I'm not going to change my behaviour to conform when a free person;— Chrys Muirhead (@ChrysMuirhead) August 19, 2018
it was different when they coercively drugged me & made me conform when a psychiatric inpatient for then I had no choice https://t.co/pnIfVT8d5i
Started writing this blog post when I got up and at the same time was writing Emails to a friend, recounting stories and it took me on to memories of my Mother, how she survived abusive psychiatric treatment, courses of ECT and incarceration, for experiencing psychosis or nervous breakdowns as they were called in the 1950's and 1960's.
she was an example to us all of how to live with a psychiatric diagnosis, to live well, to survive psychiatric abuse, to be productive, to stand with her family, to put up with their pain, for as long as possible, 68 long years; I'm very proud of my lovely Mother 🥰 https://t.co/wBpEYECE46— Chrys Muirhead (@ChrysMuirhead) August 19, 2018
And so I decided to check on my Mother's grave to see how the plants were doing, taking the 12 bus on the 64 route, now run by Moffat & Williamson, a Strata low floor 22 seater bus which is a noisy and uncomfortable vehicle, particularly on speed bumps, the seats less cushioned than any bus I've been on, making the 3ml journey into Cupar unpleasant especially since I've got a sore left leg and hip just now. Have been raising complaints about it.
Gladioli from beside gravestone looking very bonnie! 😊 had fallen over so cut it & put in water. Only one this year.— Chrys Muirhead (@ChrysMuirhead) August 19, 2018
Begonias still ok. pic.twitter.com/XhmQuehIh5
It's now late evening and BBC Proms is on TV in the background as I struggle to remember what it was I wanted to say first thing this morning. Which was about being congruent, open, telling the truth as much as possible, being true to myself, speaking out when necessary and standing with others who may not have a voice. I care about others who are becoming isolated due to health issues, bereavement and old age. It's an extension of my mother heart.
On experiencing another psychosis in 2015 secret agents were in my imaginings, strangers in the street, and I reasoned them as looking out for my welfare, making them part of my story. One of the times I was meeting someone for lunch in Edinburgh and it was a difficult meeting which is probably why I had the feeling of being watched. This person didn't treat me with respect on that day, beforehand and subsequently, whereas I showed them compassion. I did well to come through the psychosis and the long engagement, mostly virtual, with my confidence intact. It has been strengthening and a learning experience, grist to the mill as a writer.