from ‘Homeless’ written on 09/01/2012 but originally written in the journal in 2011, the purpose of these writings were for me to try to understand and rebuild myself

Do I consider all this writing to be:

• Self-indulgent?
• naval gazing?
• Selfish?

Yes. But that is not all it is. It is written in order to tell my side, explain me, and hopefully to help other people who are suffering to know that they are not alone.

I cannot comletely cure myself. I am one solitary autistic person, and autism literally means ‘self-ism’, trapped in one’s own self, and despite that, clumsily, I try to reach out and help others, ever more tentatively.

Despite being condemned forever as the Bad Person by the church, I;

• Help push cars that break down
• return wallets and valuables that I find to the police or the owners
• help people up when they fall
• help carry heavy loads
• avoid begging or asking for help
• offer to help if someone is upset
• and do anything I can to help despite not being able to be a volunteer any more.

These are problems that I associate with my mixture of trauma and Autistic Spectrum:

• Touch sensitivity
• Noise sensitivity
• Heat sensitivity
• disphasia
• frustration, irritability and low mood
• inability to cope with relationship problems
• Incomprehension of situations and explanations
• need for large amounts of solitude and freedom
• need for ‘adult’ help
• Anxiety
• motor problems  (always makes me think I have a motor that doesn’t work)
• need for structure and routine
• communication and speech problems
• easily overloaded with stress
• claustrophobia
• eating problems
• depression
• flashbacks and inability to escape from bad things in the past
• need for things to be correct
• negativity

An exhaustive list?

Written 29/12/2011 in ‘Homeless’ and titled ‘Psychology’ remember, in ‘Homeless’ I omitted all names

For so long now and especially in the times when I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, the memories of how the church have battered my name and reputation to defend thier own has been overwhelming me and making me feel so small, so useless, the flashbacks to the way the police treated me are always there and intermingled with the things that the church have said.
But why, why is an organization like the church allowed to let individuals, mainly with dog collars or close to people with dog collars gang up and condemn an abuse survivor so utterly and not be held accountable for their own actions that leave that survivor suffering in hell?!

I have made a doctor’s appointment and I want a psychological asessment by hook or by crook, I want to know how old I am mentally, what the regression and the subsequent actions have actually done to me, and I want to know what else may be wrong, I have never been opposed to having help but it has always been an impossible fight to get it and the added contempt of what the Bishop said about me in a court statement was that ‘it is all my problems and nothing to do with the church and he ‘hopes I get the help I need”, what he said is an outright lie and would be enough to make me never seek help, but as you know, I still go to church, condemned and despairing, I still go, and there is no way the Bishop can make me responsible for two men in his employ and on his property who had both been accused previously, who both abused me, the second of whom regressed me to childlikeness and left me that way out of control and back in my own hellish childhood while he messed with me and was rebuffed and then denied any responsibility and was backed up by the island churches and clergy for years while the diocese refused to help me and beat me down with criticism and what they heard, one sided stories from (JM) who they allowed to be involved in the island matter and allowed her and the abuser in the island and his supporters to work together.
My fault?
Well, no, but who hears me when the bigger voice of the church and Bishop have all the say and I have none?!
My fault that on my return from the island to England the church continued to intervene and seriously harm me and I was unable to seek any help or get anyone to withdraw them, and my anger, trauma and pain in return caused the church to have me arrested again?!
How can it be?
And Yet I am the one who is left vulnerable to the filthy record the church have given me and there is no one to change that and no way that I can ever rebuild my life like this, even if I was fit to work I will never be able to get a job, never be able to explain to an employer, never be able to get back to living indoors because of the vulnerability I would feel and the terror and distress and the impossibility of the processes or costs to get indoors, and what would be the point, I survive by staying outdoors, indoors is where I was when I was employed and not a criminal and could study and go to places and live, while I can no longer do those things and have been so invalidated I have no use for indoors and the increased flashbacks and distress and vulnerability it brings.

from ‘Homeless’ -written 23/12/2011

waves of bad memories and distress and despair started hitting. How can I cope? Well I just have to keep repairing the little punctures in my bubble with memory blanking glue, otherwise I would be likely to attempt suicide from distress, and then the church could have their triumphant ‘see, she was insane!’. Thier attitude makes life unbearable, their refusal of responsibility, especially for their repeated and damaging interventions since I came back to England, and their cold callous police attacks on me for my reactions.

