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:

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

yesterday evening in the other town, I spent some time on the computers and then managed to get another cuppa at a store that does complimentary tea if you have a store card.
I walked through the shopping malls and the streets, wishing it wasn't Christmas, I can't survive another Christmas.
I went down to the port, it had stopped raining by then, it had only been light rain anyway. It was a spring tide, the water almost covering the little beach, I stood and looked at the little beach, there is a spiked fence to stop people going under the pier as we used to, and the pier itself is in poor repair and almost derelict, it looks like a building site.
I go to the ferry terminal, I feel that I will always be struggling between the need to catch the ferry and go home to the island and the need to completely block out what has happened, I try to just be here as I was here as a child and as a teenager when I went to college, I try to keep just those memories, but whenever I see the sea and the boats and ships it is hard to keep the memories at bay. There are two large ships docked, ships like the ones I used to see when I was far out to sea on a yacht, sailing from the islands.

I head back eventually, back to the town where I sleep. I am surprised when I get there, it is pouring with rain. I go and grab my bedding from the bushes, hoping that the black sacks it is in are still waterproof enough. I put it it all in the church porch and go to look for cardboard as mine is soaked.

I get wet looking for cardboard, this is not good, no way to dry my hair and I will be going on the coach tomorrow looking like a punk with sticking up hair at this rate.
I come across a cross taxi driver who has broken down, he asked a youth to help him push the taxi but the youth ignored him so he swore at him, I offered to push the taxi, but the driver has changed his mind, he says he is not obstructing the road so he will just wait for the breakdown people.
I cross the road and find a nice solid cardboard box in the dustbins, perfect.

I return triumphantly to my porch, and inspect my bedding, it is almost completely dry. The thick cardboard makes a nice base for my bed, I take off my wet fleece jumper and hang it to dry, I put my spare fleece and coat on and dry my hair a bit with my gloves and put my scarf and hat on. I light my little stove, intending to make coffee and heat up some soup, but as I sit and drink the coffee I start feeling so warm and sleepy, so I prepare my bed and tuck down. The rain and clouds mean that the temperature has gone back up and it is mild, but the porch is sheltered from the rain, so, apart from waking myself up by making some sort of noise between a snort and a cry as I fall asleep, I sleep deeply, warmly, comfortably as it rains outside.

I dream that the Bishop is standing there ranting about how this is all my fault and just me, I reply that he has persuaded the rest of the world that but he will never be able to to persuade me. He gets the message and fades as I wake up, it is 5.45am, I am warm, comfortable, dry, reluctant to move even though I tell myself that there is lots to do and that I should move before the cleaners arrive. I end up staying in my warm nest until gone 7am, when I get up and start sorting my things into piles of things to leave, things to take, and rubbish.

The next step is toilets and wash, I go to the cold toilets as that is closest, and I wash and I divide my backpacks into two, one to take on the coach, containing book, shawl and pillow, medicines, water, a packet of cereal, paper and pen and ID.
The one to go in luggage contains everything else, and the other luggage is my eiderdown sleeping bag and the small sleeping bag in a ragged black bag, I can't bear to leave them even if I will struggle to carry all of this. The black bags I got earlier in the week are ragged from being hauled in and out of the bushes.

I go to the shop and get a cheap chocolate bar. I go to the coach station and ask if they have a spare bag, they don't. The coach driver last week laughed that I was bringing a black bag on the coach at all, and it wasn't ragged like this one is.
A blind couple with a guide dog are arguing with the clerk, they want assistance getting on the coach, but the clerk says they should have booked assistance in advance, they protest, it turns out that they are from America and it is different there, I wondered why their guide dog had a different harness and was not behaving much like a guide dog, I guess the American guide dogs are trained differently, in the end the station inspector guides them to the coach stand and asks soem other passengers to help them onto the coach.
I went to the coach station the other day to ask if there was anything they could do to help make the journey less stressful for me after the two bad journeys last week, but they had no answer.

Anyway, I wait for the coach, there are a number of people there, but it turns out that they are waiting for other buses, I wait a while and when they announce that the coach is late, I move out of the main bus station and wait outside, it still doesn't get busy, which is good. As the coach comes in I go back to wait with the others, one lady steps back and tells me that I was before her and I laugh and tell her about the man who tried to barge in the que last time, she laughs as well and says 'there is always one', the couple in front turn round and tell us about an experience they had on a flight where it is a free for all for seats and how they ended up at the back of the que and got the worst seats.
The blind couple and their rather lively guide dog are helped onto the coach, and me and the nice lady take the opposite seats in the front of the coach, 'more leg room' she says. I am behind the driver. I have plenty of room and no-one disturbing me, but we have other stops before London, the woman who booked these tickets for me said it was a direct service but it isn't.

The journey to the next stops and the next three stops are all in my home territory, all where I lived as a child, all familiar and in County A. We drive past stretches of sea that I know well, the sea is flat calm and mirrorlike with mist swirling around above it. I try not to think about the boats and the sea too much.
The three stops in one of my old home towns mean we pick up quite a few people, but no-one sits with me, I read my book or watch the road, we go through County B and the shame of the memories comes back. We go past a big accident, a collision of several lorries.

 I love watching the countryside go past, but I wish with all my heart that I was out there working, that I was strong and fit and belonging somewhere, that my breath was easy and my body was strong and my hands hard from work, I feel so useless.

We stop once more, I am getting worried about missing my connection at London as this coach is running so late. I remain in solitary splendour in my front seat, at one of the stops the nice lady's friend got on and sat with her. I have a calm, relaxed journey, enjoying my book and the road.

We get to London, there is not much time between arriving and departing, but enough.
Again I manage to get a seat on my own, this coach remains uncrowded and peaceful as well. I actually fall asleep for an hour and am woken by someone coughing, I leap out of sleep thinking it is night time and someone has found me, my neck aches a little bit from sleeping with my head forward.
I continue to enjoy the journey but I look out at the lonely fields and farmhouses and wish with all my heart I was out there and not reliant on town centres and bins, I wish so much that I could be ok and go home, but I have no home, I will never have a home now, 30 years old and having been outside of society so much of my life, and with the 10 years or so trying to belong in society being so badly marred by the church, I have no further ability to connect with society, to try to belong and fit in, to hope for better.

We arrive. I grab my things and hurry to the daycentre, they make me a cup of tea and heat up a cornish pasty for me, I am very grateful for that. I feel a bit wobbly, but I think it is coach travel that makes me wobbly.

I rearrange my backpacks so I am only carrying one, and I stash the other and the sleeping bags in my stashplace and head for the library to continue blogging.

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