know this sounds horrible, but the way the woman keeps yelling – .  OK, for one thing, God knows it is spiritual impersonation.  But she is like a begging leech, combining it at periods, like just now, right just now, with violent banging on my ceiling, and when I am not doing my best not to cry hysterically, begging them because I am taken in by the impersonation, she reminds me of the little core creatures that chased the people at the end of the sequel to Stepford Wives, desperately grasping and grabbing on to the people who were fleeing for freedom.

I think she impersonates a child as well.  I think it is a form of demonic accusation.  The Lord knows I know this, whatever they make me feel.

I think she is really insane.  I feel like I’m being clung to by a really unclean thing.  I don’t think I have ever felt anything quite like it.

BBC World News again.

I’ve had a really rough day today.  Every day is rough, my neighbours never let up, but today was worse.

I said a lot of things through Google Translate, which I think is sometimes not that accurate anyway.  I also started to draft a post which I didn’t finish because my poor broken open, fragile mind and psyche had another shotgun hallelujah screeched into it by mad motormouth neighbour-mother. I even told her today that in my opinion she needed either to go to the police or get psychiatric treatment, and that I didn’t believe in psychiatry, just to emphasise how extreme her behaviour is and how much I felt she needed to take some action.  She often acts as if she is out of her mind.  And I don’t say that kind of thing, so something has broken down in me somewhere.

After saying that if they pray and also harass their prayers are also illegal, I switched BBC World News on and it was a special news report on prisoners of an uprising.  I don’t know if it was Libya or not, to show how little I was able to concentrate.  I remember one of the reporters said people were screaming and that it was one of the worst things he had ever seen, and that he had seen some pretty bad things.  I thought how often I react to reporters as if they are freshers with no relationship with people they interview and no understanding between themselves and the interviewee, even if they fight on screen like cat and dog.  I noticed the ears of one of the guys, they seemed to be translucent and letting through a red light from behind.  I’ve never seen ears like that.

But I was fagged out and tired.  I had just fought a battle with my neighbours for my legal right to not be harassed and felt I had made a positive step forward in asserting my right to live here in peace.  But I was tired and questioning myself and, while the television was on, I was working through the questions and how much of what I had said (ranted, thrown across the line) I had meant and was right and needed to be said, and I wasn’t really listening, it was just there, a relaxing, comforting hum in the background while I sorted my mind and feelings out.  I was calming down and feeling more settled and relaxed and happy with things (some people would say I shouldn’t have been, but that isn’t the point of this post) when Jamie’s tone started to take on significance and he emphasised ‘slow down’ or ‘slowing down’, and I looked up into his eyes feeling my attention had been forced onto him and away from my own thoughts and he had lifted up one of his fingers and was doing a hypnosis type movement with it, in front of the eyes, and because I was watching and because of everything else that has already gone, I thought he was doing it at me.  He was doing it at the camera anyway, obviously deliberately, I believe, with me watching, and I felt affected by it.  Whether it was real in intention or just a humorous or mocking caricature, it made me angry because it was deliberate, and I hadn’t wanted my attention forced onto him in that way, I needed the space I had to resolve my own thoughts in the situation I am in, 2000 miles away sitting on my sofa in a pain-filled violent harassment situation.  He was deliberately calling attention and short-circuited the process.

He said some other stuff, about someone not being welcome in the situation anymore, and because of the violent call on my attention I felt confused because I was still with my situation here and had been forcibly removed in my mind from it against my will and criminally, I believe, so I thought he was talking about here.  He put his hands up and opened them out like a book, which is another part of the gesture cluster, and I was just getting angrier, then he smiled as if he recognised a presence (whether it was an act or not I don’t know, it seemed real), held the camera with his eye then jerked away and hit the desk with his papers, which I always find really crude and violent as a form of command or territory marking, and called on his interviewee.  What is that about?  I thought it was a psychic thing.  He was using material from my Google Translate session and from my unpublished post.  I don’t understand the gesturing now, I thought it was a psychic thing, but maybe it is just bad handling of a transition into an interview, saying my stuff which he shouldn’t be accessing and defiantly holding the camera in a face off.  It’s still criminal.  It’s still a crime, using what I haven’t even published yet or never would have.  I’m not sure where he was getting the Google Translate stuff from, but the draft post must have been through WordPress or straight off of my computer.

