After an industrial-sized meltdown this morning, and a day peering through a metaphorical and real fog, things are not quite so bad now. Although social networks can be pernicious and destructive, today the Facebook variety came riding to my rescue. Thanks to Facebook but more than that thanks to those of you who cared enough to reach out. I love each and every one of you.

Mental illness isn’t a great deal of fun. Mine started at the end of the 1960s and it’s been around in varying degrees since then. Sometimes, I am able to control it well, although it never goes away, and sometimes I can’t. This morning came from the box marked ‘I can’t control it’. So, I wrote and self-published my thoughts in their most raw and honest form.

My loyal reader may have noticed my reference this morning to ‘those bastards at the British Red Cross’. This is because in 2015 I found with them the job I had always dreamed of and two years later two managers and certain other members of staff made my life hell. Having not long left the civil service and worked from a number of highly professional and caring managers, I was staggered to be the victim of bullying and abuse that I always thought happened to someone else and not me. I wrote to CEO Mike Adamson about what happened. After an investigation carried out by friends of the bullies, Adamson effectively told me nothing ever happened. I have written to him on numerous subsequent occasions telling him that it very definitely did happen – why the hell would I make it up? – but the lavishly paid Adamson hasn’t bothered to even acknowledge my case.

So I had a full-on breakdown, not least when the British Red Cross (remember the name) sent me to their Occupational Health Service. I shit you not when I say the woman told me that I was, and I quote, ‘mentally weak’. I just couldn’t find the words. I still can’t. All I can say is that parts of this international corporate rip-off charity are just plain evil. How else do you explain the decision of one of the other managers to try to refer me to an ‘anger management’ course and then demand I sign a written apology to one of the bullies over something I never said? When I refused to sign it, I was threatened with disciplinary action.  So when I refer to ‘those bastards at the British Red Cross, I am being generous.

Anyway, that was the upshot of my treatment at the hands of bullies and abusers. I’ve had three years of therapy and a doubling of anti-depressants since then and, apart from the odd wobble, I’ve been recovering. But yesterday, I had a major setback in trying to forge a better professional life and it hit me hard.  I have been unsuccessful so many times in this area, I suppose it wore me down. And today, I felt the need to tell my loyal reader about it.

I’m grateful to everyone who has reached out. This sodding virus isn’t exactly helping, is it, but I suppose there’s a light on the distant horizon to suggest a better day is coming. I didn’t think like that at all at 7.30am today. That’s progress, I suppose.