Archive for the ‘Janie Greville’ Category

In mind of my father, I would like to say: [Poem follows]

December 8, 2013

This is a piece of work I  have written in memory of my father, who died just over a year ago.  I have been grieving over the loss of him since his death, but for the first few months I was so busy organising the funeral and dealing with family conflicts viz his will, and liaising with my sister over the house & contents sale that followed his death that I didn’t begin the popularly understood phases of it until the spring this year.

When the fire burns will you cool me down; Will you love me enough to be there, still love me when I'm cool when I'm cool too?

When the fire burns will you cool me down; Will you love me enough to be there, still love me when I’m cool (!) too?

Then later on, nearer to the first anniversary of his death and burial, but before the estate had been divided, ‘case closed’, I entered a different ‘hypo-manic’ phase of grief.  I recognised the signs and resolved to remain mindful for fear of a full ‘relapse’  due to (unresolved) trauma and grief, and I relied on friends to help me to learn to take control of this little beast, – the adrenalin driven ‘depression with severe anxiety’ which appears to psychiatrists as colourful symptoms of ‘early stage onset’  of ‘hypo-mania’ which might be treated by daily visits and drug popping but no case for involuntary hospitalisation if at all unless hyper-mania is suspected to be imminent.

Janie beng very zany - and not in a good way : it just gets toooo much!

Janie beng very zany – and not in a good way : it just gets toooo much!

Family names are different. To some family members it is ‘here are early warning signs – what can I do to help’ . To others it is ‘she’s effing mad as apeshit, and as crazy as a box of frogs’ and then exasperation and impatience, even intolerance ensue. Other friend’s are patient and accepting and nurturing – that’s the best medicine of all.

That my dad and I were and are ‘classic and colourful cases of bipolar disorder (class 1)’ we both know. He’s gone now, but I hear him (no not literally, calm down) laughing. I’m still here.  I miss him dreadfully but I’m far from done with my little spot in ‘heaven on earth’. I’m creating a chilling space out of what is yet a house I’m hiding in; it’s going to be the palace of my life and loves.

Even alone sitting in my own house, houses either side of me, one of them audible and connected: I can get to feel claustrophobic. Especially when one of them’s connected all down one side. So -I’m gonna keep some of my wild patch amongst the apple and plum trees just as it is. Then beside it I’ll have a ‘the shed’:  a place for chilling while I work, rest and play,  ‘away from the madding crowds’.

It’s where I will go when I want to get:-

At Rest, Mindfully.

At Rest, Mindfully.

In mind of my father,

I would like to say:                                                                      [Poem Follows:]

Dad Formal & Serious

Dad Formal & Serious

My father’s not going,

my father’s not gone:

He  was never much in –

though  nature gave

him that clefted chin,

those ice blue eyes;

that laziness in his swing

That swung in everything  –

Including the drumming

And the piano blasts

All singing All smoking

All singing, All smoking

And the music that jazzed

Wherever he was.

He is a swinger, a jazz man,

An artist of soul

Who mere mortals judged

And pilloried

When the shit hit the fan

inner pain, outer glimpse

inner pain, outer glimpse

And that’s music too,

A story of love,

And Tragedy-

Comedy,

His Labours of Love:

Jainey in a very zany pose - her dad was never photographed when off his nut lol

Jainey in a very zany pose – her dad was never photographed when off his nut lol

He loved too much, too deeply,

For the tall proud swan,

Though not enough,

as a cash-flow king,

For the one who took her place:

Cute little kestral

Cute little kestrel

Who was a cute little kestrel ,

Beady-eyed, who doubted

this Cash-Meister big-time.

So she curled up,

in disappointed fear,

Something to grip onto for dear life and death

Something to grip onto for dear life and death

Around the cash that was left –

And wouldn’t part with it.

Leaving him lonely.

And that was the nub of it.

the ultimate cause of the heartbreak.

His Acute yet prolonged Despair

His Acute yet prolonged Despair

The true love of his life was music:

Cameras, cash & women came

a close-run second to that.

But  his fatal addiction

was women..

Though his appetite for

Savile Row rags,

Handmade Italian shoes

and his Frank Sinatra hat,

showed a passion for finery

Be yourself:- a beautifully ridiculous genius.

Be yourself:- a beautifully ridiculous genius.

That needed cash

that wasn’t made quite right.

