12.04.14 (Day 111)
Having not had time to write notes with pen and paper and not having the resources to do so electronically (McDonald’s: free wi-fi but no power; library: power but limited wi-fi and only one hour on the public access machines; home: fuck all), this is another impromptu stream-of-conciousness post, written as I think, so probably not coherent. I’ve been advised to write these though as it’s therapeutic and gives an insight into me. And so many people ask so many questions: read the blog.
I’m tired. Very tired. I’ve had nine hours sleep in the last 72: not good. Not good if you’re diagnosed with clinical chronic depression as I am. I’m down but I’m up. I’m up because I’ve built bridges to an extent with the ex-wife and the meeting with the children is on the cards, after a few more bridges have been built and crossed. And hurdles jumped over. And hoops jumped through. I’ve spent a lot of time on the phone with my ex-fiancé lately and that’s a bridge which is very much under construction. We’re getting on well and the day before last we spent four hours on the phone together. Then yesterday, because we’d enjoyed the previous day’s conversation so much, we spoke again. Since then though, nothing. I must admit to being confused. She has a life – and I don’t really – but I’m feeding myself mixed messages. Bottom line though: I’m still in love with her. I don’t just love her; I’m in love. There, I said it.
It was after I’d gone through the married years in my confessional a few days ago and I was about to move onto the “Monkey Months” that I broke down. Dan was – and is – my Bunkey; the love of my life. It’s over (and that’s me saying it from the driver’s seat which I’ve assumed) but you don’t get over the love of your life. Time heals most things but never a broken heart. She says I’ll find another but I won’t. There’ll never be another Steve’s Dan and I’m always Dan’s Steve. There: I said that too.
I happened upon (I earned) some money a couple of days ago and spent it all on my children. As of today, I’ve not heard whether the package I sent them has arrived. I feel cut off.
All of the above, coupled with my ongoing battle with the Department for Work and Pensions led me to almost go and play with my train set last night: that’s the real trains at Tonbridge station. I was persuaded not to.
We’re now three months into the process of applying for my benefits (to which I’m entitled, as I’m signed off as unfit for work through depression, alcohol dependence, a compressed spinal disc and fatigue: I’m ill). I’ve given up, buried my head in the sand, banged it against a wall. CAB have taken over and even they admit that the process is ridiculous and designed to just put people off. Having filled out three forms so far and having been told that these were the wrong forms (despite the forms being given to us by Job Centre Plus) and that one was obsolete, we’re now on form number four and having to start all over yet again. My advisor at CAB has lodged a complaint against DWP but I’ve asked her to make a compensation claim as this whole process is making me (more) unwell.
In other news, I’m still helping out at the churches in Tunbridge Wells and was instrumental in providing soup and sandwiches for the gathered guests yesterday. As I’ve said before, I don’t care about money any more; it’s all about helping others and gaining satisfaction. If I have it, I’ll give it away, as I did today. As long as I have my bible, I have comfort. And it helps to have people who support me and believe in me. There are several but at the top of the list are Danielle (my ex-fiancé), Blue (my brother), Rhian (my “wife”) and Will (Charlie Richardson’s son): they don’t judge but they do believe.
I’ve found an additional haunt: Jimmy’s Cafe. Therein, one may sit over coffee for a long time and have a full English breakfast any time of day if one so chooses. They don’t have wi-fi though. I’m off there now that my one hour has expired in the library, to read Leviathon (by Paul Auster: very good, as are all of his novels and my friend Kristy in McDonald’s reports that she’s enjoying Sunset Park, and I’ve also got her Mr Vertigo, and, and, and I’m rushed).
Until the next time then: perhaps a proper post, or Ad-lIVb (or IVmpromptu).