Tuesday, 27 October 2009

Diary

Monday* Tuesday. Last night slept 1.00-3.00 & 4.00-6.00. V low all day. Managed to make kids' breakfast and lunch. Couldn't face going out. Looked after little one all afternoon. Baked a cake, because little one kept saying 'cake' brightly and hopefully. Couldn't face going out to fortnightly music session. Watched Bellissima by Visconte in evening. Cried. Very sore back all day.

Other news, Happy Birthday Little Sister!

* what bloody day was it today?

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Wednesday. Last night slept 3.00 - 4.30. 5.30 - 7.00. 8.00 - 10.30. Still broken, but what an improvement. If yesterday was mood = -8, today was only -2. Felt pretty good, relatively speaking. Anxious, yes. Irritable, at times. But at least energy to engage with the kids, and even go out for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Sounds easy, but involves winning the whole family round. Anyway, lovely walk around Uley Bury. Took a 20 min pinhole pic of Smallpox Hill (Bury Hill). Will see what it's like when I have a few more to develop. Cooked roast chicken and saffron potatoes and cauliflower and K did the carrots, and I did 'Daddy Gravy'. Ugh! No, daddy gravy is the only gravy that my epicurean children deem acceptable. It made me think about the way DLA is awarded, and how it is skewed against anyone who's been a chef or who can indeed cook well. Pleasant chat in the evening with a couple of people. And the missus went out swimming and did a mile! Not a bad day at all.

(I've decided to keep all these in the one post. If anyone is interested, then bookmark or whatever you weirdo stalker-lurker-snoopers do :-) )

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Thurs - can't remember sleeping. Best friend came over - needed to price a job. I came out for the jaunt. Brought it all back. The horror, the horror. The horror of taking on 70K worth of work for earning maybe 20K, and hoping that one will be well enough for long enough to do it professionally. My skin was crawling and my mind was shutting it off.

Fri - ditto - paranoid, unloved by all and sundry. K kicked me into using telephone.

Sat - Sleep - about four hours. There was a post about that.

Sun - Sleep - so so. Went for a walk to a local long barrow. Took some photos, pinhole and normal. Semi-high.

Here's one I took the day or three before.



Mon - Very sad. Sleep shitty. Had bad news night before. Sad for them, not me, though I ended up crying a lot on their behalf. Ended up a very grotty day.

Tue - In bed from 1 til 10. 1 til 7 I woke about 20 - 24 times. So innumerable 15 minute bursts. I could be charming and call it 'drifting'... It was more like a car door slamming on my head regularly. Felt grotty and fucking irritable all day. Attacked family accounts, started organising everything! Etc. Made some prints in the night.

Wed - Sleep: 1 hour, 1 hour, 1 hour, 1 hour. Felt wonderfully rested. More ORGANISING! Shelf-rearranging, etc...

Thur - 10 hours straight sleep! Bit of a non-day. Cooked, etc. Did a bit of painting. Cooked again. We watched a pleasant and rather sweet film: I Am A Cyborg (But That's Ok). Now trying to blog, and will shortly go to bed to either stare at the ceiling crawl around again, or sleep, inshallah. Take care all.

Monday, 26 October 2009

Am I (Delete Search History)

K takes the credit for spotting this. I got to wow her with my Alt Prt Scr moves.






Other news, I finally got around to making a pinhole camera. Still experimenting.





Other news. I'm flipping out generally but doing a good impersonation of someone who isn't mainly by avoiding people. Lost my temper with a rabbit skin I was trying to turn into a hat for the baby. It wasn't big enough. His head has grown.

Feeling odd. We should have gone off to Wales for half-term but we haven't yet.

Take care all. Dx

Saturday, 24 October 2009

One of the problems.

F14_0241_1

Click on the pic for an explanation. Oh fuck so I can copy and paste. Ok then.

"Scaffold designed by me off the cuff on back of rizla packet. I was horrified to see it become reality. And it was out of my hands. And very happy when it came down. (I have no scaffold designing qualifications or engineering skills).

And in high wind, I was very unhappy on the couple of site visits I did.

Moral of this story. Don't listen to manically optimistic professionals thinking outside the box. Yeah so it worked. But it might not have.

But fuck, it must have saved £100,000"

Post before this is the one that counts for tonight. This is just righteous anger and entertainment.

Coming out of the shithole

But not necessarily in a good way.