You could see it

In the way he smoked  his fags

–           It was his critical weakness point:

That cute, possessive little kestrel with her eyes on the look out for his wanting any cash.

That cute, possessive little kestrel with her eyes on the look out for his wanting any cash.

When that went, too

He lost the taste for living,

and found the air too stale to breathe.

So, while no-one

continued to listen,

Got trapped & killed at Depression Stage; NHS & Charity partly responsible according to Janie Greville.

Got trapped & killed at Depression Stage; NHS & Charity partly responsible according to Janie Greville.

He fucked off

to the bar

(in the sky).

You’ll find him there still:-

Dad's safest where he is just now...

The gate-way to heaven above, bouncers below keeping the masses out. Dad at the bar near the piano & drums, probably chatting with Doll.

In peace – at last!.

For Anthony Pierre Greville, Born 14th July, 1930 – Died 4th October 2012.

His  spirit was purified by Sept 28th at the latest; his spirit was released during a private family service about three weeks later.

His spirit was purified by Sept 28th at the very latest; his soul was released, during a private family service, about three weeks after his death.

This entry, like all published in this site to date,  is the intellectual property of MissionMiraculus Ltd., and in particular all the copyrights of its contents belong to ‘J.Knee Operations Ltd’ . Anyone else who is invited to write for this site will keep their copyrights intact with a contract with MissionMiraculus &/or ‘J.Knee Ops Inc’  in relation to it’s publisher rights.

This  piece December 7-8th, 2013

MissionMiraculus Ltd: An Update.

December 5, 2013

It’s been a growing time, a harvesting time, a storing and a planning time since June.

Yep - it's harvesting time ;-)

Yep: It’s harvest time!!

It’s been a balancing time; an evaluating time; a time of quiet achievement since the fruits were fallen and were gathered for storing.  Autumn – the richest, most vibrant season of the year – with all the fruit being gathered from the summer and all of the storing cold of the winter approaching in the air, in which is hiding the wake of call of spring next year… what a wondrous cycle of eternal joy as weather – how unutterably wonderful is the gift of human life  = we are  designed precisely for the purpose of sensing and enjoying these seasons and

harvesting amok lol

harvesting amok lol

The signals aren’t visible, mostly, although ‘MissionMiraculus Ltd.’ is now a registered company and we have gained the  invaluable input of an independent-minded business consultant, simply because he is a true friend and doesn’t either mince words or deliver bills for his advice that will embarrass the  funds available pre-launch. Indeed – he hasn’t delivered a bill at all. So we have made a mental note of our calculated profit from his guidance and mentoring and we’re figuring in a percentage of takings after expenses which we will put his way once we’re up and running.

Our finance director has no job to do of course, until the business starts being operative, whilst the general assistant and p.a. our adorable Glenn, continues to surf bus and plane sites and facebook chatlines while he waits for  instructions.

Our CEO is on the job of translating instructions into task lists and delivering on the templates for our market research;  job 1 for the visible company – still pre-economic viability, but focussed directly on the matter of becoming a uniquely tooled-up and skilled up force to be reckoned with vis a vis mental health crisis and recovery interventions and support.

The multiple hatter

The multiple hatter

Meanwhile, with  her other hats on, Janie is: wearing the tea-pot hat for  being sociable and hospitable to regular visitors; bowler hat on top for the scheduled house maintenance & development meetings in amongst; spends time on the phone wearing a hand crocheted beret or river island woolly hat;  the feminine black homberg-alike comes on for trips to the bank manager etc;  hatlessly writes and plans for at least 2 hours a day; nips to the University of Birmingham in whatever she likes,  & to Worcester (always black and grey and self restraining) for ‘survivor’ networking, teaching and offering consultancy input for services transformation and research.  95% of her work is voluntary, for which she gets her travelling expenses and, occasionally access to water, though often a cup of coffee and even a biscuit – oh yes, and utter anonymity as a sign of respect (?).

On the home improvements front, Janie has homed in on a scandinavian style log-cabin/office of generous proportions that she has space for at the top of her garden. She plans to  move all of her academic and business work to it and to work from there during office hours and return home afterwards and between times, to cook, socialise and paint. The log cabin is quite divine:-

Log-Cabin/Office, Scandinavian Style

Log-Cabin/Office, Scandinavian Style

It will appear as something of a ‘granny annexe’ and will include a chilling/sleeping room; a toilet/shower room; a storage room and a working area. It involves getting permissions from the council locally and possibly regionally to acquire access to the back of the property via the driveway and grounds of a public institution.  Due to MissionMiraculus’s social purposes, we forecast a deal to  be struck between the institution and its purposes and the purpose and focii of MMus Ltd: we will offer to provide learning recovery work for its clients in return for the said access.