I was so angry and outraged and afraid and offended and disturbed, I started to hear voices.  Ghosting voices, behind me, like the woman shouting hallelujah, but they seemed to be more in my ears.  I don’t know, it was just frightening and disturbing and horrible.  After a few minutes I shouted at her to shut up because it was 12.30 am here and there shouldn’t be any noise after 10 pm.  Then I thought, ‘is it her, it might not be’.  I thought about what was happening, how it seemed to be whispers insistent and crowding around my ear, and decided it was an occult manifestation brought on by the psychologically and spiritually violent and illegal thing which had just been done to me.  It just occurs to me now, as well, that it was my sister’s birthday yesterday, 9th March, and just like Jools Holland held a concert in my birth city on my birthday, Derek Acorah did a show on my sister’s birthday, so there might have been an occult connection there as well, as well as all the straight forward illegal stalking ones.  My sister has been harassed by satanists, who have told her so, if I remember it right.

But he just stayed there, Jamie, staring down the camera, just going on and on, and I was thinking ‘no, this isn’t OK, this is illegal and spiritualist stalking and you have just broken into my mind and life and home by your use of my material’, he laughingly talked about a ‘grievous and irreparable breakdown’, which was relevant to my post subject which is still in draft form, and went out on another laughed ‘grievously’, and apart from anything else I felt mocked and teased about something which, to me, is really serious.

The sports report came on and at one point there was a picture of a group of sportsmen screaming a psychologically disarming warrior type screech, and the presenter came straight backed insistently facing off into the camera instructing someone, on the wave of that yell, to ‘remember when’.  That isn’t good.  That is bad.  I can’t find the terminology for it at the moment, I don’t think I’m imagining it this time, I’ve just been assaulted by another yell from my neighbour as soon as I started to write this, at 2.30 in the morning.  But it isn’t good, what happened in the sports report, and as part of the psychological stalking pattern which is part of and enabled by access to facts and people, I know it’s criminal, whether people will acknowledge that to me or not.  Or do anything about it or not.  And they should.  They are commanding me as if they have a right, more or less saying, ‘you did this and you did that and we have a right to resist you’, but it appears to release something in the studio which is what I think they are after.  It is obviously something they like.  But they savage me to get it.  And all the banging and tapping, obviously and surreptitiously, is grossly offensive and distracting and psychologically violent, for those targeted and whose attention is held as it is visited on them, territory marking.

They were using Tiger Woods as well.  I feel really sorry for him, we all saw how they treated him and I recognise in him the same signs of having been deliberately broken down and crushed, as a person with an open faith/religious position involving a strong moral stance, and left wanting to beg and plead with those who have crushed him as if he needs their permission, as if they glory in making him feel his salvation and redemption, as well as their ‘well, we sympathise but it serves you right’ attitude, are in their hands, that I do in myself.  When I see that it upsets me and makes me really angry.  I want to cry for him and pull them off.  There is something in me, I want to physically attack them and force them away from him when I see them letting him express that extremity of pain and and brokenness and apparently be offering no sympathy or support.  They have no right to humiliate people like that.  Who are these fans that he owed the contents of his entrails to?  If he doesn’t know them, they don’t exist, they were made up for him to make him grovel.  If he does know them and they think it was any of their business, they are probably wrong, in my opinion.  I don’t think it should have been public fare at all, it should have been contained and I can’t see why there had to be a public apology.  The only people he owed anything to were his wife and their relatives.  But then maybe I’m just misjudging the media again.  As a if not the top golfer at the time, if it hadn’t been formalised publicly it would have leaked, which might have been worse).

