An incident that rankles

Hello. I thought it might be worth me getting some thoughts here on
something that happened a while back, 18 months or so, seeing as there
are times when my feeling toward it and the people involved seem to
have festered, which can be exhausting. I am signed sick long term
with depression, anxiety and a dietary disorder.

After a book of poems of mine was published by an arts therapy
charity in 2006, following individual poems being in magazines and a
now ended
period of performing them in London venues, I approached a government-
funded arts body with a view to being utilised on one of its tours/
educational experiments abroad. A staff member of theirs is a former
friend of mine. We'd known each other in the early 90s and then made
attempts, sometimes instigated by her, sometimes by me, to resume this
friendship, in 1998, 2000, 2002, 2004 and 2006. Because of my
assertiveness troubles I was a bit of a doormat to her, but also aware
of her own psychological troubles, which had moved me, effected a
bond, and which as many people do she ignored or sublimated into a
fuel
for her career ambitions. I am not a rabid misogynist, though I've
experienced the sentiment at times; I'm clear-headed, especially
now, to know the difference between when anger at a person of either
sex is justified and when it's just an aggressive-defensive mechanism.

Prior to contacting this arts body this former friend had asked for
letters that she'd sent me in our early friendship, which she wanted
to base a short story on. She asked me to post them to her and said
she wanted to buy a copy of my book, which she would pay for after
returning from a work visit to Egypt. I should stress here, I'm
working class and quite bedsit-bound in my little home town, I'm no
high flyer. I told the friend that the letters had been destroyed -
they'd been in my parents' loft and were either binned during a clear-
out by my parents or by me perhaps stumbling on them and upset by
memories. At the date she returned from Egypt I reminded her about
her copy of the book, partly because I'd already inscribed it and
couldn't sell it elsewhere. She said she'd decided not buy the book.
Basically, as a less mug-like man would have realised in the first
place, it was a bit of psychology of hers (to oil my returning the
letters) which, ever hopeful, I had fallen for.

Three emails of enquiry to this organisation were ignored, so I wrote
a letter to show serious commitment and interest. I thought I should
make an effort, as they had actually employed on one of their tours a
poet who I'd drawn their attention to via this former friend of mine,
and this poet is otherwise even lower down the literary career ladder
than me, hence I felt hopeful. When that letter and another email was
ignored, I emailed again asking for the email address of any internal
complaints procedure the organisation had. My initial enquiries had
been
open-ended enough that they could have sent some kind of information
pack or a brief email saying they had no current plans for tours and
so on. In fact a year before I had written to them suggesting some
kind of program of contact with arts therapy charities in other
countries, it's the kind of thing they would do and I thought it was
an interesting idea. They did actually reply, and I accepted, albeit
slightly annoyed, their decision of not using the idea. This and
later conversations with other writers about this matter, shows that
they do reply.

My complaint revolved around the very plausible suggestion that my
former friend had slandered me and said not to contact me. I
suggested that the friend had probably said something like, "He's a
nutter, don't get involved." Apparently staff were interviewed, and I
was told none of my emails or letter could be found. Yet - and this
is the give-away - they didn't quite get co-ordinated about this: the
former friend, seemingly acting on her own initiative after the
complaints procedure staff member had spoken to her, replied to me
half an hour _before_ I was told no emails could be found, and _using_
one of these emails that could not be found, saying that they don't
have a fixed manner of involving the artists they work with.

At that point I became sure that the matter could be regarded as
professional misconduct. A personal matter had impinged on enquiries
that I'd made to do with my career; on top of this, prejudice towards
someone with an untypical neurology was involved. The former friend
and her colleagues travel free around the world using taxpayers'
money,
all year long, and - though naturally I don't have a tape of the
slanderous conversation - a disgusting and almost certain office
exchange had cheated me out of being considered for a brief break away
from this little town I live in. On top of this, I was angered that
someone involved in the arts behaves as my former friend does.

I sent around five more emails, with increasing anger, soon asking for
£3000 as an out of court settlement for what I would otherwise pursue
legally as
professional misconduct, which two of my former friend's colleagues
had joined in with.

Then at 8.30 a.m. one Saturday morning the police turned up on my door
issuing an injunction. I was pretty apoplectic after they left,
reading through the *** of paper. I emailed the police officer
named on it for clarification, regarding whether I was being asked to
drop the matter entirely or whether I could pursue it through standard
legal channels, which I was told in the reply I could. One means was
through some kind of ombudsman who would have to be contacted by my
local MP (a bumbling 'Tim Nice-But-Dim'-type who I once overheard on a
train say he'd, when in the army, ordered an air strike against
himself through typing the wrong co-ordinates into his laptop!).

I dropped the matter, it seemed hopeless and I feared I'd get stitched
up, especially given the arrogance of these people getting the police
to visit me. I suppose they thought that striking first would make
them seem legit.

I dropped the matter, in fear, but often, especially during depressive
peaks, I am angry about it all and wish I could have pursued it - I
certainly would have to take things through to the conclusion if
anything similar happened now. I know that my feelings for the friend
-
someone who had once valued me as a friend - fuelled the incident to
an extent, because of the stink of revolting betrayal it has. If I'd
had better self-esteem I'd have been able to forget about her sooner
in the face of very much manipulative, exploitative behaviour, but I
also hoped during the times when we tried to resume a friendship, that
she would turn back to how she was when I first met her - as useless
as
sensitivity and moral sense are in a workplace in the capital.

Before retreating to try and write a novel, five other arts
organisations had also before and since, attempted to exploit me or
treated me in a callous manner, including a prominent bookshop that
took sixteen months to pay me for copies of my book, and an arts
therapy charity which had intended to publish the book when I had
withdrawn permission due to woeful incompetence and patronising
remarks made born of what was transparently class prejudice, and
this repeated experience of the sh*t I've had to wade through has
coloured things and influenced my attempts to be treated with respect.

I'm sure some would want to say that I can't prove anything, and that
I may be mistaken about what happened. I can't convey everything
about this matter here, but let's face it, we know what people are
like,
what gets said behind closed doors about people with a mental health
history especially.
The way they contradicted themselves as described above regarding the
mysteriously vanished emails and letter, is a give-away - so flimsy
and clearly underestimating where things might lead - and in court if
I'd printed the dialogue out and assembled it in chronological order,
legal professionals would have seen what I was saying.

The specifics sound like a pretty exclusive kind of middle class
experience, I know (and having been engaged to a troubled
schizophrenic woman I know mental health issues can be uglier and more
miserable than this experience of mine) - but that is not me, and what
you've been reading about here is someone of low beginnings trying to
make some progress in the face of disgusting, hypocritical and
unethical behaviour.

Okay, many thanks for bearing with me if you did. Any thoughtful
feedback is welcome.
.

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