Leaving a lot of gardening work to do in what will become quite uniquely designed and maintained grounds with genuinely wild spots alongside parts of ‘an english cottage garden‘.

Janie is feeling inspired about these domestic areas of her development. She is noticing a huge wave of empowerment from, frankly, the gift her father left her on his death bed last year.  She is probably singing ‘I’m a material girl’ right now lol (not – because she can’t remember any other words lol).  She has realised that mess and clutter have been mirroring her inner muddled, crisis driven state for years.

As a friend put it to her: ‘why did these mental health people come in and see you in that state without doing anything to help you?’. The answer was, of course, that that state was perfect for writing about in documents ‘validating’ ‘severe mental illness‘ diagnoses and descriptions: the job was not to remove the problem, it was to notice and share reports about it.  It is a pleasantly and deceptively delivered form of bureaucracy and private-eye journalism – so damned deceptive that I’ve never met a cpn, social worker or medic who has a clue that’s all they’re doing.

It was an effing rude invasion of my space. Thank god they’ve taken their damned files and buggared off. To some other poor sod probably, prescription pad in hand,  report book in the other….

Janie is planning to get the MissionMiraculus.com website properly constructed and designed and in the public domain by Christmas or thereabouts. It will offer you a link to a different website that will be accessible in full for £5.95 per month.  More of on a different day when it’s worth saying anything else – the two sites are allied and are structurally connected so that MissionMiraculus.com will appear fully formed before the subscriber only site is launched.  Watch this space 😉

Enter the Oriab Mountain Dreamer…

December 1, 2013

 

Be yourself:- a beautifully ridiculous genius.

Be yourself:- a beautifully ridiculous genius.

 

Sent to me by Anita, on 9th august 2009:

 

‘Wondered if you had read this rather aptly titled poem… It’s by Oriab Mountain Dreamer…..XXXX’
 
“Cultivating Courage in an Uncertain World,”

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
 

inner pain, outer glimpse

inner pain, outer glimpse

 

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

 

fun and joy unhampered by fear

fun and joy unhampered by fear

 

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

 

Stuck in the mud; trying to get clear again

Stuck in the mud trying to get up again

 

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

 

Peter Greville, Photographer, Drummer, Granpa

keeping up the grin for the kids

 

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

 

By whom was this poem written? I have never before or since heard of  ‘The Oriab Mountain Dreamer’: The text, however, resonated and resonates, powerfully, with me. I hope it resonates with you.  Tell us what you think and how it relates to your inner life experience and outlook.

 

Poetic Interlude : Adrenalin Junkie.

November 27, 2013

 There’s going to be a lot of space in this update because I’ve copied and pasted from Word and for some reason the format has stretched out. At some point I’ll train myself up re IT skills so I can reformat stuff – but for now, please bear with me. 😉

Poet at Rest

Poet at Rest

 Adrenalin Junkie.

 Let no-one fool you:

 It’s not a roller coaster ride.

 

You’re in an aeroplane

and you’re feeling tense;

You have an immense sense

of what’s to befall you:

 

You concentrate intensely

on your every strand

of knowledge, training,

Imagination

 

And you feel good. So good.

The door is by your side.

All your need is this:

Slide it open.

 

And you do. The blast of air

that nearly pulls you out,

sucks you in against the walls

of your every hope, stuns you.

 

You can hardly gather breath.

But you have your eyes on the sky –

It’s vast, it’s blue, it’s white, it calls you –

And of course you go, fly,

 

leave your parachute behind.

 

Wow! The air is clear, cold,

everything you ever thought it could be.

You’re free and you’re falling

Through air.

 

English: Cliffs at Gaitnip In the late afterno...

English: Cliffs at Gaitnip In the late afternoon sun. Wideford Hill in the centre, above the line of the cliffs. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Over mountains, over  housetops,

over  trees and the fields so green;

over sea, over cliffs.

And back. Over cliffs.

 

The land Is nearer now,

and you reach for your parachute

button much, much too late.