I’ve thought several times about the sentence from ‘Field of Dreams’, about a baseball player called Babe Ruth, I think, where it says, ‘if we build it, he will come’.  I think he was dead and they wanted his spirit in the place they built for him.  That is what they are doing with – me?  Someone said just because you are in it it doesn’t mean it is about you.  There are lots of people I know ‘in it’.  Is it about us all or is it just general harassment?  Why are we all in it? But more to the point for me, why am I and my family in it, who have no public platform or role?  Many of the lookalikes and namesakes I see – have a working role in a place I have been associated with.  But some are just ordinary people I have met, very quickly after I have met them, placed in a cluster which makes it obvious to me, if to no one else.

I’m wondering if they’re holding a prayer vigil or something, in the apartment upstairs.  I just heard a tapping as I was working with the last paragraph, at ‘that’ point in my engagement and concentration, and I stopped and listened and inwardly examined and challenged it, and the woman coughed in a way which is obviously not my imagination.  I don’t want it, if that is what it is (I swear someone just cried out hallelujah).  They won’t go to the police.  It’s harassment (another cough).  I don’t even get my own head space and work space in the middle of the night, if they have decided to hold some sort of vigil.  (Pause to think and challenge and reject my feeling of responsibility to go and knock on their door and see what is wrong and if and how I can help, countered by another cough).  It makes me feel as if I am being horrible and unmerciful, but they have set this in motion themselves, I don’t think we understand each other, as far as I am concerned everything they are doing is illegal (I type in response to her nasty chav noise) and if they won’t go to the police instead of harassing and invigilating I can’t see what can be done even if – no forget it, I am not responsible. They only want to make me feel that way.  If they wanted help they would initiate finding it themselves.  It appears they obviously have not and therefore probably do not.  So on that horrible derisive sound which makes me feel my whole night is going to be punctuated by these outbursts, I’m going to see what I can achieve by way of sleep in bed.  At least these days I have decided I’m not just going to stay hysterically glued to my sofa and fall asleep on that, I do actually go to bed in my bedroom, which I think is better.  They are making me feel like a really bad person for standing up for myself and not doing their work for them.  Yeah, whatever.  I should show some concern.  It feels like the most appropriate thing to do.  It also feels like the most inappropriate thing to do, at this time of night.  I should shout ‘I’m sorry’ or something.

I’m sorry, I’m not going to, I’m going to bed.  If the news people’s (again) suggestion that the situation is too broken down and I’m not welcome anymore and they are going to get me out is true (they do this all the time) so be it.  I’m really upset by it and feel very insecure but/and I’m going to bed.  Schnor-di-schnor.  Goodnight 🙂  (Woah, very resistant sounding bang, followed up by a muffled ‘hallelujah’ when I started writing this comment.  Their hallelujahs are an illegal and criminal, at this time of nght, expression of witchcraft – not to mention communist-style torture – or have I done that already?

Is the UK media trying to make people believe I’m a somebody with them?  Is that why people here keep going for my voice and trying to adjsut it to suit their own purposes?  But they can sound as sour as they like.

I just realised today (Wednesday UK time) while watching today’s The Daily Politics on the BBC, that the two commentators are deliberate resemblances of me and Michael Mish.  I could tell by their discomfort and slight embarrassment.

I don’t understand why they are doing it, not even after all these years.  Are they somehow trying to subsume me?  I’m not even involved with the media and never have been, except as an occasional caller.  Are they trying to tell people I am something else?  I know they tell me I’m all sorts of negative things.  What are they telling other people about me?  That I’m some sort of star come to grace their space, when my main concern at the moment is to keep my home of 14/15 years and not let my landlord evict me?  I’m a nobody about to become homeless if someone doesn’t get these people off me and let me think to deal with it.  I’m serious, even if now, at this time of night, I feel guilty saying so and would anyway, saying so.  I’m spending my whole time fighting this screeching banshee woman going for my ears and head, she is all I can hear all the time, my ears now are full of her and she isn’t even making a noise at the moment.  The feeling of her constant presence I suppose comes from her constant control while she is awake and insistence on a certain voice and banging or shouting when she hears it, and the knowledge that as soon as I begin to fall into a relaxed sleep or to wake up, it starts all over again, to some degree.  I know there is no respite.

