Perhaps it will be published one day soon…
“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they’re okay, then it’s you”. Rita Mae Brown
It was us, and it could easily be you, or her, or them (you know, the ones that live in that house or work in an office up the road…). So common, and yet so taboo. Which means that people don’t get help early enough and, as a result, become more ill for much longer and with less chance of a full recovery. Obviously a brilliant (and extremely expensive – for all meanings of the word “expensive”) social strategy….
The book is a mixture of our story in hindsight and as written at the time, all interwoven with Ross’ writings both then and now. A plethora of views of the same events that are often traumatic, sometimes surreal and shot through with songs, videos, poems, pictures – and even comedy…
The parts of the story published here will be hyper-linked (“hyper” being peculiarly apt in some cases) to the multi-media elements.
When things really started to go pineapple shaped, I found it disconcerting to discover just how much comfort and reassurance I got simply from hearing about some of the experiences of others (“old hands”) at a support group. As when you read a line of poetry that expresses exactly what you’ve felt, but couldn’t put into words; just for a moment you feel that you’re not alone – there’s another one out there… I’ve had a similar reaction from other people when I’ve talked about our experiences in public. This, I hope, is more of that.
I’ve learnt a few things about coping with psychosis – both well and really badly – and I’ve since been on a course and everything. The things are few, and they can be very difficult to put into practice. However, I wish I’d known then what I know now (it was all so different before everything changed…), some of which could be useful to others – or not. Ross’ insights, his ability to articulate what psychosis is like from the inside and the things he’s learned about relapse prevention are potentially even more relevant.
So: walk a while in our (nearly wrote “shoes”, but it was more like water wading in flip-flops that dragged your feet at every step) galoshes…
Hugging Barbed Wire – draft book index
- Just a family
- Thin end of the wedge – marijuana lottery; burning bright; university
- Stupid cult – making money from madness; the bell Tolles for Ross
- Early intervention – not clucking enough; everyone but me is mad; bridge balustrade balancing
- Disastrous dustbin diplomacy – attempted first sectioning; no-one expects…; a friend in need
- Down and out in the USA – destitute in NY; arrested; lost; not visa waivering, but drowning…
- *Full blown – break-downs; wall painting; energy vampires; killing his guitar; mission to Stansted
- Forcibly detained – sectioned, captured; ignored; great escape; parkour roof jumping
- AWOL – a month on the run; pedaling after policemen; railway riches; good Samaritans
- Just a second – banging the drum; banging the dad; successful, but forcible sectioning
- Binned – hospitalisation; NHS inflicts more pain; BBC radio interview; drugs; guilt
- Going home – is there a life still there for me?
- Let me be nothing – depression; suicidal thoughts; obsessive thoughts; long, long heart-to-hearts
- A life less weird – recovery process, anti-stigma shows, conferences
- If we had to do it all over again… – what would we do different?
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