Too late to reverse your velocity,

 

too late for retrieving your life-

 

saving equipment, too late for second thoughts

And a considered plan of free-flying action

The rocks beneath and the lashing waves invite you:

With their black and white and blue they’re going to kill you.

 

1998/Janie G/ originally titled ‘manic depression’.

No-News Update, and an angry yorkshire man…

November 19, 2013
In the Perishing Cold

In the Perishing Cold

So – it’s true… A lingering cold, robbing us of energy & efficiency, has meant that – though we have a wonderful brass plaque for MissionMiraculus Ltd. – we have nowhere to put it but around Arrabbella’s neck with string donated by Gordon Parsons, lol,  and Janie is freezing half to death in her home devoid of a working boiler & her reluctance to heat water from the immersion (though she’s doing it other daily in the interests of hygiene lol).

We think, while you’re waiting, you might like this link, for a yorkshire man’s view of politics. Click on this link and a new page will open – enjoy!! 🙂  http://anotherangryvoice.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/george-osborne-liar-or-tax-dodger.html

 

 

 

 

Gosh What a Busy Week we’ve had!!!!!!

November 7, 2013
Birmingham Rep in Centenary Square, Birmingham.

Birmingham Rep in Centenary Square, Birmingham. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

First there was the run up to Arrabbella Faith’s debut at the Birmingham Rep last Sunday (3/11) and since then it’s been rush rush rush, since a beautiful brass plaque arrived at our CEO’s home last Friday. She was so pleased with it she forced poor Arrabbella to wear the thing round her neck at the Rep – fastened with string, of all things!!!

As to the rest it has been a long haul through the days picking up the pieces of prep for the night’s performance and chilling out to recuperate before travelling down to London this weekend.

FIY We’re weighed down with apples at the moment – we could feed the nation in Worcestershire harvested apples…. So – as from now: we’re touching nothing to do with MissionMiraculus, Talkheals, Heaven From Here; Fb pages etc etc.

Thank Friendship for Hopefulness Thank heavens for harvest time 🙂

See you round the other side of the apple deluge 😉

Stuck in a Quandary

October 28, 2013
…in relation to last year. Action needs taking in relation to what happened to Janie Greville between February and April 2011. The mental health services listened to protests and anger from distant members of her family  in relation to a blog she was publishing.

They took notice to the degree that they persecuted her until they had actually broken into her home in the middle of the night where she was in bed, frightened of this invasion, and took her to Worcester Psychiatric Hospital where there was no bed for her to rest on.

THIS REPORT IS AN UPDATED VARIANT OF THE ORIGINAL, PUBLISHED ON ‘SILENCELOL.WORDPRESS.COM’ IN MARCH 2012.

The ‘interview’ that took place in her home was a farce driven by a foregone conclusion.

Cheers - Crisis Over, Champagne Living Beginning

Cheers – Crisis Over, Champagne Living Beginning

Her crimes had been to write the truth about a man where truth didn’t flatter him, and to have treated an uninvited ‘home treatment team’ member as if he was someone she was familiar with (she was – and the treatment was mutual, with one difference. He thought he had the right to decide what should and should not constitute the content of the visit. He decided that his boasting of his music should be concealed, and she did not. He reported this as ‘inappropriate behaviour’ and as a ‘symptom of mental illness.’)

The decision to imprison her had already been made. The ‘assessment’ was a mere formality.

Janie has ventured to ask family members how they feel about her going back, now, to complain in formal terms about this appalling incident and series of incidents around it. They are frightened. Every time they hear ‘mental health services’ they picture Janie being bundled into a hospital and then emerging from it in a suicidally depressed state. They just want to forget it.

Will they ever be able to, when Janie can be incarcerated at the call of anyone who doesn’t like what she says because it’s both true and inconvenient to their reputation? Or because they don’t like her un-English open-ness, or her ‘arty’ self presentation on occasion? Or her forthright manner, or her sharp tongue?

Isn’t it time she did stand up for the truth, for justice and to demonstrate the absurdity of psychiatry, at least in relation to her case?

What should she do? Your comments will be most welcome.

Dancing in His Grave

October 24, 2013

Dad’s safest where he is just now…

I wrote this entry, originally, in November 2012 last year, shortly after my father died. Of course, as you will see, it’s a ‘parochial’ piece, pertaining to specifics within my own life and family in the extended sense.