I always have a horrid time in the autumn. I generally have a down at the beginning of autumn. This year nothing has changed. I realised I have a problem with describing depression. I was chatting with my cpn. He pointed out that I only call myself depressed when I am clinically catatonic. Well. What does that mean? That I'm generally depressed all the time apart from when I'm concurrently flying? Probably. And I always go badly up during the winter. So fingers crossed against too badly up. Last year was relatively mild. I gave an unofficial public lecture on Boxing Day to the visitors of Glos Cathedral while covered with lacerations caused by sprinting naked in the dark into barbed wire, and topping it off with writing imprecations to myself all over my body, and was discovered naked in the morning by my mother in law and sons. So, if that's all that happens, I'll be a happy man.

This post probably sounds coherent, but it's about to fragment into a hundred different worries and thoughts.

First, worried about all the people who have vanished off the radar. I hope they are well. But if so, it would be lovely to hear so. And if they're not, I hope they're all safe.

Secondly, La-Reve's jug - it is packed, addressed, and waiting for the strike to end. Ceramics during industrial action and postal service... (I once worked temping in the parcels sorting office - on a good day everyone enjoyed smashing 25% of items to alleviate the boredom - I was only young, and even though I'd just spent three months pretending to be Moses with robe and staff along St Paul's, I found the attitude revolting.) So it will be sent! I'll damn well drive it up myself next month otherwise. Or December, or whenever next month is.

Thirdly. At least I'm taking an interest in all of you who have helped me at times again. I have been in a hole last month. Think moth emerging from cocoon in a roaring fire at present.

Fourthly. I appreciate people getting in contact through various means. I'm just a cack-handed fool sometimes. Technology and me... clueless.

Fifthly. I was taking the long view earlier. Prompted by talking to the Lisp the other day. The 'episode' that they 'caught' me on was not the worst that has happened since, and all of the others have been under their radar. Because I keep them so; my family keeps them so; and my friends keep them so. Because me, my family and my friends are all in accordance that the MH system in this country is a pile of shite. What's that quote? Samuel Goldwyn? "Anyone who goes to a psychiatrist needs their head examining."

Sixthly. I once again distrust my cpn. Nice bloke. Maybe professional. But one day and I hope it isn't my fist and his nose that alerts him, he will have to work out that he can't square that circle. I told him the bare minimum about the Wales weekend in the summer. I WAS NOT IMPRESSED to be asked by some milksop psychiatrist about it. So I told him it was none of his fucking business, due to reasons of professional confidentiality.

Seventhly. That Wales weekend was strangely lovely. I expected a horrible pile of stress. And I imagine everyone else did too. But we all managed somehow or the other to be 'quite' relaxed. More relaxed than many weekends of friends we've had up there. That weekend gave me a pile of faith in all of us. I think it's the others who are the problem. The morons, the unimaginative, the mail-readers, the blinkered old horses, the etc etc etc

I must stop or else I will burst my spleen.

Take care all, Dx

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Psych Visit Today

And don't you hate them? I hate them. This lisping child, wanting to run away out of the room every time I let another piece of information fall that he hadn't read in the file.

Still, seemed to convince him (I wasn't going to hurt him) that I was no threat to society or myself eventually.

But it's fucking demeaning. Even if I haven't been at my 'best' recently.

Let's change the subject.

A picture. I took 12 pics on the medium format camera after the 1000000gazillionth dip in the river in the barn, and have been fucking about with them since.

-

And here's the first stages of a painting I've started doing from it.

roughing out

Will update now and again, depending on drying times.

But bloody psychiatrists. Cretins. Idiots. But over here, and in my experience, they need their noses wiping.

Like being interviewed by a child.

And they are here to HELP!????

There is something stinkin' in the Mental state of DenmarUK

Sunday, 18 October 2009

More Anti Kraep

Good summary in the obit of Robert Kendall.

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/obituaries/robert-kendell-755421.html

More

http://blogs.bmj.com/ebmh-talk/2009/01/23/the-end-of-kraepelin%E2%80%99s-dichotomy/


'And what of Kraepelin, would he approve? Well he was having doubts about his own dichotomy back in 1920, “No experienced psychiatrist will deny that there is an alarmingly large number of cases in which it seems impossible, in spite of the most careful observation, to make a firm diagnosis…. It is becoming increasingly clear that we cannot distinguish satisfactorily between these two illnesses and this brings home the suspicion that our formulation of the problem may be incorrect”.'


