I remember this so well, too well sometimes – in the early hours. He became fixated with the consequences of death and decided that he had to “help” us come to terms with the fact that he would die. He felt that we were only hurting ourselves by loving him so much, as it would just make the pain of his death more painful. And yet he needed us – some of the conversations were heart rending…
Allow me to Die
Father
He’s not well
He’s schizophrenic, isolated and depressed
And joyless, hollow and so fake
His laughter
It must be the weed
Son
I am the loony who’s been
Hiding all this time
Biding and brewing
Till you can’t contain the signs
And it hurts you because
You care to much
To be there for me
Mother
But he’s our son
And as parents must crusade
To make sure that he knows that
He’s insane, he’s insane, he’s insane!
Because we love him – he’s our first-born!
To lose him would cremate our very bones
Son
I am the loony who
Be-plagues your sleepless nights
Biding and brewing
Till you can’t contain the signs
And you don’t see it because
…..
One day I’ll die
Would you let me die?
Allow me to die
And you’ll feel more alive than ever
You care too much
To be there for me
You care too much
To be there for me
You don’t need to speak
Just sit and listen
You don’t need to speak
Be there for me
I’ll be fine
I know you’re surprised
But my mind is not mine
And neither are yours
When you feel it you’ll see
That really I’m not so crazy
I’m not so crazy
I’m not so crazy
Burns night meal with friends, 2019. Ross burns bright, the life and soul. 6 weeks later, we use the anniversary of my dad’s death as an excuse to visit the crematorium together, followed by pub lunch. He is – on edge. After food he becomes vocally aggressive, shouting. I have to leave. That evening he emails. He simultaneously never had a mental health problem (my having him sectioned was abuse) and all his mental health problems were caused by me. Schrödinger’s psychosis.
I spend 2 months putting intense pressure on the local mental health services and finally succeed in persuading them to act. They call to say they will turn up with the team to assess him – on the morning after he burnt down the shed (in which he had been semi-living) in the night and disappeared to, as we later discovered, Bournemouth. I contact the Bournemouth mental health services (local services doing chocolate teapot impressions) and, eventually, he is picked up by the police and taken to Prospect Park hospital in Reading for assessment. Relief is too mild a word. BUT. Fleeting. I’m told that he’s a “trustee”, allowed to come and go as he has promised to be treated in the community. I’m told he will shortly be released into that imaginary community…
Killed his guitar in the woods on new years night, videoed himself painting his room red and dark green, and put up signs like these everywhere.
“Yet to be named” was the last thing Ross achieved before crashing. Re-released as with new band as “Consumed in self”.
Smoked dope for a while, but then tried to give up following some scary symptoms. Wrote “Blame Marijuana”, prescient, but sadly too late…
While I was comatosed
Get him a doctor
Let me be nothing
Going Home
Song of Sickness
Chaos
Hugging Barbed Wire 
then where will you go..
Melancholy 
Don’t Fade