I played this song every day on the way to see Ross in hospital. I’ve overlaid it with the pictures in my head and the BBC interview that forced the NHS to treat him properly. Within minutes of the broadcast, they’d rung up to apologise, claiming it “was all a communication problem”. No it wasn’t – they had to be embarrassed – in public – to make them do what they should have already done….
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.
That day in March 2019 marked the end of our relationship as far as he was concerned.
As the year progressed, he tried to get his mother arrested for an imaginary assault and ended up living in the woods in autumn. Semi-assaulted me (mildly) on Christmas day morning as the cause of all his problems, spending the rest of the day in a police cell. Returned to the family home to live intermittently with his mother and in the shed. Increasingly bizarre behaviour. Any attempt by me to contact him is met with extreme anger.
So if you encounter a man behaving strangely, he may be a man with an internal life that is often unbearable. A man who used to be someone else, a man whose 16 year old brother described as “hugging barbed wire”…
Hospital consultant failure mark 1
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…
Urgent overdrive “I’ll go to the media like last time” pressure results in a 2.5 hour meeting with 3 senior consultants. I try everything to convince them that he’s gaslighting (highly intelligent/educated, brilliant at improv/narrative/acting and very skilfully manipulative) and will abscond without treatment. Unfortunately, they know better. 15 hours later, a call. He has absconded and disappears.
Failure to help my son has been snatched from the almost closed jaws of success because the experts are naïve and know better. I breakdown for a week, eviscerated by months of extreme stress and distress now rendered useless. I can do nothing. Literally. There is no more a dad can do – and that’s incredibly painful to admit. Most days I have to re-admit. My subconscious ruthlessly and regularly twists my mind in sleep, seamlessly waking me from dream tears to trickling cheeks and a dark day ahead…
I gather…
He finally had temporary accommodation – but decided to live rough instead after having his head caved-in by interlopers. I gather his mother informed the police he had accused her of assault again just before he moved.
I gather he was arrested for inebriation in Maidenhead shortly afterwards. I gather he was arrested again in Slough a couple of weeks later. I gather and gather and gather. He self-medicates with weed and alcohol. He called his brother just once to ask why his circumstances are so when Owen has a good life and family. No further contact. He doesn’t understand what is happening to him and why. His feelings of paranoia and delusions are completely real. The causes of his feelings are external, other people, not his own mind.
Hospital consultant failure mark 2
He was arrested in Bournemouth and taken to a local mental health hospital. It is groundhog day. Once again, the consultant ignores all the objective evidence and my pleas and is taken-in by Ross – so doesn’t keep him secure. He absconds. She retrospectively discharges him to avoid embarrassment…
Dying on the streets
I see him briefly 3 times over Christmas on the street or at the garage he uses for shelter. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in 2 years. The shock is visceral, the contrast between the imagining and the reality. He is slowly dying, inside and out. And the system says that there is nothing I can do. I have support from the local mental health teams, but there is nothing they can do. Every time I get him into hospital, he gaslights consultants who tell me they know better – and tell me there is nothing they or I can do.
Apparently, there is nothing I can do except watch my son die in the street.
The internal life of my son, Ross, is a frightening place. No rhyme, no reason, no escape. No escape without external help that he cannot seek. He’s in a terrible place and his dad can do nothing to help. All I can do is grieve – and hope that, somehow, at some point, from someone, he will get the help he needs.
So, if you encounter a man behaving strangely, he may be a man with an internal life that is often unbearable. A man who used to be someone else, a man whose 16 year old brother described as “hugging barbed wire”…
Why do the the consultants fail to honour the requirements of the Mental Health Act?
Having failed to persuade the NHS to do the right thing, in desperation I told them I’d go to the media to help my son. Nothing. But an hour after Andrew Peach interviewed me, I got a call from a very senior person saying it had all been a huge misunderstanding… It hadn’t. They had been embarrassed into agreeing to let Ross remain in the best place. I went off to have a mini-breakdown. I owe Andrew and the BBC a huge debt of gratitude.
A picture from Ross’ journals that, along with scary words and behaviour, triggered my attempt to get him sectioned to stop him going to the USA…
If you are intelligent, well spoken and articulate, but don’t think you are ill – you are so screwed… (under current interpretation of Mental health Act)
“He’s very ill, but he held it together so we can’t section him. Do not let him go the USA… You must wait until he is too far gone to keep control. By the way, the longer he goes without treatment, the less chance of recovery.”
I had a mini breakdown. Ross was not sectioned until nearly a year later…
Ross 2009: “Why didn’t they section me? It has cost me 2 years of my life – and I’m still not right.”
No-one had any doubts that he was seriously ill. It was moral and bureaucratic cowardice. The system must be changed (and it would also save money).
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…
Rough draft recording – please make allowances…
Written as an emotional appreciation for the friends and family who visited every day whilst Ross was comatosed in hospital. This human contact was so important and helped so much with nurturing some small sense of connection and feeling with people who love you. Something positive to lift some of the weight of depression and med deadening, something to give hope of recovery.