Looking back on this, as I approach the first anniversary of my father’s mortal death (don’t think there’s supposed to be another kind, but I felt like my father’s body survived his spirit by several months, really – he’d lost the will to live earlier in the year when he ‘failed’ yet another ‘tribunal’ held at St Andrew’s Hospital), it strikes almost an orchestral chord with me. This time last year I was a mental health patient (and had been one since 1997), I was ‘incapacitated’ beyond all expectations of sustainable recovery and I was alone, without a partner to share my life with. A year on I am an ex-patient; I am constructing the underpinnings of a successful business; and I am delighted to report that I have been reunited with the partner who appeared in my life, for the first time, back in 2006.

This entry should be read to the song ‘What a Wonderful World’ by Louis Armstrong.

My lovely Dad must be dancing in his grave. It’s what he did on top of the soil so presumably he’ll be doing it even more now. He won’t be feeling too hot or too cold, he won’t be feeling too happy or too sad, he won’t be feeling too amused or too enraged – he’ll be as serene as ever he could have felt in this life. That’s a good thought, a good feeling – he’s past pain and past pleasure – a state of utter peace.

Those of us with breath in our lungs and blood running through our veins can’t genuinely imagine this state. After all, our very capacity to experience ourselves as living is dependent on this constant state of flux between various potentially opposite extremes. I can’t offer to throw light onto the matter either, because I don’t remember anything until I was about two so I’m blind and deaf to the eternity I was in before I was conceived and presumably that’s the same space he’s returned to now.

Of course in another sense he hasn’t because a fair few people remember him and hold him in their minds eye and fewer still, in their heart. I hold him in both, and let’s face it, I hold him in the length of my arms and legs, my addictive love of music and my sense of humour. Oh – and in my insistence on personalising anything and everything that comes within my sphere.

I want to check with St Andrews if there are any audio or video recordings of my dad performing to his peers and carers. It would hardly assist me to show the world what a gifted man my father was but it would warm my heart to see anything to keep him alive to me.

For the time being I have his order of service card, young soulful photo at the front, heart warming image of his birthday party in July on the back. To me he’ll never die.

Father of Mine

Father of Mine (Photo credit: Just Us 3)

Which is why I’ve only sobbed about his concrete death a few times so far. I feel like he’s still with me somehow, so most of the time I feel he’s actually closer to hand than he’d been for some years.

Oh what a lovely outlet this is. To speak what’s in my heart in an environment stripped of people who intrude to corrupt it.

The corruption is coming from matters of estate. If you have ever been named in a ‘last will and testament’ or have ever read a novel by Jane Austen you’ll immediately know what I mean. At death the vultures appear and hover – where the body disappears they gather to feed on the living grieving.

Makes you shudder doesn’t it? I’d experienced it in Austen’s novels, and I’d seen it over a meal in Dover when my grandfather died when I was eighteen years old. At the time my Uncle Ivor tried to soothe me by sympathising with my feelings while assuring me that I would feel differently when I got older. But Jane Austen’s novels are about large estates, my grandfather was a millionaire over twenty years ago – it doesn’t make the hovering or the lip slapping or the blood dripping claws any nicer but at least you can see why the booty looks so appealing and unmissable to vultures. – Oh – and I am older now, and I haven’t changed my feelings one iota. Nice try Uncle Ivor (now also in the ether) – I love you for doing your best xx.

My Dad’s estate, after costs, will probably be worth £115,000-120,000, Maximum.

Yet, so far, three people have applied to my Dad’s solicitor to find out the contents of his will in advance of his funeral, have sat together and have left several abusive voice mails on my mobile phone and one has informed me that I am personally responsible for some terrible recent misfortune in their family, all on the grounds that I turned out to be named in my father’s will. Most of the abusive phone calls were made at around 11 O’clock at night on the day of my father’s funeral. A funeral to which these people failed to appear on the grounds that they feared they had not been named in my father’s will and needed to have hard evidence about the matter before deciding whether or not to attend.

Have we left earth and headed for terra-ghastly or what? I don’t know. I only know this: ‘there ain’t nout so strange as folk’.

Feel free to comment dear readers – I’m genuinely perplexed.

Empty Soul Smile: Vultures

Empty Soul Smile: Vultures

To vultures if hovering over my blog – my words are backed by evidence so please leave me alone now.

