I feel I should still do an account of the year even if my heart isn't in it. And in a way I am worried that I am repeating what is already in the books 'Coming Home' and 'Homecoming'.
In January this year I was somehow surviving on almost no money at all due to unfairly losing my tax credits and my work was very low as well, the winter is a hard time for gardeners and for me it was my first year back in work and I had been living hand to mouth and unable to prepare for winter. So I was in absolute poverty in January.
I was doing my best with my second term at university but it was a sad hard time. Christmas Day 2015 was the last time I saw my friend alive and she died in January of this year.
I continued to fight to rebuild my life despite the sadness and poverty, as I had no idea that the Church of England would destroy me and make it all worthless a few months later.
There was that disastrous day in January when I woke up to a leak in the roof and water dripping onto my laptop, and then Florence broke down in the pouring rain and floods in the middle of nowhere as I delivered the papers round the villages. Thankfully I managed to bump start her and get her home, but she needed a new starter motor.
I was coming to the end of my work delivering papers on the rural routes now anyway as it had been too much stress for me and Florence, and we swapped for a smaller, local round.
The wet weather and local flooding continued.
I joined a running course and was running well but it was badly arranged and hard to keep up with. When my friend died, I remember running and crying, and I renamed the blog 'The Journey Home' for some reason. Partly because Jane Fisher seemed to have vanished and I felt almost as if I had a right to live again despite losing my best friend.
I didn't get on with all my friend's family and I chose not to attend the funeral, I couldn't cope with them and I was too weak myself.
I was doing my best, despite my terror, to endure hospital appointments about my jaw as I now had a good dentist and he had been concerned about my jaw, the hospital backed up this concern and wanted to splint my jaw and do biopsies and things, but I was so tired, so ill and so I bottled out of hospital treatment. Quite apart from anything, I couldn't afford to get to the hospital and pay for parking or bus fares, I had no money and no-one was helping me.
I was attending gym regularly and getting on with a lot of exercise, and I was working a very quiet delivery driving shift and getting a lot of study done while I sat and waited for deliveries.
In February I started some more work to tide me over, leaflet distribution. Hard and unrewarding work but at least it kept me fit and started to bring money in.
I was treated dreadfully bu the first company I did leaflets for but I was spotted by someone who got me to take on a leaflet job for them as well, they paid me properly and I applied to get my tax credits back, and eventually I ended up doing delivery driving for them when I was treated too badly by the other place. These jobs aren't nice or permanent but what mattered was that I was earning a living.
The weather turned from wet to icy and I continued to try to lower my blood pressure after the crisis with Bob Hill's collapse had sent me into blood pressure crisis.
I decided to go ahead with my sponsored 70 mile walk even though I felt awful, depressed and ill, and I knew it would be hard doing the walk without my friend or any support.
I was walking to raise money for a charity that my youth group used to support when I was younger, because that charity came up in my university studies as a case study. I planned the walk for Easter.
I went out with my social group, a rare thing now because the damage by the church had been such that I just didn't want to go out any more. I was sad that the social group were reluctant to support my walk.
It was a leap year but I didn't propose to anyone, so my poor old neighbour downstairs remained unmarried until he died, despite the fact that he called me beautiful every time he saw me.
March appears to be quite nondescript. On March 8th I fell and my house keys went flying and I did a little
I had a dream in March, it seems to have almost been a prophecy, about the police. As you know, the police turned up in September this year and I hit the roof.
This is from the dream I had in March
And the police turned up.
The police actually took things seriously and wanted to question me on what I had seen, imagine if that happened in real life!
Anyway. In the dream I was furious with the police because they have treated me so badly in real life.
So I raged at them for what they have done to me, and they stood there looking surprised.
Poor dream-officers, it wasn't all their fault!
Anyway, I woke up thinking 'What on earth!' Because that was way too vivid and cohesive.
March was nondescript, and I was short of money, and at one point I accidentally let Florence's battery go flat.
The Channel Islands were having ferry problems so I wrote them yet another poem.