Another good article:

http://bjp.rcpsych.org/cgi/content/full/186/5/364

Changes in classification will accompany the improvements in understanding of pathogenesis. These will require clinicians to embrace classifications that are both more complex (more categories or, perhaps, dimensions) and also simpler (because they map on to the biology of the illness more closely). These developments have much to offer patients and the professional standing of psychiatry. Most patients want to be given an unambiguous and accurate diagnosis, but psychiatrists are understandably reluctant to be too dogmatic in the early stages of psychotic illness, recognising that the cross-sectional picture may change longitudinally – often frustrating patients, leading to diagnostic revisions between categories and creating an impression that psychiatrists are indecisive or incompetent. Moving to a spectrum concept (be it with categories or dimensions) with recognition of overlapping pathogenetic factors and varying expression (dependent upon both genetic risk and environmental exposure) would allow a confident and clear diagnosis to be offered (perhaps ‘psychosis-spectrum illness’ or ‘mood–reality disorder’), with a clear explanation that some specific tests and a period of observation will help to clarify the likely course of illness and response to treatment. This would be greatly preferable to the current situation and the inevitable consequences of damage to the therapeutic alliance caused by diagnostic revisions.

The Kraepelinian dichotomy has been useful for a hundred years. Now it is time to move on.

Friday, 16 October 2009

Unexpected Visit

I don’t like MH professionals when I’m not in a fit state to talk to them.


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Spiky and Smallpox Jaunt

I’ve been a bit spiky of temper recently. Friends seem to bear the brunt.

mf189

Anyway, can’t think of anything useful to say, so thought I’d post a few draft scans of some pics from a hill that used to be a smallpox isolation hospital in the 17th Century, and maybe a black death isolation hospital long before that, and a fort long, long before that.

mf184

mf183

mf187

mf185

Take care everyone. Dx

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Thoughts on Creation and Inability

It’s not the creative act. It’s the selection.

I sit in ‘brown study’ and inhabit scenes, all imaginary. In detail. In dialogue. In every particular of nuance, accent, mannerism. I need a speed-of-light pen. It can’t be done. I can’t make a precis. I can’t focus on detail. I can’t pick and choose. Everything is there and real. The room dims and I see what I’m imagining, and there is no pause-button to press.

That isn’t psychosis in my book. It’s an act of imagination, albeit one that takes over my reality – but I know what it is that I’m doing.

It’s always been my creative failing.

Over the years a few decent chapters got written down, and lost over the years too.

Maybe this is why I’m heading back to my first loves – visual expression, poetry…

I can sit for hours threading my mind down through mazy cities of people and events – it’s like dreaming while awake. All manner of things happen. And it feels as real as dreams feel. But still awake. Bizarre.

I repudiate the concept that having a knack for that somehow makes me ill.

I call psychosis that babble when I somehow know 1 = 2 and am trying my hardest to convey that to others and they are scared and white-faced and when I’ve calmed down I want to weep for the memory or the knowledge of how it was that I made 1 = 2 and how it’s lost again.

As for life, and the want to live, and the want to be normal, and the want of steadiness, and the wantonness of the burbling spring. Well pour on the concrete, and dynamite the concrete, simultaneously.

p.s. 1=2 is my shorthand for any impossible predicament that somehow in those 'funny' moments one can harmonize and make impossibly possible.

p.p.s at twenty past five. Beckett's "All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." The 'Fail better' is a classic 1=2. Double bind? No. Just the human condition.

Monday, 12 October 2009

Tired

Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall eat Shit with both their Ears.

Friday, 9 October 2009

WTF? Swine Flu Inspired Changes to Mental Health Act - Only One Doc For Sectioning.

http://www.managementinpractice.com/default.asp?title=SwineflupromptschangestoMentalHealthAct&page=article.display&article.id=18628

Am I crazy, or does this sound evil?

Via HenryNorthLondon

I'm feeling a bit like this



I forget what the jargon is. Derealisation? Depersonalisation? Whatever it is, I feel lace-like, and the world feels washed-out. I shake my head to clear it and click back into it, but it isn't working. It is a permanent state of tension, of waiting. I am bored with it. I want to reclaim the 8 months of the year that are spent in slump, fizz or the otherworld back for me and my family. And the pills don't fucking do it.

Thursday, 8 October 2009

Clear Skies

There is but one Moon in these heavens
And she is my only Mistress.

Incapacity Benefit and the Tory Cunts

There have been a couple of excellent and interesting posts on the subject from Tangled Weeds and Aethelread.

This has been on my mind the last day or so, (separately to the DLA/AA issue), and what prompted my maths (ahem) brain (ahem) to get working was the feeling that people were saying 'It will cost too much therefore it won't happen.'

My gut instinct was that it wouldn't cost very much, and the apparent savings, by which I mean the savings on paper for 'that policy', far outweigh the administrative costs.

