dark am i, yet lovely, a lily among thorns, majestic as stars in procession

dark am i, yet lovely, a lily among thorns, majestic as stars in procession

Wednesday, 23 November 2016

Case Closed

I just lost at a manger’s hearing. Been waiting ages for it. It’s like a court appearance. There are big wigs, a doctor, clinicians, and a solicitor present. Plus me, of course. Some people don’t even go in, but I like to try and put my point across. Meetings like this provide the best chance of getting off the section. The big wigs access all the ‘evidence’. As far as I know, there is not a shred of evidence to support any kind of any mental illness (this is why I rank psychiatry as up there with religion in the Bullshit Premier League). Okay, I did nearly throw myself off Runcorn bridge, but that was eighteen months ago. They’re acting like it was yesterday. They’ve detained me ever since. 99.9% of my time in hospital, I’ve been perfectly well. Mentally sound. Yet still they find reasons for detention. That’s their job – to keep you in. To your face, they’ll tell you that they want you to move on and be happy on the outside. The way they talk against you in these meetings shows that this is not the case. It’s difficult to comprehend why anyone would want another person incarcerated when it doesn’t affect them in the slightest, and no crime has been committed. It’s more humane to let someone go and leap off a bridge. Who’s the state to say you can’t do yourself in? No, they’d rather keep you alive on a locked ward, spoon-feed you experimental drugs, and write negative comments behind your back every day. Oh yeah, that’ll make me want to live again. They think that I’m hallucinating noises from the neighbours. That’s like me telling you that you’ve been hallucinating going to work for the last three years. Maybe I’ve been hallucinating my whole existence then. Maybe I’m still in the womb and this is all a bad dream. They said that gangstalking is an unusual belief > I’m delusional. The Flying Spaghetti Monster is an unusual belief. The actual gangstalkers must be pissing themselves. At least someone’s happy. I wish I never mentioned the topic, but I used to be so naive that I thought the truth might mean something in this world. They load the truth into their guns and shoot you with it. Because I’ve missed the odd night taking their ‘magic’ pills (maybe if they actually worked then everyone would be cured), they use their non-compliance card at every available opportunity. And they will not give it a rest about their injections. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve said, “No, final answer.” Chris Tarrant accepts that first time, on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire – he doesn’t keep repeating the question to make the contestants change their mind.

I did make idle threats once, that much is true. What do you think a reasonable punishment is for making idle threats? Forget that I was joking because I have a perverse sense of humour, and let’s just say I was serious. There must be a law somewhere. How many times do you hear people saying they’re gunna do this and they’re gunna do that, when they’re pissed up at the weekend in general arguments outside pubs and clubs? The police are too busy for that stuff. Christ, the things that gangstalkers say to their victims! Holy Mother of God. In a just world, these big wigs would be discussing how much compo was due to me, not how long they plan on taking my liberty for. Not only that, but they want my home as well. They want me ‘looked after’ in supported living. They’re beginning to bang on about this with as much zest as they bang on about injections. They’re punishing me (you’re mistaken if you think the system is there to help – that’s the equivalent of saying that religion is there to help you go to Heaven), for mistakes I’ve not made yet. It’s all about ‘potential risk’. High risk this, historical risk that. Basically, another way of saying that I’ve done sod all wrong. They’re like a futuristic pre-crime syndicate. Last time they sectioned me, they had a police car waiting outside. I don’t know what they were anticipating I might do. I think they might have me confused with Joe Pesci. They also think I have poor insight into the imaginary illness that I don’t even have. How’s that for a low blow? Firstly, we’re gunna tell you that you’re afflicted by something that doesn’t exist, and secondly we’re gunna further condemn you for not knowing anything about this thing that doesn’t exist. It’s like an armchair supporter saying that Pogba doesn’t know anything about football. Pogba’s the one playing it every day. That supporter’s probably never been on the field of play in his life. I’m the one going through this, so I think it’s probably safe to assume that I know ten times more about it that someone who isn’t. When they have stayed up long nights on end researching what is actually going on in society outside of their textbooks, then maybe I’ll take them seriously. Until then, I can’t even fight back. I’ve got to bend over and ask them to be gentle while tongue-tied. I should mention knives as well. I want to make this crystal clear. The only time I have ever reached for a weapon is in a desperate last-resort mindset of self-defence, in extremis. If you were getting as many death threats and break-ins as me, I’d be inclined to bet that you might even do the same. It’s provided a small illusion of safety and comfort, that’s all. It’s not as if I brandish it about in Asda, looking for an excuse to use the thing. I can’t imagine ever using it. But hey, he reached for something to defend his life with while in mortal danger, so that proves he’s a psycho! Case closed! I’d say this is contradictory to basic rationality. A true psycho doesn’t reach for a weapon...

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