Why are the media doing this to me?  I didn’t ask for anything other than an ordinary life and that is what I want.  Why are they messing with our lives and heads like this?  Why the tears and the impression they give that they have a right to be upset and offended at what they hear from their stalking?  I am not of them.  Who are they trying to give this impression to and why?  I have sought the friendship of a few.  It isn’t there.  I’m not a performer or anything else.  I am and always have been an ordinary person needing ordinary privacy while I fight for my own survival.  Why have they taken this and why are they surreptitiously suggesting the situation is something different?  Who are they suggesting it to and why?  I’m nobody.  The other people from my life that they also use and refer to probably resent it all as much as I do and that is why I have no relationships.  They are not calling me.  If they were they would, I have given them plenty of opportunity and sent plenty of emails that remain unanswered.  Malcolm isn’t calling me.  Tommy isn’t calling me.  Michael isn’t calling me.  No one is.  It’s a big, fat, lying con.  It must be.  It should be.  If they were calling me they would and should just get in touch normally.  And they don’t.

Different streams first.  I’m downloading the programme. 

I wanted to hear what was happening really early on and tried to break in the middle of an advert or song, so I tuned into the live stream for a second.  I heard a woman speaking, it sounded like Lizzie Crowe.  The downloaded stream is different and the woman’s voice isn’t there.  On the downloaded stream John says Lizzie is having a day off because she works on Saturday.

I’m wondering how long this has been happening and how many other stations do the same thing.  Maybe that is why I don’t get many detailed responses to what I write, because the downloaded stream is different from what you get when you tune in and I sound either as if I am lying or am hallucinating. 

I tried to upload an mp3 the other day.  I got a message saying that kind of file is restricted for security reasons.  I have the space upgrade and it is one of the allowed file types.  I think for all of these people the industry, or their place in it, might be more important than the truth.  I think if I tried to tell anyone, including Saints Tommy Boyd and Michael Mish, they would pretend they didn’t know what I was talking about.  I left some comments on Michael’s youtube account (mmish2) on the video ‘monkey forest’ which I thought were obviously from me (we corresponded for a year and spoke on the phone a few times, and I felt he was the person who both restored my sanity and ability to stand up for myself, and who kept me sane.  I felt he was a really good and beautiful and wise and sensitive friend.  I still do), but he sent a note asking if he knew me from somewhere and has blocked me.  They would blank me and treat me like an idiot.  They have done it before, many people do.  Tommy emerges with a post when he wants to comment on one of mine and make an impression, if he is the writer.  Last night the comments were still there on Michael’s account.  He might remove them now.  He might change his account name.  I hope he doesn’t, and if he loves me I hope he forgives me and re-establishes the relationship he said was over.  Premier, at least for one, appears to be dealing in deception of a kind I wouldn’t have thought anyone would and didn’t know anyone did, and definitely not Christians.  

I have no friends.  It is an illusion, and I know now how abusive it has been, and how murderous.  I have people I love, but they are not friends.  They aren’t even brave or honest and are possibly illegal though they posture as respectable.  John Pantry is nasty and needling, as well as criminal, and so are the people who hit me with flurries of computer and application crashes at significant times, like now.  I’m now recording both streams.  They know I’m into the performing arts and are trying to pass it off and make me value it as a creative response to a crisis, or at least make me believe that other people will value it on those terms.  I believe that is another particularly devious and abusive aspect of their deception.  The men were laughing and jeering.  My recorder crashed or was crashed and I have lost my live stream recording, and I got confused and also wiped my download.  John is savage.  He tracks what I’m writing as I write it and talks with jeering, exalted ‘serves you right tones’ when something I am doing goes wrong.