Ironically, whilst at the time the NHS quoted the need for as much family contact as possible to aid recovery, they are now planning to close all the local in-patient facilities in favour of a central facility in Reading. This will make daily visits for people in this area impossible – it seems that the clinical evidence for the benefits of contact is mootable when it comes into contact with policy…
While I was comatosed
You came and sat with me
While I was comatosed
Dosed up to the eyeballs
Force-fed with meds
You came every day you could
You comforted
And gave me a mantra
To help feel positive
When slurred words were blurring
My spirit was suffering
My protest was supposed to be
My fall back plan I was found guilty
I was out for the count
But you always came
And took me away from the horrible place
On my death-bed
You came and sat beside
While I was comatosed
And kissed my sleeping eyes
When slurred words were blurring
My spirit was suffering
My protest was supposed to be
My fall back plan I was found guilty
Rough draft recording – please make allowances…
A rock number by Ross and Owen and the new band. I love the energy when they play it live. As usual, the words that say what it’s like are at a premium…
Get him a doctor
Well I am waiting for the day
When certainty will rise again
A little wounded boy in shock
And all he knew was only lawless
Get up, get up, get up, you’re dying
Shut up, shut up, shut up I’m fine yeah
Somebody get him a doctor
We’ll never heal the infection
In his soul
Wake up alone, but don’t you do it
You put a gun to your head on Friday
A hurting man he toils for years
Without reward, unrecognised
Get up, get up, get up, you’re dying
Shut up, shut up, shut up I’m fine yeah
Somebody get him a doctor
We’ll never heal the infection
In his soul
Live acoustic recording
Ross was seriously depressed after being released into the wild from hospital, despite the anti-psychotics and anti-depressants. We talked often. It’s a very disturbing experience to listen your son talking about the pointlessness of life and the attractions of suicide. I’d regularly rush home from work in response to a phone call from Ross or on hearing the tone of his voice when I had called him. You become very sensitive to the non-verbal cues… He’d often feel better after an hour or so face-to-face. I’d usually have to go to bed, exhausted.
Let me be nothing
I’ve been jumping from foot to foot
Like I’ve been walking on hot coals
I’ve been swinging from tree to tree
Like a monkey marking out his territory
Yeah, lets go get lost again in warmer climes
Where the grass is greener and all is fine
Yeah lets go get lost again in other times
Where her rose smells sweeter than mine
Don’t you see
I don’t believe in me
Let me be nothing at all
Nothing at all
Something’s started but nothing’s sticking
It’s not as if I’m not willing
To be the one that everyone else wants
Who is oh so talented in all his arts
So lets quit everything before it starts
So there’s no hard feelings or broken hearts
Live acoustic recording
A song about the fears and anxiety associated with returning home after a holiday and hospitalisation to the possibility of life after mental illness – “is there a life still there for me…”. The experience of betrayal by your own mind, by your own thoughts and the subsequent re-writing of your personal narrative as you recover is guaranteed to make a puree of your self confidence.
Going Home
Walking out under starlight
I’m a half moon wonderer
Dogs do bark at the night
Putting me to rights
Time drags slow
The sludge under the bridge
Felt so low
Like coffins in their pits
Going home
To a second chance
Does a life still wait for me?
Going home
To uncertain times
Is there life line there for me?
Gloom is passing from mine eyes
It’s a specialty I’ve found
Wish away the day all day
With minutes missing peace
Time drags slow
The sludge under the bridge
Felt so low
Like coffins in their pits
Going home
To a second chance
Does a life still wait for me?
Going home
To uncertain times
Is there life line there for me?
I felt so happy sad
I’ve been so mopey glad….
Live acoustic recording
This was an attempt to express my feelings of desolation as I gradually lost more and more of my son to mental illness. Lying awake night after night with a stone in my stomach, I felt as though I was forgetting who he really was and that we might never, ever get him back…. Ross and I converted my poem into this song on holiday in France, immediately after his release from hospital. Occupational therapy – but for whom…
Song of Sickness
The music in you
It sang through me every day
Our feelings entwined
With the rhythms
That won’t go away
Your harmony found
Turned to discord in your head
Your beautiful sound
It was muted and then – dead
Sing a song of sickness
The scores upon your wall
Sing a song of sickness
You’re scrawling as you – fall
I feared I’d forget you
As your echoes fade away
Cacophonous voices they
Destroy your beat today
Your music had gone
As you scream instead
Lyrics have left you
As you de-compose your – head
I cling to the memory
Of your beat upon my heart
Your violent assault just reminds me
Of the gentleness you are
Awake in the night
Listening for a hint of song
Straining my ears the glimpse
Of a ghost of something – gone
Rough draft recording – please make allowances…
I watched Ross become a shambling wreck in hospital, watched him struggling with his demons and despair as the drugs and incarceration kicked-in. We had to do what we had to do, but they don’t warn you about the guilt, a guilt that still comes back to haunt me, that still hurts when I listen to this song and read the words. God the words are so…
Chaos
Boy
I’ve been locked up
Have they thrown away the key?
