04.03.14 (Day 72)
I’m in McDonald’s, having my evening coffee and about to depart for Tunbridge Wells for dinner.
Well that was largely a waste of time. Dinner was mediocre, half the attendees weren’t and the trains back to Tonbridge were up the spout, so we had to endure a replacement bus service. I’ve become separated from my bodyguards, so now I’m waiting for at least one of them to install themselves back at base before I can head back, as another threat became apparent today.
I also lost two people very close to my heart. I won’t go into detail as that wouldn’t be fair on either of them but both separations were painful, involved complicated circumstances and seemed unjust to me.
05.03.14 (Day 73)
I slept alone last night as neither of my current in-house protection team made it back, so now I’m a little more concerned than usual. The door was barricaded but as far as I know, there were no visitors.
A busy day today: off for my morning coffee at McDonald’s shortly, then to CRI for Breakfast Club. After that I’m meeting my mum at noon for coffee, which I’m very much looking forward to (seeing my mum; the coffee is a bonus). I’ll suggest we go to Wetherspoons as the coffee is good (and cheap) and I can prove my ability to be in a pub without drinking alcohol.
I’m not after anything; I’m not going to weedle my way back in, nor try to wangle anything out of my mum. This is just the beginning of rebuilding a bridge which was burned. She may not ask directly but she wil want to know how things are; she’s my mum after all. I shall go through the good and the bad but withold the ugly.
- I’m down to an average of four units per day of alcohol. Not dry but recognised by West Kent Recovery (CRI) as sober and within recommended daily limits
- Some days I don’t drink at all during the day, as I don’t rattle anymore (the DTs) because my intake is down
- I’m booked on CRI’s Foundations for Change program, starting next week as it’s been recognised that I’m making an effort
- I’m attending a creative writing course (supported by the RSA) and have had my Small Sparks grant application approved for my netbook
- I’ve applied to various organisations for housing
- I have a job interview next week and the offer of some casual work starting the week after. In the interim, I’ll be making some residual income with some online trading I have planned
- I’m comitted, in that I average 4-6 hours’ sleep per night to fit as much as possible into the remaining waking hours; building things too
- I took a holiday last week and ate well for the duration. An upshot is that money has stretched further
- My friends on the outside are supportive and generous
- I’m finding it frustrating rebuilding things as I’m waiting for the netbook (about three weeks to go, following a six-week application process) and meanwhile I’m limited to an hour per day on the library computers
- The housing application process is frustrating to say the least. In order to get an address, things are almost infintesimally easier if you already have one. Also, you need an address in order to claim benefits and to be in receipt of benefits in order to apply for housing. The whole path is strewn with barriers, hoops, hurdles and brick walls
- Despite plans to clear out Gilbert Arse (and those plans are still afoot as far as I know, pending the return of the boys), the place really isn’t fit for human habitation but us lot have no other choice. There is also the constant, overhanging threat of himself returning
- I have received threats and am in danger where I am
- I have neither the financial nor practical means of showering, shaving and changing into clean clothes
- I have a lot of doubters and distractors on The Other Side
And the really ugly stuff, I shall withold.
No doubt some will find this meeting inadvisible. I shouldn’t be surprised if certain people have even gone so far as to advise others to just ignore me and advise my mum not to meet me. When I had that cataclytic day though and used the last of my money to phone my mum, I set our a clear agenda and left in on my parents’ voicemail. I set out a clear agenda in the message I felt, then let my mum decide if she wanted to call me back for whatever reason.
And she phoned…
After we’ve met for coffee, it’ll be the usual time spent in the library, then McDonald’s agin, for more coffee. The evening will be dictated by whomever I end up with (if anyone) but will be ether a meal in Tonbridbe Wells or a very early night (I’m tired!)
Later I shall contemplate what mum and I said today, once we’ve said it. A few things I won’t need to contemplate though are those I know already, even if it’s taken me a while (too long) to realise): she’s the sweet one and I’m the bitter one; at least I was when I thought I’d been harshly treated and said some nasty things. Now that clarity has descended though, I understand why my mum did what she did and that’s because she had to. The same goes for others too. Hindsight is a fine thing, with hindsight.
She’s the good one; I’m the (sometimes) bad one and I inherited my looks partly from her.