12 th March.

12/03/2007
Day Six.
08:57
Had a good sleep, took only minutes for me to drift off;
I had expected problems sleeping while taking the tablets but so far so good.
I had hoped the tablets would have “kicked in” by now, but here I am sat with cuppa and second rollie.
I’m going to postpone taking the tab for an hour in case it brings on feelings of being unwell like yesterday, will get some work done first.
Weather is dull and seems today will be cloudy with possibility of rain, there will be a couple of pleasant days this week so intend to make the most of them, Wed and Fri.

I really must clean the place up today, it is beginning to annoy me now.
I did get round to doing the washing up yesterday so there’s one job out of the way but the backitchen still needs some attention, as does all the rooms!
A couple of hours should see everything done, allowing me to relax once again in pleasant surroundings for a couple of weeks.
2:06 PM
just finished uploading February’s entries for blog.
Took some reading through and editing.
Tomorrow should see me on top of things.
Should have spent the day on course work but am still unable to access learning site.
Gonna have another cuppa and try again.
Lovely sunny afternoon; father has phoned I’ve won £50, nice little bonus.
Time to take Zyban,
didn’t take it first thing this morning because I didn’t want a repeat of feeling like I did yesterday.
Have edited and placed 600 pages onto site in last few days, enjoyed it.
Just received an e. mail from tutor and seems I passed the last test after all so need for a re-sit.
Not a bad day.
The temperature has really gone up and I’ve had to turn the fire off, take off the fleece dressing gown and open two windows.
Roll on the better weather.
All I have to do now is relax and edit 4 month’s entries and I’m finished for the day!

Somewhere among the entries is a piece which says if the writing of a journal is not sufficiently rewarding then it’s a waste of time.
Editing the work has obviously forced me to read all the entries,
the first month or so seems to me to be lacking in as much as it is written with all the passion of someone writing out a shopping list.
Later entries, once read bring back memories of the time and circumstances, state of mind etc. and reading them I feel as if I can tell if I was indeed enjoying the writing of same.
Some days I was obviously drunk, stoned, elated, depressed, anxious etc. and these aspects are reflected (to me), in the writing.

I think the tablets are kicking in, my stomach feels decidedly uneasy.

I know or care not about the workings of the Blog community, but am aware that anyone stumbling across the site may be inclined to switch off after reading only a few of the early posts.
I could alter them and give an explanation of my objectives, give clues to my identity and more insight into who I am and thus promise better things to come and beg perseverance from the potential reader but would I be right in doing so?
Hell, I’m a Bi-Polar manic depressive, twice sectioned for being guilty of flamboyant behaviour.
I kid you not, that is the only explanation my “ trick cyclist” gave me when she had me sectioned.
Forget about that.
I needed something to give me practise in keyboard and editing skills so a diary seemed to be a useful way of doing that while allowing me to write down past and present and then trying to find a style of writing which would combine both, providing me with a record, a work for future reference, and possibly something interesting to anyone who may stumble across it.

I could have gone much deeper into the events of the last 18 months but chose not to get bogged down with the negative aspects of that period.
Thus keeping a daily record while remembering past events stopped me from accenting any particular period.

If I hadn’t taken the time to consider Blogging and put the mass of pages onto a site I would probably have done what I’ve done so many times in the past, discarded the work and looked for something else to occupy me.
The volume of material was getting to an unmanageable level,
I had problems with different saved versions and had lost chunks of the work because of my inexperience of computers and refusal to make back ups.
I remember when I disposed of my hard drive from my previous computer,
I was afraid the people who had deemed me mentally unfit would get access to it and use the material on it to persecute me further.

There is nothing more frightening in this world than being sectioned and being unable to prove to anyone that indeed a mistake may have been made.
You have no rights, no power, no possibilities at all to prove you are not as they say.
I did get in touch with a solicitor about appealing against my incarceration and was told that to get the case to court I would have to remain in the hospital until the case came up.
As soon as you are released, all proceedings are dropped.
I was more than impolite to my trick cyclist from the first time she interviewed me,
I threatened to “sue the arse off her”. At times I still wish I could.
I knew not why I was there, who had started the proceedings so she became the object of my anger.
Someone had to be responsible and she was in charge;
so why was she annoyed that I couldn’t perform as she wanted me to and accept the situation?
To every other member of staff, I was polite and courteous, but on every Monday meeting with her, my anger flooded out and all I could think of was revenge,
I was in a corner after all.
My recent attempt to secure help in stopping smoking was nearly scuppered by her medical report and diagnosis.
I had to take full responsibility for anything which may occur while taking the present medication of Zyban or the G.P. would have refused to issue prescription.
I have little or no anger left now but resent the effect she had on me, simply dismissed everything I said because she could not understand.
Everything I said or had tried to do in the past was nonsense, simply a drug fuelled psychosis she told me.
I told her of my work with the computer, the keyboards, the writing and the video material I’d been compiling, she told me ; none of it existed, except in my head and that I had
”ideas above my station”, now that really pissed me off!
Enough for me to destroy music books, keyboard, video camera, art equipment, P.C. peripherals and throw out the hard drive containing years of work;
she had me almost believing!
And in doing so had taken away all my confidence, self respect, dignity, alienated me from everyone because everyone had to be a suspect because she would not tell me who had instigated the committal proceedings,
hence me breaking off all ties with people I’d known for years.
Jesus, I never thought re-arranging one’s life would cause such a tsunami of events.
She stripped me of everything and made me doubt myself and that is when I had to struggle to fight back.
I didn’t need sectioning, I needed a holiday, and if I’d have had the money and a companion I would have taken one.
The only thing that kept me going and helped me to hang on to what little self recognition I had left was the keyboards provided in the occupational therapy department.
Four hours a day playing from unfamiliar music books was enough for me to keep thinking.
“Fuck you!”
I was told that the purchase of the Plasma was a sign of irrational spending, a sure indication of mental problems! I ask you!
Took me years to save and decide upon that purchase,
I had tried to explain it was a central component in what I was putting together,
she refused to listen, telling me I was talking nonsense.
On the second occasion when I’d thrown a few things out of the flat she carried a pair of trainers back into the flat and told me they were expensive and throwing them out was a sign that I wasn’t in control, and therefore a reason to section me….again.
I was gobsmacked, I told her the shoes cost a few quid from the second hand shop and I didn’t like them, therefore, I get rid.
A neighbour had spotted me throwing three bin liners out of my window onto the garden below; a sure sign of erratic behaviour, she said.
I told her to look around, it was obvious I’d stripped the wallpaper down to the lining paper in readiness to paint, the sacks were full of paper,
I was going to collect them later and put them in the bin.
I offered explanations for everything she said but was ignored.
You cannot argue when the police are stood ready to transport you back to the cuckoo’s nest!
Why write this today?
I could have easily included in one of the earlier posts.
I know not.
Perhaps as I achieve something tangible I am reminded of her telling me I was incapable.
No one will ever know the intensity of the anger I felt towards her,
more than towards any other person in my life.
I just hope by getting angry thoughts out and into type will eventually diminish them
Yet, if you read some of my posts regarding my time in hospital you will realise I got what was needed once I began to look upon the place as somewhere to have a holiday.
I enjoyed the stay, once I calmed down; so in a way was she successful?
That is why I maintain I would never be frightened to go in again.
Hell, Spike was in and out many a time.
I probably wrote this because I ,even now am amazed at the way they stripped me of any self esteem; enough to make me destroy things I held dear.
Worst of all things I could put to good use if I still had them.
Keyboards being the main item, I’ve played keyboards for 42 years and miss it hellishly.

I break to do some editing , another couple of days and everything should be finished.