I don’t know x3
I’ve been locked up
How long cooped up here will I be?
I don’t know x3
Demon
You’ll be in here forever
You will never see
The sun rise on free eyes
Boy
How could you do this to me?!
Why did you do this to me?!
Nurse
There was chaos all around you
We didn’t have a choice but
To do what we had to do
And the later that you leave it
The worse these sorts of things get
So we did what we had to do
Boy
I’ve been knocked out
Don’t they have any mercy?
I think no x3
I’ve been knocked out
How will I find my energy?
I don’t know x3
Demon
You’ll be depressed forever
You will never see the sun rise
On joy’s eyes
Boy
How could you do this to me?!
Why did you do this to me?!
And all the trees have blackened leaves
I’ll wake up soon x2
And weekly meetings with my demons
I’ll wake up soon x2
And if I have to stay
Then I’ll have to stay
And if I have to wait
Then I’ll have to wait…
Rough draft recording – please make allowances...
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
Rough draft recording – please make allowances….
I heard this song in its earliest forms as Owen turned his feelings into music. 16, “A” levels and a brother behaving in more and more bizarre ways as he become increasingly psychotic. Owen took on the role of being a very different support for Ross – separate from his parents and escaping some of the more agonising interactions, he provided a less fraught brotherly interaction and point of contact for the family. Behind the maturity he showed was all this…. I’m not the only one to find this song utterly compelling. I watched a room full mental health professionals welling up as he played his heart.
Hugging Barbed Wire
there you are
walking down a lonely road
you walk with your eyes closed
oblivious to the world
the warning signs are clear
shouting into your ear
but you’re deaf to the worried cries
turn back, we need you here
and you know you are
you’re hugging barbed wire
and rising, floating higher
you’re playing with fire
inhaling poison euphoria
you’re hugging barbed wire
and stumbling, falling further
you’re playing with fire
soon surrounded
there’ll be no way out
then where will you go..
breathe in a dream
breathe out your reality
staring through glazed eyes
hide in familiarity
all eyes on you
watching your every move
you want to escape them
but your freedom has imprisoned you
you’re hugging barbed wire
and rising, floating higher
you’re playing with fire
inhaling poison euphoria
you’re hugging barbed wire
and stumbling, falling further
you’re playing with fire
soon surrounded
there’ll be no way out
I’ll let Ross tell his own story about this one…
Melancholy
Do you feel it rising in the air?
Do you take comfort in despair?
I can see it plain as day
Someone please stop me from feeling this way
Can you feel my melancholy
Weighing you down?
Can you feel my striking silence
Dragging you in?
Is there any way to cure the pain
Inside me?
I can see it in the way you look at me
Why was I rejected I just can’t see
I can feel it passing near
Someone please stop it from reaching here
Can you feel my melancholy
Weighing you down?
Can you feel my striking silence
Dragging you in?
Is there any way to cure the pain
Inside me?
Possibly the best song ever written (bias alert)! I was feeling disgustingly sorry for myself (early 2006) as the long term effects of polio meant I could no longer exercise and was in a lot of pain. Ross took it to heart and wrote “Don’t Fade”, playing it for me for the first time at an open mic. evening. I cried – and I could feel the whole room thinking I had a horrible wasting disease (cancer or – even worse according to TV adverts, premature wrinkling or flyaway hair)… A few months later and I was crying again on hearing the first rough cut in the studio with Ross holding my hand. Though I’ve heard it scores of times, it still gives me an overwhelming emotional hit that reminds me of the real meaning of life…
Don’t Fade
It’s all falling down
No rest stretches you
With time running out
Less activity’s due
You gotta keep in season
Gotta rest with reason
And look inside
Look inside
And don’t fade dad
Don’t fade dad
Life’s still worth living If you keep on giving
Your soul to the sun.
Your soul to your sons.
You’re weakening steeply
You better watch where you tread
You stare so obliquely
“I’ll survive”, you said
On the brink of balance
Don’t sink in silence
But speak outside
Speak outside
You’ll be alright
We’ll be alright
Just look inside
And speak outside
Ross smoked during his gap year, and following a particularly heavy session, had some very disturbing psychological symptoms that scared him. He then tried to give up – too late as it turned out, he is one of the unlucky minority for whom marijuana is psychologically dangerous…. Do you feel lucky? But he wrote this mesmerising song about the process.
Blame Marijuana
I analyse when I get high
I find out everything about you
I manipulate, an altered state
And lie low, guilty of wanting you
It’s all about putting out the flame
It’s all about finding out what’s to blame
And I blaze, but I don’t wanna
And I blame marijuana
And I blaze, but I don’t wanna
Roll up again, a foe and friend
Lie back and let it overcome you
Breath in a leaf, through coughing teeth
The Cycles, insanity is in you
It’s all about breathing out the pain
It’s all about breaking out again
Well I don’t wanna do that anymore
I don’t wanna relapse like before
No, I don’t wanna do that anymore
I don’t wanna relapse like before