One Tin Soldier

I listened to this and It keeps making me think of the Diocese of Winchester and the Deanery of Jersey in how they have ripped me apart to achieve their own aims.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qswm7lHp7oY&list=RD59BZxgohr9g

One Tin Soldier.

You have to cut and paste as my links don’t work at the moment.

justice?

If only Jane Fisher and Micheal Scott-Joynt has put a fraction of the effort they put into destroying and criminalizing me into doing something about my abusers, even keeping churches safe from them, they seemed more interested in driving me from churches, villifying me and getting me a record, which continued the church of england’s attitude that I am worse than a sex offender, which started when JM condemned me for my horror in finding out that one of the youth leaders from my youth group had been arrested for paedophilia and child porn.
It was so well covered up in the church, that I wasn’t supposed to know that a man who had worked closely with me and my group was a sex offender, and I was slated for finding out.

And on the streets of winchester, homeless and with a record for the church of england, I was laughed at by JM’s husband, who had abused me, while the church went on protecting him.

This is also from 07/01/12 and was entitled ‘from the journal’ as it was from a handwritten diary done in 2011

07/01/2012
When my dad died I realised I knew nothing about him apart from him being dad, I learned a bit from his funeral. We weren’t the sort of family to ask questions and tell things and he never talked about his past.

My family really don’t know me, so I started a journal and then a blog so that at least someone will know some of my story when I die.

I am like a lost child, regressed and left regressed to suffer all the hurts and denials of the church. I suck my thumb to comfort myself.
I go along with what peopel say too often and end up angry and hurt when I am let down. I want to know why I do this, that’s why I asked for psychological help.

Before all this matter with the church, and my dad’s death in the middle of it, I didn’t fall out with my family. I never fell out with brother E or sister D, they were my friends, and I was ok with everyone else, no fall outs, just not a lot of communication because the family were like that and I was moving around so it was hard to keep in contact with them. The only person I wouldn’t communicate with was Brother C. I was also never close to sister G as she had always been very scornful of me. The fall outs came from the stress of the circumstances with the church and my family not understanding for example when I had to leave the Island for six weeks and my sister put me under pressure to make a decision about living with her friends for that time, and the rent was too steep for me, and she had to lend me money and then some time later made a comment about not expecting to see her money back, we fell out over that. And I explained about my brother and his view of what I said about mum being his mum, not mine, etc.
Dad’s death and the fights in the family after that were worse for me because of the already difficult circumstances with the church.

My journal tells me that in August last year I was sitting on a railway station at nearly midnight, too distressed to do anything because of the Bishop and safeguarding official and what they said about me and what they said in court that was inaccurate.

The journal goes on to where I asked myself what was wrong with me.

‘Not mental illness’ has been proven time after time against the diocese trying to force mental illness onto me.
My doctor agrees that I don’t present any mental illness.
My behaviour was out of control in response to the way I was treated, and the mental health team that asessed me one time after the diocese tried to make me out to be mad mentioned trauma.

I am ashamed of my out of control behaviour but I was provoked by the way the church treated me and tried to absolve themselves of any liability and left me carrying the weight of the blame.

extracts from ‘homeless’ -tributes

I was always very grateful, and still am, to those who have helped and supported me on the streets, and this was written on 07/01/2012 on the ‘homeless’ blog.

