Rings around the moon.

I don't mean the test psychiatrists use, the one that Sounds like a conversation made of questions, about what date did that happen, or where exactly was that...Capacity questions went beyond me, once I learnt the meaning of stress... Capacity, as I mean it now is the ability of ex service user to deal with rage. His capacity to stop. We are face to face with his rage...every day. He is a bully, he bullies himself. And capacity as I mean means we can't tolerate being screamed at as we try to eat. But we keep the capacity to try. I have almost got used to indigestion. I just stand blankly looking at the cooker unable to imagine even wanting to eat because it will mean feeling like I've been kicked in the belly...So cooking isn't worth it. I cook from memory. So capacity. We push at it. So, where am I going with this, what am I saying? Just that it appears to me that dealing in a strong and confident way with the too far bullying he supplies, is what w...

I have not been keeping track of the types or themes of the shouting, screaming or of any incidents that could be significant... This furthers my impression that I'm struggling across an endless desert, no sign post, map or star. So, this is what happened today. Frenzied recitation of ' I want to go back before I became a serial killer'. Lots of putting objects in front of me as I try to write my next assignment, and taking things away. Making tea with warm water because he can't wait for the kettle to boil. Wet trousers - I don't wish to know more - and very brown fingernails. Also quite a few really rational statements and comments. Right now?  Sounds happy.  Is this what it sounds like when someone's hippocampus is coming back online?  The sound of a mental defrag?

Frenzy has been less over recent weeks. I have difficulty remembering how it was, but I know I'm no longer wearing earplugs in the day. To save my ears from rage-full shouting and screaming at me. So...ex service user's ability to contain his rage has increased... But tonight, possibly the tv program about playing the bass guitar, and he was bass player, song writer before he left for Camberwell...anyway, the old, totally screaming mad returned. And I'd forgotten, though I hadn't, that there is a distinct smell to this degree of out of control. It reminds me of school dinners, cooked liver to be precise. It makes my blood run cold. Deep down some bit of me goes into terror when I smell it. I override the primal impulse to run...because I assume I'm feeling what he feels, and I'm not giving in, I keep my head. Nevertheless, I just don't get why there is a particular smell to it. What does that signify?

I don't get to write, in a way I was unaware. Caught up in my internal, mental injunctions...this one is called ENDURE! Enduring is a symptom. Signifying a lack of self compassion...then I recovered. Why endure when there are alternatives... As long as there are lockable doors and my phone has charge, I could write. I feel that I'm not writing because to do so requires me to feel. And I don't want to do that. Inside of myself is the snapshot of my son in intensive care, the memories of the blue light, sirens blaring police ride to the hospital... My anger at the bullying psychiatrist I blame for this and the sense of continuous overwhelming when I remember. My college work is a pain,  next assignment due too soon, and the third one to start within a fortnight. Walking home from college, thinking why don't I just stop. Give up. Go a different path. Won't let myself though. Fail is better than giving up. Meanwhile how is it here? I see an increase in ...

I was about to quote from my essay, but if I did, could I be accused of plagiarism by the dreaded 'Turnitin' bot? If that's out, I'll just have to describe what happened instead. The day of the appointment. Ex service user sat on the sofa. That's what happened. I locked myself in the bathroom to cry uncontrollably and write (the two have to go together, that's my recipe for sanity) . Meanwhile husband left the house to take son's appointment at the doctors, as an opportunity to say how it is. Through my tears I heard husband outside bathroom door saying, 'I can't do it'. Basically, given our philosophical view point, doing anything that shifts ex service user closer to the mental health team, and sectioning, feels like contacting the Gestapo. The rational view point that he needs meds, is fine and dandy except reality is, he wont take them = sectioning. Strangely enough, he does care about that, since it haunts his present hysteria about ...

No apologies, I'm aware it may have worked out OK for you. The mental health services in your town may have been wonderful; supportive, kind, attentive...able to listen. Sorry, no! My experience is different and, after their involvement last time, I now see this as all about the consequences of who carries the responsibility.  Again and again I ask myself how can we navigate the bullying and antisocial behavior, how do we avoid being locked in a ridiculous co-dependent nightmare of continual talking, screaming and arguments punctuated by pissy trousers and pants smeared with turds. We are unable to go out, as he runs around the house screaming. Going out with him is stressful. Our experience of medication, as you may gather from my description of the effect - disconnected, drooling, add shuffling Parkinsonism...does not inspire confidence. Medication working, is a statistical possibility akin to winning the lottery. You may also take it that we are at our wit's end ...

5:16 am, in bed, writing via phone, via Gmail. Mostly I've been wading through my assignment work; which is centered on the work of Carl Rogers. This has been, still is, conflicting to say the least. My personal history includes more than a fleeting exposure to Buddhism, so all the here and now, phenomenology stuff isn't new to me. But the demand to reflect back a person's world view which is intrinsic to the person centered approach, and to trust that the 3 core conditions are ' necessary and sufficient' is causing me to feel torn, really. Brian Thorne, in his biography of Rogers mentions an experience that almost breaks Rogers; helping a woman suffering psychosis. Anyway! Been reading Viktor Frankl who talks a lot about how freedom isn't being able to ' be yourself' as Rogers appears to be saying, freedom is meeting each experience in a way that leaves you feeling proud of yourself. So here I am. Now it's 5:38. Not easy writing on...