This is a merge of my 'Wanderer' blog that tells of two years of my three years on the streets, and a new blog that tells of my life after the Diocese of Winchester ripped through my life for for the last few years on top of the previous serious harm that left me homeless
This is a day to day blog of my life as I continue to survive, work on recovery and on the social problems that I have and try to come to terms with limitless traumas I have survived along the way.
This blog is in tandem with my blog about my experiences in the Church of England

The former name of this blog and the name of it's sister blog are to do with my sense of humour, which I hope to keep to the end, which appears to be ever more rapidly approaching. At least I laughed, and I laughed at the people who were destroying me. Don't forget that.

Here are my books, which I wrote for you if you would like to know more:

Thursday, 24 November 2011

I don't hate you

I was just sitting and thinking about things when V. bounded into the library and shouted hello to me, grinning as he sat at the computer next to me. I asked him if he had helped in any more accidents recently, 'No' he grinned 'But someone put an ice cube down my neck', he pulls an ice cube out of his teeshirt to show me, 'Who did that?' I asked, 'Dunno' he replied and plugged himself into some loud music on headphones. He is such a character, such a sudden and random person, he leaves me puzzling about the ice cube. I like him, he has remained friendly and nice and he doesn't ask anything of me, he doesn't need support, he doesn't need to talk for hours as some homeless people do, he is just friendly, no background motive, and he is fascinating in the way he lives his life, the ice cube is just an example.

Earlier at mission the topic was forgiveness, a hard topic, but the man who is standing in for grandad was telling how he hated his mother for a long time and couldn't bear to be near her, it is always humbling and surprising to hear about people in leadership in church roles who have had such human experiences, but what I realised was that I never consciously hated my parents or bore a grudge against them. I was afraid of them and unwilling to remain caught up in their beliefs and ways of doing things, and even that made me feel disloyal, but I never hated them. I remained very wary of my mum even when I got on ok with my dad and when he was in a coma and my mum's bizarre behaviour escalated, but even when she behaved as she did about my dad, I didn't hate her.

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