Kwanliso

18.02.14

(16.42)

This is it: the point where my own story and that of Victor Frank become one.

I’ve lost almost everything: people who’ve supported me determindely, as well as my belongings (twice now). With the week that has passed and the conversations I’ve had, I can stand this no longer. The constant tearing apart with every post; the slaggings; people forming ill-informed opinions and assuming them to be fact. So those people are gone.

I was tempted to give this up completely (the blog) but I’ve been advised by friends and professionals not to. Therefore I shall continue but I shall write less of the journal and more pure fiction and poetry.

The journals were stolen but today I’ve procured new notebooks. I’ve also had two offers of work in the catering trade (my other passion): starting lowly but it’ll be what I make of it and given that I get by on four hours’ sleep per day, I can hold down a job and write. In addition, I have an interview for housing, supported by my key worker. So although I’ve been quiet for a few days, I’ve been thinking and I’ve achieved a lot. I’m grateful to those who stuck by me.

My main focus now is finding my kids, myself and a new life. That’s finally started. It was never going to come to me, was it? Why did I fool myself, like I have with so many other things?

So in much the same way that in the novel, Victor signs off, this is me metaphorically doing the same. I’ve set a date for my return and then I have what will be Volume Four: apologising and building bridges; repaying debts, both personal and financial. Until then, I’m concentrating more on me. In case I don’t make it, please don’t forget me.

Remember, remember.

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