Dear fellow mental health sufferers who dwell in the US, especially those remaining in California.
Please do read my blog but first this warning to you.
According to the ancient wisdom of the Bible where there is bitter envy and strife there is confusion and ever evil work. It also states in the Bible that Jesus Christ cast our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.
The flat earth theory, whether true or not, teaches that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. London and very near to my own residence, along with my current place of both retreat and forbidden work, lies upon or near to the Greenwich Meridian.
I have read yesterdays newspaper reports about the rise of anxiety in Britain of those who are young and use social media. Britain uses a mix of communication methods, many Old World, Some New World (increasingly) whilst those who trust in nature resort to the Eastern philosophies and meditations. These cannot be mixed without dangerous side-effects.
Prescription medications almost invariably mix the two (east and west) through synthesising. This may or may not be safe (see previous testimonies) yet to outlaw and persecute a person for their beliefs and spirituality causes great harm.
The Bible is clear: salvation belongs to Christ alone. It cannot be bought (e.g. through sale of adulterated coffee to young teenagers in the UK) or sold (e.g. through purchasing of additives to tobacco from the east.)
Every person needs comforts and strengths. Blesséd are those who rely solely upon the inspiration of the Holy Spirit of God, through the gist of the Father through the sacrifice of the Son. (The Blesséd Trinity.)
Few, if any, of the mentally unwell can so access such refuge in times such as these, however. That is why I am working after a very stressful night of writing poems, making notes and stealing a little water and the available, yet to me harmful, milk.
I have made promises to return to my earthly home before the weekend yet due to the nature of my host on this short spiritual retreat promises have been made for my return earlier (note, please, that I speak in terms of a fleshly journey by car, not an appearing in heaven).
I have used forbidden knowledge, as my initial testimony shared with a psychiatric nurse confirms, to gain insight into the causes of this dangerous “healing.”
(I saw the TV yesterday. I know who is editing their speeches. I know who is protecting me. I know those who will have access to this message will in some way benefit.)
REPORT OF MY REVELATION, for the benefit of the mentally unwell who dwell in the US. The NHS is a blessed institution and private healthcare damages and destroys those who love life more than money and possessions.
[This is the first of the Misty stories. Come on children, let’s make this a team effort!]
Misty was a silly cat, really. Never the mind, as Orinoco would say, we love him, for he lives with the Berry’s now. Everyone agreed, apart from Smokie. Well, Smokie, otherwise known as Great Uncle Bulgaria, often disagreed when people didn’t agree with him.
Smokie accused people, but this isn’t a story about Smokie. This is about Misty and Orinoco on a particular date. (I know, Fern, one of the treatment centre cats, often said silly things in front of children. “For their own good!” Big Nanny would say. But Greenfeather would shake his head and sit under Fern.
Well, Orinoco knew better, for he had spent the night with Misty and said with a giggle, “Sick people need treatments, what we need is a good roast dinner!” Everyone agreed. Agreed is good, but a greed is not. The Fruit Bat had told him that one, one night when they had prayed in the bedroom together with Smokie’s stuff whilst Elfin played around with the apple.
Misty had seen it all, except for the Sea of Love, which was the beginnings of The Mission. That night she was busy with the Fruit Bat as well.
Greenfeather always provided, even for himself. You see, Greenfeather was a good elf.
“He’s not a good elf!” said Smokie as he was burning the oven. And quite right he was, too.
“Let us forgive and forget!” said Elfin, but Orinoco and Misty couldn’t forget, for they had had guilty pleasures. “And a good job they did!” was Greenfeather’s response, but it was the first time any of them had seen Big Nanny cry.
“It’s okay, Nanny, I love you,” said Elfin.
“I love you too, very much!” said Big Nanny, and they all gave three big Hurrah’s to the Wise Men.
Paranoia is that strange thing: something which we can never really be sure if we have. Why is this?
What is Paranoia?
Paranoia is when we think people are talking about us, or when we think people are watching us, or listening to us unawares.
Yet people talk about other people all the time, and often in earshot. “People watching” is a modern pastime. Eavesdropping has been going on for aeons. So, are we really being paranoid to think people are doing this to us?
In addition, in this modern age of mass surveillance we are constantly being recorded and bugged; on CCTV, by mobile phones; by numerous other devices dotted about the home and street. Police routinely use such techniques as covert surveillance, covert photography and listening, and “buzzing” which is when there is insufficient evidence to arrest someone yet the police want to “send a signal” so will make a special excursion on a patrol to deliberately cause a person to see them and get slightly paranoid.
So can anyone truly be unreasonably paranoid?
The Distress Paranoia Causes
Of course, paranoia causes distress. Even mild sensations of people listening can cause an uncomfortableness and when extremities are reached severe distress can be experienced. This can often act like a snowball effect; a slight twinge of thinking someone is talking about you can lead one to get carried away and then, suddenly it seems, the whole world is whispering behind your back! This can then cause serious distress which is often mistreated with dangerous chemical drugs when a change of thinking is all that is required.
How to Deal with Paranoia
I have tried a number of methods of dealing with paranoia:
Listening intently – the worst of the methods. It can be very tempting when slightly overhearing something which may be about you is to try and listen more keenly to be sure whether to dismiss it or not. Yet you hear what you hear. You cannot “rehear” something you did not and you cannot increase your hearing of a past event. Such increase in intensity of attention can actually heighten the paranoia rather than diminish it.
Dismiss every overheard word – this can work, sometimes. Saying to yourself “they have more important things to talk about than me” has helped me enormously in the past. The danger comes when you overhear people actually talking about you. This can cause the house of cards built through denial to come tumbling down around your ears and cause you to question every past dismissal. Thus the distress can end up only being delayed.