They are into impersonation as much as the secularists and impersonate mental health and police authorities and adopt how dare you tones, look at what you’ve done tones.  Because of what they have already done to me and allowed to be done to me, maybe, and in some cases definitely, even instructed people to do to me, I feel hysterical and as if they are grabbing and attacking me physically, from a distance, one that allows them to mock and make me believe they are getting away with it and that no one cares or will hold them to account, because that is what has been involved in my ‘management’ and ‘treatment’ so far, for over a decade, while the mental health authorities have been involved and utilised.

They are trying to make me believe no one will believe me or care or think it is significant even if they do.  They are trying to make sure that even if they have to pay for what they have done and are doing, I myself will remain damaged in my mind and emotions for the rest of my life for opposing them, God’s anointed.  That is what this kind of leader from their kinds of churches do and major on, it is how they teach.  I’ve spent most of my life, about 40 years, exposed to this, closely and with very few breaks.  It is vicious, malicious, cruel and deceitful.  It is actually murderous.  They know I understand the word ‘fantastic’ and am into etymology, and they are teasing me with it in its literal sense, that it is beyond belief.  It is spiritual molestation equivalent in tone to a verbal guided fantasy of sexual molestation, and they are dangling in front of me the teaching I have most deeply and readily embraced and basically saying ‘hurt us and you lose this’.  I’m talking about their teaching, but I hear my own, very strong, sexually referential undertones just as obviously as everyone else will, and they have blocked and accused me at that level for years.

At the beginning John prayed a prayer about the trust of children (I wrote this paragraph first, I now realise how deep and monstrous is their betrayal and abuse of trust).  But little children don’t trust.  They don’t have that awareness when they are first born.  When they do come to awareness, they often still don’t trust.  They just take things for granted as they are.  You could say an abused child trusts, but they don’t really, they just don’t know anything different.  I was an abused child, and frightened and miserable, but I didn’t know it could be different.  Even if I experienced short periods of difference with other families, I didn’t know it could be different for me.

I think trust is often in spite of and is more an adult thing.

These people will pay for every life they sabotage.  I pray God will hurt them for what they have done and are doing, as criminals, especially those who hold office and responsibility, always should be hurt and have to pay for what they have done to their victims.  They say I can be free and healed.  I believe that.  But they have no right, as abusers and criminals, to offer me that.  That is abusive and torturous in itself.  I want them to suffer the consequences the law says they should.

I started to pray when I couldn’t bear what I was listening to anymore.  At that point John said ‘put that sherry down, it’s too early’.  I took it as aimed at me, and was frightened and upset.  It was aimed at someone, and was symbolic in use.  They don’t talk straight and accountably.  Most of their audience is a victim of deception, and some of us helpless victims of their assumed stupidity and abuse because the other part of their audience wouldn’t believe that of them.  They help the violent and abusive against me.  Psychologically they help people to extort from me, their own violent members into whose hands I have fallen or been deliberately delivered.  I’m fed up of wide boy pastors and people coming on clean cut while they criminally work me over and take everything they can.

Presence

As soon as you write, as soon as you speak, as soon as you watch or listen to something, you are already removed from your core reality.

I think that is our problem.  We are too noisy, too busy, too dazzled, too driven, too personally dispersed and fragmented, too opinionated, etc, etc, to make real connections.

I believe that’s the truth.

I’m thinking about economic and employment philosophy and why we are urged to live such a market place life, instead of nuclear and private.  I don’t know.  I’m an ignoramus.  I couldn’t tell you.  Even my question might be stupid.  Harking back to a localist paradise that never existed.  There has always been intermational trade and relationships.  We should want to open up to the world, shouldn’t we?

What An Idiot!

Written Saturday, 26th February.

“You idiot, what a stupid thing to do!”

