Sixteen months ago, I somehow found myself standing bewildered in the dock of a magistrates court, at my own bail hearing for attempted armed robbery, wondering if I was really there or not. I had inexplicably gone into a shop with a toy gun at 7.30am, pointed it at the cashier and screamed at him for money while in a psychotic, delusional state. In my mind, I hadn’t committed a crime at all; I was merely acting out a scene from a film. Legally I had committed a Schedule 15 offence – a list that includes kidnapping, sex offences, manslaughter