There are many wonderful people who have made my life easier to bear as I have struggled along, I feel like doing a tribute to them but it feels silly as I have to change most of their names in order to do it, here are some of them:

• The Samaritans
• The daycentre staff at the numerous daycentres that I have been to
• outreach workers
• Facebook friends
• prayer partners on my regular prayer forum
• Thomas and Kathryn
• Phil and Marcus
• P&M
• Caroline
• Natalie and Jon
• Keith and Helena
• Debbie
• the Salvation Army
• people who’s names I don’t know
• Rupert
• B&M
• Saskia
• Janice
• Good doctors and medical staff
• Ann, Linda and Lynn and the others
• Bob, Jimmie, Barbara and the others
• Sue, Ahn and the others
• The market people
• A, J and the others
• the mission
• London City Mission
• the charity
• Lesley
• The helpful bed and breakfast managers at various locations
• everyone who has reached out to me and been kind and helped me, known and unknown
• Mark, Peter and the others
• Anyone I have missed out

There are many more names to add since then.

Dad

I’ve been thinking about my Dad a lot recently, I am not sure why.
He sometimes seems closer when I am most in despair.

I sat with him when his life support was switched off, four years ago, and my siblings went off to get drunk, but I couldn’t imagine how they could do that, and I didn’t drink and couldn’t bear to leave him.
In a way I envied him, because his battle was over, his struggle as an autism sufferer in such a complex world, it was over for him, while I was in the middle of hell in my life in Jersey and wished he could have lived and I could have died.

I remember how my dad got the scar on his forehead. I saw it happen, he was hit on the head by a lump of breezeblock in one of the riots, I remember him running back towards me with blood pouring down his face and shirt, and he told me to get in the house, and we both got into the house in time.

But for a year after that, and even in the homeless hostel after we fled, that scene replayed in my dreams over and over, and in one memorable dream, my dad was killed, and my brother was trying to move his body to get him away from the rioters.

In contrast, back to the church of england, I remember Jill Lihou saying she thought she would have to take her grandson on a skiing trip to help him recover because he had seen his dad, who is a priest in Guernsey get into an argument and have a glass of water thrown in his face.

This is from ‘Homeless’ written on 21/12/2011

I am not emotionally geared up to historic blogging, but the past has been hurting me so much over the last few days that I probably should try.

I just handed in a driving licence to the police, I found it, the police seemed to know who owned it as well. I wonder why I hand things in when I am supposed to be bad. When I was in that town where the church last had me arrested I handed in a pot which had some decent money in it £20 notes and pound and two pound coins and more, I never saw that money again, and knowing the police, they probably kept it for themselves.

London

I am battling flashbacks at the moment, and I do not really know why at all, well I don’t always, they just happen.
The unconcluded mess of the Diocese and the constant threat of them does contribute to it, as does me being indoors.
I know that if I was to return to the streets now, I would start to feel better, but I am not who I was in my days of great adventure on the streets, I have blown too many fuses in the massive traumas of the past year, and I have had a number of minor breakdowns and I do not have the energy I used to have, so I am ‘safer’ indoors, although my hurt brain is screaming that it is terrified indoors and I live in a state of severe anxiety.

I realised that if London isn’t fully on ‘The Wanderer’ and some is still on ‘Homeless’ then people do not know about my hospital efforts in London.

I arrived in London deeply and severely traumatized and I could not possibly see a way of going on living after what had happened, but hoped to die anonymously in the crowds of London.
But even then I did not stop trying to help myself.

Within a few days of arriving in London, I went to the Maudlsey and begged to be admitted to their traumatic stress unit, unfortunately the waiting list was 18 months and the diocese in the record they had given me meant I was not taken seriously by my doctor although the diocese had failed to get me registered as mentally ill and I was noted to be suffering trauma. I have never been treated very well by doctors since the diocese got me locked in cells for responding to their violations of me in Winchester.

So, my doctor was hard to get a referral from, but I think she may have done the referral but I am not sure at all what happened to it, but at the maudley they were doubtful, and told me that even if I got onto the list, it would be at least an 18 month wait and I should be settled somewhere, which, at the time, due to my terror (justified) of continued tracing and violations by the Diocese, I was unlikely to be settled, as I was fugitive.

