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:

Monday, 8 April 2013

Hi peeps,
I don't feel much like writing the blog.
I haven't written much because I haven't been online much and haven't felt very good.

'The Devil got in' is the usual way of describing things that go wrong as they have over the last few days.
But a better explanation is that I had to deal with going back to where I had been so hurt, in the city that I loved so much, my home city since I left my family, and I came to face the grave of my friend and other friends and the empty house and accept that those sunny golden days are gone and that it is winter now, irreparably.

The chilling memories as I walked through the city included being beaten and brutalized by the police in front of the other homeless people and locked in a cage.
I will never be me again.

So after walking through the city and placing my hand on the stone of the Cathedral as I always have, to symbolize that I am home, I made my way back to my other home, on Sanctuary's shore, where I spend most of my days.
I have three homes in my heart, Sanctuary, where I am now and spend most of my time now, this is the home of my childhood, the city that I went to on Saturday, this became my home town when I left my family, and remained my home town, where love and friendships grew and I never tired of the beauty of the city, but it was taken from me and all my love and friendships destroyed by the church of England. My third home was the Island, which I fell in love with and which I will never return to.

Anyway. On Saturday evening I came back here, but I was no longer ok, I could not walk peacefully or do anything and cold anger and distress were building up in me and all I could think to do to help myself was go to my blankets and lie down.
I slept and woke on Sunday morning feeling no better.

I decided that I would leave my church and the pastoral care because I simply cannot cope with it.

The church was crowded for the main service as there was a baptism, I hate baptisms anyway because it is usually a lot of non-church people getting in the way, smoking outside, loud and in the way and thinking about the alcohol afterwards.
In the end I was tearing my hair out because I was so crowded and cornered.
So I left.

I emailed the minister and said that I want to end the pastoral care, I cannot cope with men, men in dog collars or any form of church-based help because of the horrifying memories that are raining down on me.

I cannot cope with anything.

Sunday was a miserable blur, I sat in the coffee shop some of the time, sometimes I walked and sometimes I slept on a bench.
In the evening I had a scrap with some church people, oh never mind I just cannot cope with church anything to do with it.

In the evening, as soon as I could I went to lie down in my blankets and slept through the night.
I woke this morning and did the usual.
Here I am.

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