Isn’t that much more human and kind and accessible and friendly than finding something offensive and constructing an argument about it to demonstrate that it is offensive and being dogmatic about its motivation?  At least in normal circumstances.  Even then, maybe we need to broaden our understanding of all the things that should carry the label, “normal”.

I just looked at someone I was offended with earlier, and while I believe I understand what they are doing and that it is offensive and I can make all the arguments as to why and how, I just thought, “honestly, what an idiot, what a stupid thing to do”, and the lack of a thesis or essay about it made it far less charged.

I thought about it for a few minutes afterwards.  I decided that, sometimes, being a Christian and therefore not free to call someone stupid or an idiot, in good conscience, can make you far less human and sympathetic in the way you approach people when they are idiots and do stupid things.

Then I thought again.  Where did this restriction come from, the idea that you can’t call someone an idiot?  Is it Christian?  While it is true that Jesus said if you call your brother a fool you will be in danger of hell fire, the Old Testament talks a lot about fools, especially in the Book of Proverbs, and there is a parable about the man who built bigger barns to store his grain and congratulated himself about having plenty stored up, that God said to him, “you fool, this night your soul will be required of you”.  Whatever we might think of that concept of God, even though the Bible says it was Jesus who told the story, perhaps the fact that it is in the Bible should indicate that Bible believing, evangelical Christians, if we don’t already do so, should hold a more liberal view about just calling people stupid when it might be more appropriate and productive than having to construct an argument.  Because some behaviour obviously is stupid, and sometimes the best way to deal with it, in the right kind of relationship where the person can accept and respond to it, is just to say so.

So I’m not sure how I got the idea that you can’t just tell someone they are being an idiot and their behaviour is stupid, in an affectionate, good natured way, and they could just exhale in relief and maybe slightly embarrassed recognition and change it.  maybe someone was censorious with me at some point for doing that, or maybe someone whose opinion I value would be against it.  If so, me, what an idiot, what a stupid thing to do, to take that on board, maybe, and the person who influenced me could well be an idiot, at least over that, also.  Having to construct arguments and theses all the time doesn’t half kill the flow of fondness in relationships, and all the positive change that comes out of that.

It’s just a thought, for normal circumstances.

I think this is a stupid post written by an idiot.

I wrote this on Saturday.  I was going to change the title, but I’ve forgotten what to.  The link I am inserting relates to the end of my post where I mention Newsnight and Simon Schama, who was the historian in the first post on this blog in May last year.

I’m not sure why I’m putting it out.  I feel a bit dissociative at the moment.  Apologies to Peter Dobby if I have got him completely wrong.  I know I’m not the only person who thinks that everyone else is evil when they are in a crisis they haven’t made themselves.  A bad thing isn’t made good because it is done with good motives – she says moralistically.  I don’t even know if that is right in this case, where I feel protectively stalked by the media.  If I say I feel protectively stalked, why am I not protecting them?  Maybe because I am a vengeful, selfish and cynical cow.  I don’t know why I’m not protecting them, and I feel wrong for not doing.  I should be so grateful, I feel, in some ways.  As for Peter, I saw his own distress, and I feel really bad about what I said in other posts and what I have include here.  I’m interpreting everything selfishly and cruelly.  If anyone is exposed by what I’ve said about him it is me and not him. I hope so.  I’m sorry, Peter.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00zfmwq/Newsnight_Revolution_2011/

My computer keeps being crashed.  Last night I lost the biggest chunk of text I have ever lost on WordPress.  It normally saves automatically.

As I was saying, Peter Dobby is a complete bastard, a cruel and unkind person who delights in the devastation he causes another to feel.  he can barely hide it.

I was also saying that, although these people might seem soft and casual, don’t be deceived.  They have a rapacious agenda they know about but do not acknowledge to us, they carry it out ruthlessly.  They seem soft and casual, but they are highly driven, hardsell people, and are inquisitors and torturers.  Deliberately.  It isn’t that some of them are hard and some of them are nice.  They have the same agenda.  It’s called the iron fist/velvet glove approach.