The plight of the condor:
new boat detained
Goodwill under water
Clipper in for repair
and Islanders in Despair
I started the sponsored walk on Good Friday, trying to get ahead of the forthcoming bad weather. I didn't feel like walking or celebrating Easter, but the first day or two of the walk was good weather so I survived, I took time off from all my work except delivery driving as I was the only driver. But later in the week the weather turned very bad with wind and rain and it was hard to complete the last Great Walk.
The sponsored walk put me in the mood for a spring clean and clearout of the rubbish I owned, and that is how March ended.
My friend was taking me to Opera and ballet, and I liked ballet but not opera at first.
Justin Welby decided that he would announce to the world that he spat on Jesus, by using the press and media for a stunt about his various fathers. Amazinly the world let him do this and limelight seeking leaders in other churches 'supported' him.
I made a complaint to the papers and ofcom and ipso that as Welby's corporation were under investigation for systemic child rape, they should not be advertising themselves but should have the decency to be quiet while under investigation, even for the sake of their victims.
The fact that I was delivering newspapers and had to deliver Welby's narcissistic stunt to so many houses left me off work ill. And of course Welby doesn't care if one of his victims starve, as long as people are mistakenly worshipping him.
I started to try to arrange a support worker for myself but it was impossible in my poverty and the unstable situation that the church were keeping me in.
Towards the end of April I was starting to revise for a music exam and end of term assessments for university, and my landlady got me to clean a filthy flat with a dying resident in it, cleaning that flat made me ill and I was under stress over revision as well, so it wasn't an easy time.
Hillsbourough Campaigners started to win a much-deserved victory in April, and Junior Doctors started striking.
I wrote a blog post about Bob Hill, and I felt better for it, because I felt to blame for his collapse even though he had hurt me a lot in his efforts to 'solve' my case.
My landlady went through a weird phase of offering me a downstairs flat and withdrawing the offer repeatedly, leaving me confused and upset, she appeared to be having major problems in her own life and was acting bizarrely.
This was the month of my exams and also the month that the church destroyed me. It is hard to write about.
I am not sure I want to go through it all again. I have been destroyed and waiting to die ever since.
The music exam was at the beginning of the month, and there was already a problem with the landlady hanging around the house and being weird and I was under stress. Then the day before the exam I witnessed an accident outside the house, a collision between a van and a motorbike, which left me shocked.
I still got the exam and passed it.
But then I was ill with stress, tired and in pain from the injuries seizing up with stress.
Immediately the Church of England launched upon me as I tried to pull myself together and do my end of term assessments.
It might be easier for my health if rather than go into details of the evil committed against me by the Bishop of Winchester and Archbishop of Canterbury, aided by the National Safeguarding Team, I post this, which sums up why there was a million pound cover-up that condemned me and my life and upheld criminal wrongdoers
And so I was destroyed to cover up for evil. And there is no safeguarding in the Church of England.
The church had spent a million pounds covering up for their evil and doing so at the expense of my life and health, and they wanted to bring it to a close, at my expense, in the press and media, discrediting me and upholding the wrongoders.
The damage is done and it would have been better if I had died in May. They continue to refuse to redact their discrediting and bring an independent investigation into my case, well if they did allow an investigation a number of people would have to resign or be arrested.
I managed to scrape through my university exams despite there being no point in life any more.
And it was all only getting worse.
I was being plagued by an idiot called Jane Dodds who wanted the Church cover-up neatly swept away and me co-erced into saying that being utterly destroyed was fine. She was caseworker for the national safeguarding team of the church on a voluntary basis before she suddenly vanished after adding to the harm to me.
But it was all worse, the situation where I lived had already been precarious before the church destroyed me, and I felt that I had no choice but to give notice, and I did.
My work was falling apart as well, and Florence, the car, was due her MOT and I was sure I couldn't get her through the MOT.
I was going to lose Florence and my home and the rest of my life was already destroyed by the church, it felt as if all my work in rebuilding my life had been for nothing.
Bob Hill came out of hospital after many months but he couldn't speak, he wasn't quite the same Bob.
And then my tax credits were restored, so Florence went back to her old owners to be overhauled and sold on, I took Max, her younger brother, off their hands for a bit more than I paid for Florence.
