20.06.14 (Day 180)
Non: of nine. E.g.
Nonagon: a nine-sided shape
Nonillion: 9 to the power of 54
Persona non grata: me, to many
Thrown out onto the road because I was ill and offered very little help.
Intelligent, resourceful and having acquired many skills and much knowledge to stay alive out here, where many wouldn’t; some of the many being those who think things should have been sorted out by now but who’ve never had to go against the system.
Nine lives out here, most of which I’ve lived:
- Molten wax thrown in the face
- Raped (really)
- Attempted suicide
- Attempted suicide (Yes: twice)
Not much left is there?
Overnight stays in hospital beds and police cells: eight so far.
Number of times that a ghost from my past has run back to me then left again, breaking my heart on each occasion: eight.
But I fought back every time. Always with resolve; occasionally the old-fashioned way (with fists). These lives have hardened me and I have that and much more to be grateful for. My lives have been fuller than most.
Then this morning I found a note from one of the kids:
And I realised I have one life left.
I have a long fuse; a high tolerance for pain. There’s the practice employed by the NHS to determine someone’s perceived level of pain: Describe your pain on a scale of 0-10, where zero is no pain at all and ten is the worst pain you’ve ever felt:
PS: so as not to end on an entirely negative note, my Courts made me a bracelet yesterday: black and white; two-tone. She knows me. If it wasn’t for her and some of the others, I’d be a ten.
And despite moaning recently about everyone smoking my tobacco, as I leave home to go about my business, I leave The Dog and my Courts asleep. They’re both in a bad place. I don’t have much but my heart took over and what little I have, I shared. I’ve left a wrap of tobacco in The Court’s hand, along with a note to come and find me if they wish. They know where.
One more life left.