Friday, 20 June 2014

St. Lawrence 2009 part 1.

I really don't want to write about this, this was a vile grotty dump of a lodging house, with a nasty old woman running it. And my life was speeding downhill. I might have been ok if the flat in St. Clement hadn't been sold.

  • I went to the lodging house full of immigrants and the eccentric old lady gave me a room, it was the only place available on the island.
  • The lady wanted £300 deposit for a grotty room in a grotty house, so I gave her what I had and told her I would pay her as my work picked up, I was doing cash in hand gardening.

  • Easter 2009:
  • I moved in and it was a disaster, I was far from ok.
  • The woman was always around the house, as if she was watching the movements of all her tenants. The facilities were bad and I was frightened of some of the immigrant men, there was black stuff coming out of the taps with the water, the microwave sparked when I tried to use it, and the kettle gave me electric shocks, everything was in poor repair, dangerous even, and the woman would not leave me alone.
  • She also, every single day, was shouting at the girl in the other room and calling her names on the landing, she claimed that this girl was her God-Daughter, I felt sorry for the girl but she didn’t seem to care, but I was tense all the time because of the shouting, I am very noise-sensitive and very afraid of loud voices and things were so bad anyway.

  • Because the external world on the island was so bad and I was so depressed that getting up was hard, I fell into the world of cyber chat and online chatrooms and was obviously an easy target for bullying and possible attempted kidnap 
  • that thankfully never happened because someone warned me that my new ‘friend’ was a cult leader and I confronted him online and his reaction was to ask if I was police. 
  • I suffered horrible insults and taunts in the chatrooms for about a year before I realised that this was harmful to me and that this is how it is online, people can get away with terrible things.

  • Anyway, I had no Easter, I knew that the people who hurt me, my adoptive parents and their family undoubtedly had a great Easter and were not stuck in grotty lodgings and hiding away in shame and depression.
    I really did not know what to do.
  • What a dreadful place and what a dreadful memory, as if life had stopped and I was in hell.
  •  I would warn anyone to keep away from that warren of immigrants that she runs and exploits, you deserve better. It is appalling what people can get away with in Jersey at the expense of the poor.
  • Meanwhile, by Easter 2009, Jane Fisher had continued to refuse to do a thing about the Jersey situation, where I was shunned, maligned and isolated, while the churchwarden and his wife remained in their positions. I had got tired of Jane Fisher saying that 'they were doing something soon' and it turned out to be the lie I thought it was. She also claimed that my abuser was 'a Christian who got things wrong', no wonder the church are re-electing him! And how horrifying her words were in light of the fact that she knew by then he was a serial abuser, and the Dean said I was wicked and there was no abuse!
  • It was also at this time that Phil Warren launched his attack on me that Jane Fisher defended and denied and refused to acknowledge that I was attacked because of what was being said about me in the Deanery.
  • I was truly at the end of my tether, and my hair was falling out.
  • Please note, I am omitting a large bit of information here about the police and press stories and the BBC just because it is too traumatic, but as you can imagine, and the Korris report tells you, my cries for help went unheard and I was falling further and further into despair and anger and distress.
  • The diocese continued to show no interest in doing anything and my adoptive dad had remained in his churchwarden position. And the Diocese were not communicating with me clearly.
  • The big breakdown. This was the point of no return, this is where I stopped being me and went ‘mad’ with distress.
  • I had contacted the Archbishop’s office and been replied to by a rude and offensive Andrew Nunn, the Archbishop‘s secretary, the Diocese continued to be of no help, and I was confronted by a Vicar who was aggressive and rude and threatened to ban me on account of ‘what he had heard’, the diocesan safeguarding officer was unhelpful and tried to tell me I was at fault and claim that this incident was not what it was.
  • I was still being victimized online but for some reason I was letting that happen.
  • My adoptive Dad grinned when he saw me, saw the whole thing as a joke and remained in authority in church. As well as showing off with his family in the papers and press. 
  • I could not go on coping with all this and trying to avoid him while Juliet Montague claimed I was stalking him.
  • I contacted the BBC and was initially given a helpful response.  Then the Diocese found out, intervened, hijacked the story and wrote a load of lies, and the BBC produced the Diocese's lies, omitted my side of things, and told me to contact the Dean, and when I explained to them why that was not an option, they threatened me with police action and told me that my story could not be heard until the Police had investigated my allegations against the Dean, the police didn't and so the BBC published the Diocese's cover up, and refused my story, which made me rage and break down further, it was absolutely aweful.

  • Anyway, I held the tenancy at that dreadful sickening lodging house for 3 months while all of this was going on, and when the police came round when Philip LeClaire alledged that I was likely to commit suicide as a result of the situation, the landlady told me to move out, and I said to her that I had never been more willing to obey a request in my life, she was very nasty though and came and shouted and shouted at me, even though I was in a state of collapse, her God daughter who she usually yelled at, came and stopped her, that landlady is the epitome of the nasty side of Jersey, these people live in a beautiful island and yet they are bitter and unhappy and nasty, Jersey has hundreds of these people.
  • So, at very short notice, I was offered a room in St. Aubin (St. Brelade).

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