My memory is pretty patchy about what happened on the Mirabella V. There is the man of the hour Captain David Dawes. He and his crew rescued us but that was the easy part. Getting me to Antigua was another matter. There were several times I was forced into my courters, medicated and physically restrained. The poor crew. Mental illness is not a pretty site. You might as well just take everything that goes on in you head and empty it out on the floor. They had no idea what they had picked up. I did have some sane moments on deck. For example, I did manage to take this picture. I even took the helm one afternoon and felt the awesome sophistication of a 240 foot super yacht at my finger tips but they didn't put me in the guests accommodation. No sirey.
I am terrible with names but there is something called the Stockholm syndrome where you fall in love with your jailers. We used to go through this routine regularly where Sophie would try to medicate me and the crew would pin my down. It was a nightmare. If it was not for my Maori brother Robert saying the words for strength in Maori are Kia Kaha, I would not have had the strength to keep taking my medication. The worst psychotic episode occurred after being administered with a hypodermic needle. At my behest I might add. I had a totally One Flew Over The Coo Coo's nest experience complete with an alien invasion in one of the lockers, a bomb threat and video surveillance through a teddy bear's eye. I was getting help via the X-men in Op's control. I.E. God. I went right round the bend, locked in my cabin that night. It just got worse and worse.
I am sure the crew were glad to see me off as they all lined the deck on that fateful afternoon when we reached Falmouth Harbour in Antigua. 8 days and 2000 miles from where we had abandoned ship. I think the last 24 hours both engines were on full power to get me ashore. When they blue the horn and set me off on the launch it felt like a royal salute. Thank you Mirabella V and crew! I was off to a medical Clinic.