I've attached the slew of comments I added to Aethelread's post below. I'm afraid they show the way my mind works all too well. I know I know the answer, but I have to do an impression of a rubber ball fired by a cannon in a fives court before I get to the answer. See why I went nuts again when Mr Taxman made me do my accounts in the spring?

The conclusion is this: despite the very low figure for IB fraud (as if it is easy to con all the doctors and psychiatrists!), the policy is that 20% are to be branded shysters and fraudsters and thieves and villains.

That means many ill people are going to be starved back to work, or into hospital, or into worse health, or into many other horrible states which will end up costing the government money.

But on paper, hey, the policy will be deemed successful.

And it was a Labour Policy to start with.

FUCK THE LOT OF THEM. I'm voting with my Molotov.



Comments I spewed all over Aethelread's. Sorry Aethelread. Feel free to tidy up. :-)

#
abysmal musings, on October 7th, 2009 at 11:44 pm Said:

Using my business head – rusty, but still alive, like a foul old reptile that I haven’t quite slain…

I calculate they will break even between weeks 158 and 159, and make a weekly saving of £533,280 after that (not adjusted for inflation). My forecast does not cost for their extra MOT centres.

So, ignoring that aspect, their forecast only overruns two weeks based on the forecast of the figures you’ve sensibly estimated.

In other words, it all sounds horribly plausible.

Where we really need to look and raise our voices is the extra costs to the NHS that will ensue from this policy.

Sorry to piss on the bonfire.
#
abysmal musings, on October 7th, 2009 at 11:46 pm Said:

Forget that.

Rusty old head.

Back to the spreadsheet!
#
abysmal musings, on October 8th, 2009 at 12:00 am Said:

Well, firstly I forgot to times the per-person weekly saving by the £25 they want to dock.

But even so, that doesn’t go far enough.

My maths is a bit like action painting. It takes me a while to see the picture, but I get there in the end.

The point is, and the really pertinent pointy point is that if they shunt half a million IB claimants to the tune of £25 weekly each, that is a weekly saving of £12,500,000. Soon pays for that 14 mill a year (plus extras).

Sorry to make a mess of your comments.

Take care, Dx
#
abysmal musings, on October 8th, 2009 at 12:12 am Said:

I’ve straightened out the spreadsheet. They break even in week 6. Which funnily was where they broke even on the scribbled graph estimatation my wife and I did by the fire half an hour ago.

Sigh.

Sometimes I think technology just complicates our lives.
#
abysmal musings, on October 8th, 2009 at 12:19 am Said: Your comment is awaiting moderation.

Spreadsheet: (xls): http://www.box.net/shared/ens47a35qq

(ods): http://www.box.net/shared/ovqogc2glj

Wednesday, 7 October 2009

They All Want To Do Away With Everything. Even the Wheelchair Users. Let Alone Us Imaginary Wheelchair Users.

Sign the petition. http://petitions.number10.gov.uk/AttendanceA/ Tell your friends.

Parties across the board are wanting to scrap Disability Living Allowance. This affects the most vulnerable members of society.

There are only a few days left of the Green Paper consultation period. Write to your MP if you feel strongly enough.

Sorry to bother you with touchy-feely rights-of-man stuff, but this is actually important.

Love to all, David. (A disinterested party - never been well enough in the head to cope with the forms and hoops to claim it.)

Sunday, 4 October 2009

Comme ci comme ca

Just thought I'd give a wee update. Been in a horrid black turd-besmeared hole for a couple of weeks punctuated by manic spikes. Not too bad at the moment. Bit too intense for other peoples' comfort maybe, but alright in myself.

Hope you all are well. (You know what I mean.)



(by Kate, obviously. Sodbury Camp. How's that for a double-edged title for a photo? And bejesus if I have that many wrinkles at 38 what the hell will I look like if I get to sixty? The wrinkle soup that engulfed the earth? (Men are vain too.).)

p.s. found a complete Anne Sexton in a charity shop in Stroud yesterday.

Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Other news? Not really. Just thankful I live in the howling wilderness where plod and the nosy neighbours don't tread in the night.

Dx

Thursday, 1 October 2009

Wirbel

"Finally, hypersensitivity, hypersyntony, extraversion, instability, suggestibility, loss of limits and proprieties, hyperesthesia, hyperreactivity, sensation seeking, disinhibition, intolerance to obstacles, excitation, acceleration, disorganization, disorder, chaos, whirling and swirling, twirling (Wirbel) characterize the mind and world of bipolar patients and often confuse the differential diagnosis with hysteria, borderline personality and other cluster B axis II disorders." Bipolar Disorder by Mario Maj, Hagop S. Akiskal, Juan José López-Ibor

I just like the word 'wirbel'.