I wrote this: http://lifeafterthediocese.blogspot.co.uk/2016/06/archbishop-abuse-case.html
Jersey's failed and disgraced safeguarding partnership started harassing me in earnest over their whitewash report into my case and trying to force me to agree to it's publication, just as I prepared to move house and just after the move.
The house move and buying Max left me short of money and I nearly became dangerously ill with low blood sugar when food ran out.
I moved to the new house at the end of June. I was utterly exhausted, destroyed by the church and not sure what to do, I knew that the new place wasn't going to be a permentant home, it was right by a pub and with no parking and was mainly benefits tenants and a lot more run down than the old place. But what could I do? Everything I had built up was smashed down.
I started looking for more work despite the state I was in, I couldn't afford to sit around, but I was too unsure of most of the work that was on offer, but a gardening team who I had been in contact with in the past offered me sub-contract work and I took them up on it and have been working with them part time ever since as well as doing my own gardening rounds.
Max started having catalyst problems, and as I write this, we intend to change his catalyst in the new year. But it was worrying to start with as I didn't know what was wrong.
I started writing and preparing Manuscripts, and in July I started writing 'Coming Home' which kept me sane and occupied after my whole world had collapsed and been swept away, and I managed to keep going as a result, even with increasingly vile attacks by Jersey safeguarding partnership, culminating in their famous troll attack instigated by Ian Gorst.
On the same day as Battle of Flowers in Jersey, I marshaled for the local carnival. I hadn't marshaled since I used to marshal for Battle when I was in Jersey. If I wasn't in such a broken state then I would have said that this was a positive sign but after the horrific unhealable wounds inflicted by the church and Jersey Safeguarding Partnership, I wasn't recovering, I just happened to marshal, and it wasn't brilliant really, I just got posted outside a local church who I had been helping and they treated me like royalty, apart from that I didn't enjoy marshaling and wasn't fit to be there. I pretended it was great and wonderful but I felt like death.
On August 22nd I published my first three books, 'Goodnight Anna', 'Coming Home' and 'The Silent World'. And the books haven't stopped. I think including some in private circulation, there are about 18, and some of those are duplicated into other forms as well, such as e-books.
I re-started my music lessons which had been ruined by the church and poverty and I was revising for a grade 5 exam.
I had no idea what was about to happen.
Before the world shattered, I was preparing a new book, and I was starting to do short story competitions as well as preparing for university and revising for my grade 5 exam.
On September 3rd, in a grotesque parody of my old life, I stewarded at a local horticultural show, but to me it was just going through the motions, what I had before is gone forever, my community, my friends, my shows, the church destroyed it all, and I felt more sad and useless than anything else, but the people wanted me to start showing again for next year and they were trying to arrange me some land, which would have gone ahead if the police attack hadn't happened.
You may remember I posted this:
“I sit alone in a dead world. The wind blows hot and dry, and the dust gathers like particles of memory waiting to be swept away. I pray for forgetfulness, yet my memory remains strong, as does the outstretched arm of the oppressive air. It seems as if the wind has been there since the beginning of the nightmare. Sometimes loud and harsh, a thousand sharp needles scratching at my reddened skin. Sometimes a whisper, a curious sigh in the black of night, of words more frightening than pain. I know now the wind has been speaking to me. Only I couldn't understand because I was too scared. I am scared now as I write these words. Still, there is nothing else to do.”
Christopher Pike - Whisper of Death
September 5th 2016, it was raining in the morning, just enough to delay my work, so I was out and about, doing other things.
It was when I came back that my world stopped. I don't know if the shock and revulsion and terror will ever fade.
All was well, well as well as it could be after the horrific damage by the church and safeguarding partnership, and I was walking up to the flats, my landlord was working on the shop below the flats and he said hello and smiled, and I said hello and smiled, all normal, and then the world stopped and never re-started.
My landlord said to me 'You see that car there? That car belongs to two police, a woman and a man and they have come to see you'.
I am crying as I write this. I am severely traumatized. It was the end of my home, my safety and the last remnants of the life I had rebuilt, my safety and welfare depended on being a fugitive, and the bastards had found me.
My landlord told me that this man and woman had come all the way to find me, quite a journey, and they were 'concerned for my welfare'. They had come all the way from Jane Fisher's local police station, Jane Fisher, who repeatedly had me beaten and imprisoned to silence me for the church.
