I met Becca and her friend Ellen today at CRI, then we all met up with Blue and Jazz. The reason that only some names are changed or witheld on here is to protect the innocent. Where someone doesn’t mind being mentioned, I mention them by their proper name. The ladies had to depart at around noon and I spent the rest of the day writing.
I’ve gained a bit of a monopoly on the sole computer at CRI, where I’m not limited to an hour’s use per day as I am at the library: roll on getting the notepad / tablet, so that I’m no longer constrained. The CRI staff are fine with me monopolising the computer and a few of them have taken an active and ongoing interest in what I’m doing. Although I have relatively few official followers of this blog, my dashboard confirms that I have readers / views in the hundreds every day.
I was heartened today to be complimented on my writing by Becca’s friend Ellen, who read the blog prior to meeting me to see what she was getting into (I can only assume). She thinks my writing is clever and she’s another who recognises my ability to place meaning between the lines: show, don’t tell.
Jazz (Blue’s dog) thinks I’m okay too, although she doesn’t read the blog. She’s Blue’s best mate and fiercest protector. But when her daddy needs to go off to somewhere she’s not allowed (most places), she’s okay staying with “Uncle Steve”. Blue’s my bruv. Even today, Jazz saw off some muppet who approached us when we’d rather he hadn’t. He was off his nut on Methadone and we asked him to leave. Jazz was up on her haunches and growling. We pointed out that the dog didn’t like him, to which he replied that he was a “dog whisperer”. Whisper at her mate and she’ll rip your face off. Jazz made sure he left. Mr Methadone was one seriously threatening character but I felt safe with my cage fighter brother (undefeated) and 2000lbs per square inch of dog bite at our disposal. I also have on-board protection, should my brother and niece not have been there. It’s nice to be able to relax and not have to watch your back.
That on-board protection is handy to have about my person when sleeping at Gilbert Arse. Although I’m in a back room, with one door barricaded and another tied shut with electrical cable, there is no escape to the rear of the building. Therefore the only means of escape – should it be required – is back the way I came, via any assailant. What I carry (I’ll not say), combined with the training in self-defense I’ve received, pretty much guarantee my safe exit.
Despite my efforts and documented demonstrations of starting over and getting better (proof upon application via my key worker), the proverbial kicking continues from certain quarters. Just today: “…all these girls…” apparently see me as some sort of danger; a challenge; to be tamed. You don’t know me any more: I’ve changed. I have lots of friends out here, many of them girls. They don’t see me as you may think. They like me for what I am.
Probably the closest friend (confidante) I have at the moment is Becca. We’re friends. In another life it might have been otherwise but for now she’s a friend; a rock; a prop-up; an ear; a shoulder. She doesn’t judge and I love her for all the right reasons. I’d kindly request that my nemeses don’t fuck this one up in the same way that you’ve engineered others. My friend is aware of my baggage and carries it for me. My heart has been broken too many times already.
Leave me alone, please. Either forgive me for whatever it is you’ve perceived me to have done or let me die alone; as you wish.