Why I went mad

Much in the spirit of zero f@cks, since I took 2 months off work after the police unceremoniously told me that they would not bother investigate an assault because essentially they can’t prove what I did and didn’t do willingly.

So I might as well pop this on the interweb.

I’ll leave out surnames as they sods had my sanity; they’ll not have my wallet for defamation.


We are the same

Mind and body, they are both one and the same.


But what about the soul? What about the curious and intangible self so many of us ascribe to the human condition?

I believe that it is once again, once and the same.

I’m going to draw a comparison from Doctor Who again, this time from ‘The Shakespeare Code’.

The Carrionites, witch-like creatures from another dimension use an arrangement of words to create a portal in place of numbers – the language we have come to use in physics and the academic study of how the universe works.

So why is the mind/spirit/soul anything different? It’s a question of language, whether you use the flowery, religious, poetical, or perhaps look at the scientific – the chemical reactions that drive our bodies as humans every day.

And this does not, for example in the case of love, detract from it – in fact:

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Does it make the intense feelings of connection with the world around us any less profound? The synchronicity we witness throughout our lives? No – we are, like everything in this universe, made of the same stuff. We are stardust.

So, bringing it all back to mental health. This is why talking therapies are important. We have our numbers, our medications (although, we know they are very clumsy tools at the moment – a rant for another blog) and we have talking and alternative therapies. Things like talking, singing, art, yoga, they all have a profound effect on mental illness because the use and stimulation of certain parts of the brain and the body can clearly be used to help heal it.



It’s easy to compare those vibrant, magnetic people with the heat and passion of fire and summer. Closer to the truth, I think, is the comparison of extreme cold. Winter can enchantingly beautiful and doubly dangerous. Drunk on the full force of their attention, you lay down on a bed of snow, fingers and toes being burned away by the consuming frost until you feel warm again. You are utterly captive and damned to an eternal sleep within their embrace.


Just a little prose that came to me while I was in the bath.