The Maudsley helpfully sent me over the road to Kings College Hospital A&E for assessment by an E&E psychiatric nurse, to try and see if  I could be referred back quicker.
The psychiatric nurse was very nice and kind, and even tried to get some food for me, like the WInchester team did when the diocese failed to have me put away before.

Anyway, this psychiatric nurse was easy to talk to, and I told him what I could, in the shocked state I was in after Sussex (which I am having flashbacks about at the moment).

I told the psychiatric quite a lot, and he said I didn’t appear to be mentally ill, and that he would send the report over to the Maudsley.

Anyway, nothing ever really came of that, apart from a social worker accessing my medical records without my consent and forcing herself into my life, and getting a formal complaint in reply, which I think is how the diocese and their police traced me tro London.
It remains an injustice among many of violations and misconducts that if I live, I will have to deal with and bring to book properly, because it has left my records inaccurate and messed up so that I am treated badly.

Anyway, some time later within the few months I was in London, I was too distressed to cope, so I was advised, and took the advice, to go to A&E again, despite my fear and knowledge that it was futile, I went, because there was nothing else I could do.
And because even in that profoundly destroyed state, I was still looking after myself.
If I had known what was going to happen in this past year, I would have commited suicide as I really really wanted to, but I kept myself alive.

Anyway, I went to St. Georges A&E, it was about 10pm and I was in a terrible state, I went to the desk and said that someone had advised me to come but I wasn’t sure if they could help and I was suffering severe stress.
They said that they could help, and said it very positively.
I was terrified of being trapped, because of the diocese and how they had repeatedly had me trapped, but I checked in with A&E.
And ended up even more stressed 🙂 although I have put a smile in there.

A schitzophrenic man was also in A&E, and he was increasingly angry and troubled, I was in a corner and not far from him, unfortunately he went mad, and had to be restrained, and I had ended up trapped in the corner as he lashed out and roared.
It was not just his behaviour that horrified me, but that the diocese had tried to make me out to be ill in the same way as this man, when my behaviour had not been random but in response to what I had suffered combined with the fact that I am autistic and have avoidant attachment disorder.

Anyway, this man was restrained, but both his behaviour, and the knowledge that the diocese had tried to make me out to be like this, and the violence with which he had to be restrained (he got very close to me with his flailing fists) left me shocked, and I shot out of A&E. I remember how brutal the police were with me, even though I was never violent, only ever frozen with terror.

Thankfully as I panicked outside, a nurse came out, and she was very calm and kind, and persuaded me to come back in.

Then there were a series of people asking me questions, a ‘head nurse’ who didn’t even know what Asperger Syndrome was, and thought I had been admitted for Asperger Syndrome. I got cross with her.
But there was a male nurse who did know, understood autism, interviewed me twice, and I was able to tell him some of what had caused me to end up traumatized.

I was not ‘admitted’ but was left in a cubicle on the A&E ward, and seeing as it was my bed time, I tucked down for a snooze, with my toy keeping guard.
Eventually someone took my blood pressure.
The schitzophrenic man was on the ward, and went mad again and had to be restrained and injected, which again horrified and traumatized me, this was what the diocese wanted to be done to me. It still makes me sick with horror.
And eventually a nice doctor came to see me, went away and saw me again later.

She listened to me, and said I was not mentally ill and thus they couldn’t help me, and she had to check if she was allowed to let me out that night due to how vulnerable and distressed I was.
She also looked up my records and found that the interfering leech of a socially worker was still illegally on my records, and I explained to her that this was against my wishes and a violation, and she said she would write to them about that. But I was furious.

She let me wait while she made sure she could let me leave that night, and she could, so by 2am I was down to Waterloo Grill for some long delayed supper and a hot drink before I went to my sleeping place, exhausted.

I fought in every direction in London, both to get help and to get protection from the Diocese of Winchester, but their side of the story on all my records meant I couldn’t, and still can’t, get help or protection from them.
Their ‘help’ will never be help to me, and their interventions are like rapes.