Jesus said don’t cast your pearls before swine, or they will turn again and rend you to pieces.  They act like velvet, don’t they?  Like a glass of Baileys.

Peter Dobby just said ‘plenty more to come in the programme’.  As he was saying it, or something just before it, he was looking down on the desk, looking at the desk like a kind human being looks at a friend, but when he lifted his face up to the camera, he put a blank, hardly there for anyone look on his face, completely untouchable and contemptuous and as if he had a bad smell under his nose.  We were meant to see both.  The ones of us that get attacked by them were meant to want to fly at him in retaliation, or beg him to stop or something, at which point he would get our story, and suddenly our minds would be wiped clean and we would be back in favour and no longer under threat and none of the tactics they had used would matter to us anymore, because breaking and giving them what they wanted would seem like the right and reasonable thing to do.  There is so much of the ending of 1984 in this.  The couple are separated from each other, passing each other in the street and hardly seeing each other, the torture and betrayal have been that deep and awful, and the final scene is something involving an imposed consciousness of ‘Big Brother’, a voice or a picture or something like that, and the man sits there in tears, realising, as I think it is the last sentence of the book that says this, that he loved Big Brother.  They had been caught by surreptitious and deceptive state surveillance and their relationship broken by torture.

The face Peter Dobby lifted to the camera, that is the programme. Or part of the programme, the psychologically violent one.  When they talk about the programme, they are using so many therapy type things and terms, and guided fantasy methods and word pictures (bodies and buildings, for instance) that I hear ‘programme’ as psychological programme, and I think that is what they mean.  I was going to say they all do it, but now I am confused.  I’m pretty sure they do.  I’m emotionally breaking at the moment, what they are doing is making me feel  disorientated and dislocated and really bad, especially the delight they appear to be taking in my humiliation.  It’s so bad, I even feel guilty about reworking a post, the blank, Frankenstein’s monster look he puts out with the provocation very few people are meant to see and understand makes me feel hysterical and incapable of communication.  So does my neighbours’ silence when I react to their invasiveness and provocation.  It seems to me their silence is as deliberate as everything else.

I’ve said before that they go for my throat.  I just watched, for the second time, this time just because it was on the television when I switched it on, Thursday night’s Newsnight, talking about the Libyan uprising.  One of the guests said it was as if something had been taken off of their throats and their voices now sounded clear to him.  The historian Simon Schama, who I have written about before, was there, and he picked up the significance of that and looked very guilty and shocked.  I believe he was thinking about me, perhaps, at least among others.  But the look of guilt was there.  They put the stalking into the community, play on your controlling feelings, for instance, guilt and shame, and using your neighbours as the people who hold you up against the wall as they beat you up, they lay into you. It’s occultism and salacious insolence.  It is so outrageous you want to hit back, if they’ve already worked you over and you understand what they have done and are still having to live with it, and at the same time they put their faces into yours, through the camera, and say ‘what are you going to do about it?’.  The way they eyeball the camera, eyeballing the person their speech is tailored to, and hold your eye while they shout the name of their colleague, which might or might not be your name, is abusive.  It IS deliberate and it IS abusive.  It’s intimidation, and it’s like staring down a dog.

I watched some videos online the other day, by a legal expert in the US, saying it would be OK, in law, to lie to Mr Assange to lure him to a place where they could kidnap him.  I understand the feeling of what he is living with, in terms of the threat and uncertainty (even though I do not know that my life is in danger) living with threat from authorities (and non-authorities) in different ways. 

I don’t think there is anything I can do, but I wish it wasn’t happening to him.  I feel like pleading with him, ‘please don’t die’.

It shouldn’t be legally OK to lie to anyone.  Certainly not for government bodies.  But they do it all the time.  For our protection, they say. 

