I am becoming 'a have' and I am becoming 'a have not' as I go in and out of recovery like a bleating
lamb. Slipping and sliding backwards and forwards from health to illness varying my condition as a
I can feel the economy moving around me with my well being adjacent on a separate parallel line. As I,
like everyone, am subject to the ups and downs of the times. Two heart beats – to have and to have not -
one beating with hope, the other with fear. As my prayers desperately try to grasp onto both with
schizophrenia running over them like a mental fever.
I am left hovering over these platforms of emotions with feverish and trembling hands ready for the
slaughter of my daily life so easily spooked by words and motions.
O God not again! I am so tired of its repetition. I fear I would rather not go into life feeling like this.
Someone switch my thoughts and anxiety off. It is too late, the shift has started and I am committed to my
I am in many ways a slave to my mental health condition and at the best of times a servant. My hand is
firmly on the plough in the midst of my chains and responsibilities. I must work with it. I must work
because of it. I am bound in many ways by it.
Yet something greater than myself upholds my endurance. Quite often I have to experience a lashing
from the reality I engage in as I work exteriorly to provide.
An employer might want to drive me into working harder in these austere times to fulfil a productivity
agenda. Which is understandable as long as it does not cause my illness to get worse or
infringes on my rights as a citizen and as a worker.
Who can regulate such a thing other than ourselves working with trade unions, policy makers, politicians
and law makers or a general consensus of opinion. It is only right that I must be allowed time to recover
from the onslaught of reality.
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