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:

Sunday, 13 November 2011

The internet here at the weekend is intermittent and not easy, I have to stand up to use the net for 15 or 30 minutes at a time. Which isn't great.
I went to the internet cafe last night but it was very poor quality internet, slow and crashing every few minutes.
I went to the walk in surgery for my medicines last night, who goes to a doctor at 8pm? well, it's convenient and quiet.
I saw a nurse and she prescribed a good inhaler that will last a while, and some other tablets. That is good, she also said I should tape my hurty finger to the other finger to keep it still while it gets better, so now I will look silly.
So there I was at the late night pharmacy at 8.30pm getting my prescriptions, that seemed surreal as well.

I wasn't going to soup kitchen or samaritans, so I was at a loose end, I walked up the street looking in the bins, I found a teddy bear and a backpack in a bin, I was worried because there was nothing wrong with them, what if they were stolen and dumped?
I couldn't leave a nice teddy and a good backpack in the bin anyway, so I took them back to my sleeping place.
I bedded down and slept despite the noise of drinkers and revellers nearby and the unforecast rain and drizzle continuing, completely sheltered in sleeping bag and blanket, I don't feel the rain, and I know it will stop because it isn't forecast. It is funny but while I have been in this town there has been rain a lot, wind, brief cold snaps and mainly mild grey weather.

I slept and dreamed that I was finishing my blog and preparing to commit suicide, then I dreamed that I trusted my sleeping place so much that I moved a camp bed in and left alll my things there, but people found my sleeping place and they didn't object or interfere anyway.
I woke up when my alarm clock went off at 6am, but I dozed till 8am, because it's the weekend I can get away with it, and seeing as there is nothing to do will 10am or so, it doesn't matter that I slept in.
There was a cat on the wall, watching me nosily as I got up, 'crazy humans!' It is a bright morning with the sun shining after last night's mist and drizzle. I try to control the bad memories and flashbacks.

I went down to the market stall, the tea stall lady seemed to think I had had a cold night and she said I could have a free refill of tea when I had had my first cuppa, 'to warm my hands up', I wasn't cold at all, and said so, I have remained deliciously warm in my pile of bedding and the weather is still surprisingly mild.

It is busy on the market, everyone is gathering for the dreaded rememberance day, for me I wish I could just skip this day and the pain and confusion and bad memories it causes.

I go to the toilet and have athorough wash and change my socks and underwear. Then I go back to the tea stall and have tea and toast. The stall is busy and there is lots of gossip, there are police there who know the stall holders and always come here for tea. The police are talking about a man who stole clothes yesterday, they went after him and he went in the toilets and put the stolen clothes on and put his own clothes and paperwork down the toilet and the police had the job of fishing everything out of the toilet, wierd.

Rememberance Sunday is hard for me, memories of the army, my parents' disapproval of 'worshipping graven images' (the war memorial), the church side of things, my abusers, my avoidance of the parade because of the Dean, etc.
. It is a day where I want to run and hide and yet I feel that I have to go and be dutiful.

I try to go to church, I leave after a few minutes. I go to the library, I go out for the two minute silence and am glad I can't see anything for the crowds.

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