I don’t want a society riddled with and ‘protected’ by lies.  Some Christians quote Rahab who hid the spies and lied about where they had gone, as being an example of when lying is right.  But the Bible says ‘God is not a man, that He should lie’.  It also says ‘Walk before me and be thou perfect’.  In the New Testament it also says ‘put off lying one to another’ and ‘let no corrupt communication come out of your mouth’.

For me these are heart and covenant verses, and the only ones I can remember out of my own head.  But no one has the right to argue, based on what they see from my limited memory, that the whole issue is a covenant thing and that there are some circumstances, therefore, when lying is right to, or about, certain people.

The reason I say this is that the New Testament isn’t big on self-protection, not for Christians.  We are told to honour all men, and to do good to all (even though it does say especially to those wo are of the household of faith, that doesn’t mean it is OK to do evil to someone else, even if the law demands that they be punished for a crime). 

If the law allows lying, the law is a mess.  Why should the only sanctified place of honour be in court, where it becomes illegal to lie?  Think how much time and money and distress would be saved to so many, if only lying itself, in whatever circumstances, was a crime.  Why isn’t lying, such an abusive and dishonorable thing, a crime?  So that lawyers can continue getting fat?

The New Testament isn’t big on self-protection or for terrestrial country being on a par with God.  Christians were encouraged to accept death for refusing to say, ‘Caesar is Lord’.  I think that encouragement was right.  People are not perfect.  Even if the only acceptable point being made here for some people is that the individual’s conscience comes before any allegiance to king and country (or continent, or one world government, since that is obviously what people are trying to practice, it doesn’t have to be treated with sensationalism for it obviously to be true), I believe that is the point that has to win the day, over and above loyalty to earthly government and authorities.

The spies might have been covenant people, but they were also ordinary men. Who wouldn’t be grateful for having their lives saved?  If in rewarding the woman for that they affirmed lying, they were wrong.  The Bible says she was also a harlot, whatever that means, maybe it isn’t it’s modern meaning.  They weren’t, surely, rewarding and affirming that, if it was what is understood by the word today.  They were showing human gratitude and mercy.  Who knows, maybe they should never have involved the name of God in the transaction at all.  It was a normal, human response to someone who has saved your life.

The fact that someone uses an exalted tone doesn’t make them right.  Maybe they didn’t use an exalted tone, maybe it is just the way I have heard it read and carressed in Church.  I think a verbal carress expresses joy and gratitude and strong feeling.  it is not necessarily an indicator of truth, even though you might feel that people capable of expressing such strong and positive feelings can’t possibly be wrong.  People and their feelings should never be idolised.  Feelings rely on information.  Information might be wrong, or wrongly understood.  No one should ever say to another, ‘I am so and so, do as I say’, unless it is in a clear matter of law.  That is why, I believe, we need to be dispassionate and not inflammatory, if a safe world is what we want.

People say and do atrocious things, regularly, deliberately, knowingly, routinely, knowing they are wrong, then they do it again, because that’s what they do, but suddenly they don’t want it to have the effect that it does and they apologise, for someone’s hearing, if not for the hearing of the people they have offended.  Names and pack drill, I have the Robert Elms programme yesterday, and every day, in mind, at least on this occasion.  The cheek by jowl set up.  But it could be the rest of the media, or church, or politics.  All of those industries.  That is all they are.

The thing is, they have no intention of stopping permanently.  That is how their industry works, the most injurious, demeaning, subliminal, verbal assaults.  So sorry, but what does sorry mean?  Nothing, except that, this time, we want something and can’t afford to offend you, or someone else hearing what we are doing.  I feel sorry for him.  I think he probably means well.

I love you guys, but sorry means nothing if you don’t intend to change.  Stop what you do, as an act of policy stop it, please, or stop saying sorry when you do it and it happens not to fit what you want to achieve on that particular occasion or someone exposes it.

I hope we understand each other. Any quistions (sic), do let me know.

I’m Sue Barnett.  Now let squet (skit) the weather.

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