The Scriptural approach – King Solomon, the wisest man to have ever lived, said in Eccesiastes:
“For there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not.Also take no heed unto all words that are spoken; lest thou hear thy servant curse thee:For oftentimes also thine own heart knoweth that thou thyself likewise hast cursed others.”
– Eccesiastes 7:20-22 (KJV, Emphasis mine.)
This advice acknowledges that people do curse us. And yet it does not say “close your ears” but rather “take no heed to all words that are spoken.” (Heed means to “take to heart.”) In other words, avoid their words, don’t listen more intently, and accept that “talkers will talk, haters will hate.” Really, if another wants to spread rumours or otherwise spite us they will, and we can’t stop it. Just let them get on with it and sometime God will bring justice to us if we wait for Him patiently.
[I wrote this testimony of pain on my birthday, mid-July 2018. It was a raw expression of how I felt at that moment. Some historical references may not be fully accurate but were as I remembered them at that moment. I have not edited it except for correction of spelling and grammar and, where necessary, for censorship of filthy language and/or false witness.
This Testimony of Pain I share so that you, too, may know you are not alone in your deep suffering and that perhaps, one day, you may find that blesséd relief which only truly finding Jesus can bring.]
My Day of Mourning.
Today I am 45 years old. I turned 45 at around 2pm local time. It is a day everyone expects me to celebrate, to have joy and to find blessings in the fact I am a year older. I do not fear nor regret growing older. I have no fear of agedness and my fear of death is quickly diminishing. But I do not celebrate.
Why? Why, people, do you want me to be the centre of attention? Why? What have I done to you that you want me to revel in some pride in getting to be born in the first damn place? Maybe it was actually my choice to enter my Mum’s womb? Maybe I did choose to be born into that womb. Maybe the pain and heartache I caused my Mum all those years actually was my fault on every level? She wanted a normal child. But I wasn’t normal as a baby and I am far from normal now.
You send me messages of encouragement. My Nan tries to encourage me with hope in her love and the writing in the card. But all I do is mourn.
I try. I try to see you, to meet up. I try to thank you. I try to remember that you are showing me love. I try to meet for a meal or some other traditional way of rejoicing. But I mourn. Each and every card brings pain and the presents make me feel let down and then feel even more pain because I am so ungrateful. This is my day of mourning.
Curse the Day!
I could curse the day I was born. But hey! Wednesday’s Child is already the Child of Woe. Why curse the day any more? I could curse the womb that bore me. But I put my Mum through enough pain already.
Why is the greatest memory of my childhood my pride at taking a marrow to church and giving it to God? And all the while I sat there in judgement of the other kids who couldn’t be bothered and simply got their Mum to buy a tin of peas from Tesco’s? Why did everyone think I was aloof? These kids are weird, Mum! I can play. I can do that. But they don’t feel properly!
Why? Why didn’t the measles kill me? I’m told it could be fatal but all I did was have strange dreams in my sickbed for days. Why? When both my lungs had collapsed and without help I would have suffocated? Why? Why! Why did you put my lungs back up again?
Why have I hurt you so much? Why do I still do?
Why didn’t Nan’s heart pills work? Did I not take enough? Why? Why? Why did my belt break as I hung from that tree and all I ended up with was a cop car picking me up as I jumped in front of another car? Why when I took the paracetamol overdose did I go to A&E? Why?
Why? They told me that just follow Jesus and He will give you peace and joy. I am. I do not have peace and I do not have joy. Has Jesus let me down? Have I let Him down? Do I know Him at all?
Why? When I see something others do not my sister orchestrates a show down and the family falls apart? Why did my niece admire me so much that she thought mental illness might be a good way to deal with her pain?
Am I such a tramp that people really have to offer me £5 notes as I await my taxis? Do the taxi drivers really have to open their windows when I enter their car? I know. I need a bath. It’s a big thing, though, isn’t it?
This is my day of mourning.
People wonder why mental health freaks do not open up more? It is because we know the pain. We want you to experience it a bit. We will play with, manipulate you, strike fear in your hearts and load guilt trips upon you. But we will never let you know how we really feel. We can cope with this. You could not.
I am 45 years old today. I know many, and some very personally, like Lenny who I gave lip-kisses to because we thought it would be a fun thing to do in front of bigots – and, besides, I loved him. They are not here on earth now. And I have no guarantee they are in heaven. They are gone. I remain.
Thrive? B**locks. I cannot thrive. I survive. I will continue to survive. That’s my best. And if my best is not good enough for you then please, do not even +1 my posts or smile at me in the street. You can’t kid a kidder, they say in AA.
When you see the world as it is, even if only through a glass darkly, why do people think you are no longer close to Jesus? Why do they still insist that everything is better now than it was in the past? “You’ve never had it so good!” goes the advertising and propaganda slogans. Why can’t Jesus come back soon? It is my earnest prayer that He does because my pain is nothing compared to the child with his leg blown off and the bread he just bought is covered in blood. The homo who gets stabbed with a switch knife up the anus because the preacher was particularly fiery and “right on” that day? The raghead who has his apartment raided and all the writings of Mohammed and Ali are removed for future investigation? My niece’s boyfriend who is abused because he is not “British” and we have voted to leave the EU? The dead millions killed by the CIA and MI6 operations? The people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki who have extra bits in their bodies? The Jews who think the perfect response to the Holocaust is to abuse Palestinian kids and call Mary a whore in the graffiti on church walls? You know what my American and British friends? If you call this the least violent and least suffering age on earth I would suggest that you widen your reading material. Seriously.
This is my day of mourning. I mourn. For me. For others. For you. But I will survive. And as for me, I will serve the Lord.
(The shared song is important. As a Christian-influenced band the lyrics are perhaps best heard as a conversation between the protagonist and Jesus.)