The time is gone, the song is over

Tomorrow (Monday 25 October), I have been invited to a meeting with a Dr Nick Bass at Mile End Hospital. Obviously, I will not go; I will never voluntary enter any NHS premises or talk to any of their staff ever again. Even if I am forcibly detailed, it doesn’t matter how long they hold me prisoner or how much they torture me again, I will never ‘talk’ to them.

Just what Dr Bass expects me to ‘talk’ about escapes me. My experiences of the NHS have shown them to be totally corrupt liars. They will never admit to what they have done. On my part I will never accept all the things that I have done in life and what has been done to me are figments of my imagination; I have so much independent documentary evidence that supports my position.

To lose everything one has worked for over many years is devastating enough. Having this done to you by your own government is truly sickening. However, this is nothing to the pain of being told that your whole life never happened. I was told that everything I ever did or experienced was a delusion (despite having proof). At one of the tribunals, ‘doctor’ Jonsson even claimed that I held a belief that it is impossible for me to hold as it is inconstant with everything that I actually do believe in.

The time for ‘talking’ was over many years ago; long before I was abducted from my home by the police.

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The week before last was one of my darkest yet. On the Thursday I spent most of the day in bed. It became clear to me then that I have now entered the final down phase. If it was not for my vow, I would have just ended everything there and then. Since then my mood has lifted slightly, but I know that the end is drawing near. I suffer from all the classic indicators of depression such as not being able to do anything, sleep properly, or care for myself.

I wish I understood why this has been done to me. In the beginning I was just collateral damage, just one among tens of thousands, of a corrupt and incompetent government and public sector. However, now it is clear that I am an explicit target. I am forbidden to ever recover from the injuries that have been inflicted upon me. I have been branded as insane, a criminal, and even a terrorist. In truth, all I want to do is to earn a living.

So much damage has been done. There is no way that it could ever be repaired. The life I live now disgusts me; not only the material deprivation, constrained intellectual stimulation and frustrated ambitions, but especially the dependence on welfare that offends my libertarian beliefs. However, this squalid existence is under threat. Everyday I learn of further plans to drive me into deeper poverty as those benefits are falling in real terms, and I expect them to be withdrawn altogether any day. I live in fear of the postman. Each letter could be a bill that I will have serious problems paying (i.e. gas and electricity) or it will be notice that my benefits will stop. I cannot go on like this.

One of my few remaining pleasures is to be able to listen to a radio station from the Cayman Islands over the internet. Earlier they played ‘Time’ from Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. The last few lines seem appropriate:

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.