My Dad spent a lot of his life persuaded by the 18-20th Century obsession with Love as a reference to ‘romantic’ attachment. He was fully capable of loving beyond this – he loved his little dogs; he loved music with a passion; he loved photography and colour, pattern and arrangement; he loved ‘the high life’; he loved conversation; he loved fine food; he loved good people; he loved laughing; he loved cups of tea; he loved glasses of wine, sometimes bottles of the stuff. I could go on. My Dad was a loving guy.

My Dad also loved his children, his acquired (by marriage) children and his natural, ie blood, children. This last was a passion of love that showed in letters he wrote to my mother many years ago but which he was discrete about in his day to day existence. He largely accommodated his second wife’s wishes in where to live and what to do, and he did this for a range of reasons, not least that he loved her very much.

There was a strain in him that somehow connected money and possessions with love. I believe that isn’t uncommon although I tend to think that it’s a good idea at times to stand back, notice that the one doesn’t equate with the other, and then take actions in relation to money that make sense and actions in relation to love that make sense – and somehow or another the relationship between the two can stand in a form of conceptual and defensible harmony if not equability.

I think that this paragraph is relevant to my father’s last will and testament. It reflected the passion of his love and it reflected his customary tendency to equate money with feeling. Had he been like me he would have adjusted his will to bring a ‘better’ balance to a wider approach of his loving. But he was not me. He was more impassioned than I am, less ‘dispassionate’ than I’m inclined to be.

Who knows, however, that he didn’t also know in his very bones about this difference in our natures and entrust me – and/or my sister and I, with the responsibility to ensure that peace shall reign in our lifetime? 😉

If the vultures will just shut the f**k up for a while, behind my back as well as by diversionary routes, and turn back into human beings – I shall have some peace in which to think!!!!

English: Back View of Jane Austen, Watercolor

English: Back View of Jane Austen, Watercolor (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How Janie is experienced….

October 18, 2013

Please fill in our ‘Polldaddy’ survey re Bipolar/Manic Depression and Anxiety/Depression levels of experience. There will be prizes for the  respondent who provides contact details, completes the survey questionnaire and offers the best idea for a short, catchy slogan to be attached to the relaunched identity of MissionMiraculus and Miss Miracle’s MIC

….by her loved ones…

Zainy Jainey Take a Chill Pill!

Zainy Jainey Take a Chill Pill!ound all their alarm bells.

It’s a bipolar relevant matter. My bf (boyfriend) and bf (best friend), my elder daughter and, to be fair, no one else who has expressed concern, have jointly and separately provided a wake-up call for me during the last three weeks. It hasn’t been that I have performed the constant nightmare role in their lives but that I was slipping into something that reminds them of trips to the nuthouse and this has been quite sufficient to unnerve them.

There are, of course, reasons for this instability. Last night I opened up my floodgates of grief re my Dad’s departure for unknown territory a year ago and this has been grounding for both me and my sister and, moving forwards, for those in my world who I love and who love me.

It’s all about ‘early warning signs’ of course – but unless you have an accurate map based on an accurate understanding of causes and pathways then the ‘EWS’ work will be entirely futile. As it has been over and again during years gone by.

This time the medication routine is nailed into the strategy (not necessarily forever but certainly til we get to safe ground) and I am continuing to listen to trusted others.

I am also mindful of anxiety levels around me and mindful to examine the flow of fear that moves across the networks of my friends and families in relation to my social conduct and expressive behaviour.

Just as laughter is poised on the interface of pleasure and pain, so hypomania is poised on the interface of psychic-emotional pain and pleasure – it is that critical point of meeting where fear in the form of anxiety enters the system as adrenalin and begins to flood the body. The body doesn’t have a clear ‘knowledge’ of the meaning of this tidal wave and it moves obediently in accordance with the instructions of the conscious and subconscious mind.

To come to rest the body needs to discharge this adrenalin in a manner that does not merely excite further outflows from the adrenals.

Consequently the ill-advised approaches are:- 1. enter a state of conflict or anger; 2. To be controlled by the adrenalin fuelled state as distinct from remaining mindful of the fact of this flooded condition; 3. To allow the adrenalin flow to go unimpeded.

Due to the pleasurable experience of high adrenalin flow in the body providing that it is linked with excitement rather than fear, the experiencer can be or become inclined to indulge in the flow and to resist external attempts to bring it under control.

