Angel With Dirty Hands


The last few days have been what can best be described as eventful and surreal. I’ve kept my hand-written journal up to date but the notes run to 17 pages, which I don’t have time to record here. More on that another time but to summarise:

I was robbed on Tuesday night: coat, gloves, bag, tobacco, library books, journal (thank fuck I record edited details here). I spent the night wandering the streets of Hastings to avoid my own demise. It’s an ongoing situation and one which I shouldn’t talk about here and now.

Someone from my past has returned and although it’s gone tits up again, someone else from my more distant past thinks it wise that we no longer speak.

I’ve had five hours’ sleep in the last 72 hours and have feared for my life on occasion.

What’s been home for the last few weeks is no longer safe, so I’m having to move on. Plans are afoot on that front and I’m being re-homed.

Most importantly, I wrote letters to my kids today. Having been robbed, I didn’t have money for envelopes or stamps, so the staff in McDonald’s clubbed together and helped me out. I was moved. A combination of that act of human kindness and thinking of my kids turned on the waterworks. A stranger comforted me and we ended up having a long conversation about my situation: all that I’d lost; fiance, girlfriend, parents, family, friends, business, homes…

The stranger and I were recently acquainted as she’d broken down (her car; not her) outside McDonald’s and I pushed her car to the side of the road. I was in McDonald’s having a coffee and had just collected my sixth sticker, qualifying me for a free coffee: I gave it to the lady with the car and she joined me for a while. I showed her the letters I’d written to the kids. At the end of our conversation, she asked me if it were okay to write something on my hand. I thought this strange but as my hands were dirty from pushing her car, I figured I’d need to wash them, so I submitted. She told me to close my eyes. When she was done and I opened my eyes, this is what she’d written:

“A fallen angel with a broken heart”, with an arrow pointing up my arm.

I cried.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s