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, 19 November 2015

The hospital

I don't like hospitals, apart from the vending machines and the chapel.
But this time I didn't get to see either of those.

When I went into the hospital, the waiting area was crowded, which is never good.
But the receptionist was keen to get me assessed by someone.

The triage  nurse was very nice, I don't know what I said each time I made her laugh, but she was very patient with me.
She said my blood pressure was 180/113 and I told her that was Ok because it had been higher than that when I was about to fly to England when my Dad was in a coma six years ago.

I told her about Bob and how it was my fault, but she said no one knows what causes these things, she said it about like Kingy did when he was talking about cards being dealt, which I still don't know what it means.

She wanted to make sure I saw someone quickly even though there were a lot of people there, she showed me a quiet place with seats and no other people and said the doctor would see me soon.
I think soon means something else in hospital because another hour went by and I felt sick and tired.
I said I would swap places with Bob so he could be well and I could be ill instead, but I never agreed to sitting in a place with horrible bright lights and noises and buzzing for a long long time.

A few times I asked the people how long it would be, but they kept saying I was next to be seen, but nothing happened. The waiting room just waited and I was falling over tired.
Normally I get up at 5.30 to do the papers, so being out late isn't suitable, and it was getting later and later, although for the past week I have known that there would be a day when I simply couldn't get up and do the papers any more, I had to at least try.

So I came home, shattered, and went to sleep.
But I was too sick to do the papers this morning.

That's it peeps, everything I have tried to build has been ripped off me and the pack of mangy dogs in Jersey are still relentlessly demanding their masterpiece whitewash report while the church allow them to continue and never declare this report fake, whitewash and null as they have been asked to.

Has anyone noticed how they change what the report is to try to drum up sympathy and get support? BBC Jersey claiming it was a 'report into the safeguarding of children and young people' in one of their recent attacks, while yesterday it was called a 'report into the suspension of the Dean' while they continued to attack?

The church go on and on allowing me to be destroyed, and they cost Bob Hill his health and retirement and they will cost me my life. I have annoyed Bob since the beginning by saying this won't be over until I am dead and the church will have no opposition to publishing their lies, and things are speeding up towards my death now. As far as I am concerned, Jane Fisher's concentrated and unrelenting attacks on me were a murder effort and the past two and a half years have simply been her extension of that effort, and she has nearly won the prize. But why? Why do they need to publicly flay me? They have already destroyed me and left me damaged for life.

I can't do much except go and have my blood pressure checked again when I am able to leave the house, I feel sick all the time, I feel shattered, and I don't understand why Polo and Elle and Stuart and others have been posting wierd hurtful stuff about my case, posting my abuser's name? Why?
After all this time, do you really think it helps me?

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