Due to the body state – flooded with adrenalin – the very worst move by friends, relatives or mental health services would be to attempt to intervene abruptly and from ‘above’ to bring this condition to a halt. In the vast majority of cases this would be experienced as threatening and frightening by the possessor of the condition and the overwhelmingly likely reaction/response will be resistance. THE RESISTANCE WILL BE IN PROPORTION TO THE FORCE BROUGHT TO THE CONDITION.

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Remember always: adrenalin, at an evolutionary level, is the body’s device for commanding extraordinary levels of emergency mental, emotional and physical energy. The ‘sufferer’ will be in an ‘enhanced state of consciousness’ and an ’emergency-alert body state’.

Where the discharge of the adrenalin is directed toward creative or academic pursuits the results may be surprising in their levels of achievement. Where the discharge is directed toward sporting expressions, similarly, the achievements may be untypical of what would be predictable by the person in their ‘normal’ state. Sport is an excellent vehicle for discharging adrenalin since it clears the body of those poisonous chemicals associated with adrenalin which will collect in the body and harm it whenever it is simply left to fester undischarged.

This of course, is a level of understanding that remains light years away in any NHS psychiatric hospital. It is also why MissionMiraculus has a strategic interest in creating a service that will compete with the NHS for such patients and holds high hopes that it’s bench marked and staticised and published results of the first 2 years of business in this regard will demonstrate that its ‘shared humanness’ ethos and its translated from theory treatment plans outstrip the NHS success stories hands down.

Which is why, if you take an interest in bi-polar/manic depression and/or depression & anxiety, you should link across to Facebook MissionMiraculus page right now and ‘like’ our page there. While you’re at it track the life of Arrabbella Faith on Facebook and sign up to see the ‘Laughing for a Change’. Its Headline act is the well known ‘Barbara Nice’ – well known in Birmingham and the West Midlands. Less well known are a group of ‘new and developing comic artists’ amongst which will be Arrabbella. Only £5 a ticket from the Box Office at the Birmingham Rep and on a Sunday night beginning at 7pm – so it won’t be a late one.

It will, however, be a fun one.  Please fill in the poll questionnaire and take note of the contact details for this site, below. The 1st, 10th, 25th, and 100th person to fill in the questionnaire will win a gift from the Company ‘Miss Miracle’s MIC’ upon providing your email address or mobile telephone number and name. Candidates for a prize should nominate their preference for a gift leaning into the following fields of preference: a book; a gift leaning to nature; a gift from the domain of ‘art and culture’; ‘surprise me’.  The 1st and 1000th respondent will receive a special invitation to the first formal meeting of MissionMiraculus re-launched, a three-course meal with its core team members and the chance to take the stage on the day if they so wish.  The RRP of the gifts are range from £50 to £500 in today’s values. They are forecast to rise in value over the next five years to an exponential degree, ie way out of proportion to the UK annual inflation rate. These gifts, therefore, are recommended for investment purposes as well as for pleasure.

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Good Night Out?

October 13, 2013

Mine was. My friend Julia who usually lives on the south coast on a state of the art house boat is spending a few days with me – so that’s already heaven in the making; her bloke has joined in with us via skype the last couple of nights, which enhances the pleasure; this afternoon was spent in charity shops and primark (for me) which resulted in a few purchases at very little expense; bf is being challenging but then a whole janie-community conference took place today and found that I am almost impossible to tolerate when I am ‘hypomanic’ because I’m not ill enough to shovel in the nuthouse and not sensible enough to put up with if im at large lol – what can I say?

“Sorry” suggested Julia. So I did. She gave me a stern talking to and I have been the picture of obedience all day long until I bubbled over on the phone to bf. He clearly agrees with Julia cos first he put down the phone and switched the device to ‘don’t respond to janie’ and then on fb went to bed. I think I’m in disgrace….

He’ll come round… I realise that I’m something of a nightmare just now and I’m doing my very best. Julia is teaching me but she’s such a strict teacher that I end up with constricted bubbles from presing myself down so hard in order to win praise from her. It simply meant that I mistook bf for a softer taskmaster and got it all wrong lmao….

Where on earth am I to go to be tolerated when I am in this state?

I’ll tell you: Work. Work is going swimmingly lol

Everyone is trained in some way or another to be kind to nutters there. So there I’m able to be myself without fear of offence 🙂

When will my friends and family catch up? :-S

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