Those of you who don't know what 'concern for my welfare' means, it means the police consider you to be insane and meriting a beating and imprisonment for your abusers.
The most horrifying things about this were that the bastards had actually been discussing me with my landlord, but worse, they had been able to trace me after all my efforts to be in hiding. I was done for, my new identity was my safety, the thing I relied on to not be branded and driven out, and the bastards would probably have ripped through my whole life, friends, community and private records and privacy and contacts, in order to destroy me again as they were doing now.
The one and only advantage I had was that the bastards had left their car and gone off somewhere.
I was hungry and I couldn't flee without my ID and food and things I needed, so I had no choice but to go into my flat.
Unfortunately the bastards came back as I did so, I had told the landlord that when they came back, to tell them to leave and never come back or I would make a harassment complaint.
But unfortunately he had given them my phone number. And I was trapped in my home because they wouldn't leave.
Instead of leaving, the bastards tried to phone me.
I told them to leave or I would make a harassment complaint.
They weren't taking no for an answer and tried to text me.
I emailed professional standards and told them to get their bastards off my doorstep.
The bastards tried to leave but their car broke down and my landlord had to help them bump start it as they didn't know how! He never stopped laughing but I wasn't laughing, because when they showed no sign of leaving, I climbed out the skylight and onto the roof, and I am scared of heights, I was terrified, traumatised and sobbing as my world shattered again.
I haven't recovered even now, as you may have noticed, I am very ill, and the police and professional standards have done nothing to rectify anything, nor explain this illegal violation of my home.
Well actually although the bastards left, they have been really nasty about my complaint, as have professional standards, and have jeered by sending letters in my old name for me to sign for when I am not allowed to and to see letters turning up in the flats under my old name and breaching the law and my identity change added to the horrific trauma, and as yet nothing has been done, and professional standards, knowing my new name as the police who turned up here did, also sent letters to me under every name but my own.
I haven't recovered. And there has been no resolution. I never felt safe in my home and the shock, the trauma, the revulsion, of being violated and having my new identity and new clean record ripped from me has left me deteriorating and depressed and afraid. Every time I heard a car engine I rushed to the window.
You will see from September's blog posts and lack of blog posts, that things were very bad.
My relationship with the landlord and fellow tenants was never the same again, and to be honest the whole street, gossips that they were, and the pub, knew all about it, but the police and professional standards have not apologized.
Instead of going on the run and sleeping rough permanently, I decided to hang onto my home and stand my ground. But I didn't re-settle in the flat, it stank of shame and revulsion, and the problem of the noise from the upstairs neighbour became worse and I stopped sleeping properly.
I continued to publish books. The Wanderer Series was halfway now.
University started and I just had to do my best despite everything.
I continued work as well.
On the Anniversary of being left homeless, I went to Southampton Airport as usual.
While working with the team we survived being pulled over at a police checkpoint.
Then I got some sad news that an old Christian friend had died.
I went to a day school and I tried to prepare for my grade 5 exam but I was struggling so much.
November started catastrophically with professional standards jeering at me over my police complaint on the eve of my grade 5 exam, I broke a tooth the same evening, and also the same evening I coughed blood as my esophogus started bleeding again.
I went and took the exam and then my adoptive mum who was supposed to meet me afterwards didn't turn up and Max redeveloped his catalyst fault as I headed for Winchester to celebrate North Walls.
I could hardly enjoy North Walls as I was too ill, and someone parked illegally, blocking Max in and I had to risk him getting a puncture as I had to bump him over kerbs.
When I got home I was violently ill, vomiting without stopping until there was only blood and bile coming up. It was supposed to be such a special weekend and there had been no good in the year at all and the weekend had been as bad as it could be, and yes, I failed the exam. I am mortified. My exams mean so much to me and I have to pay so much for them. I won't say things can't get worse, because the next church or police attack will be my horrible and messy death.
Anyway, work and university continued, even if I wasn't doing well at university. I went back on omeprazole and my esophogus stopped bleeding.
I got befriended by an old lady but she was extremely demanding and I couldn't cope with her, she wanted me to move in and be her housekeeper and all sorts, but I will tell you in full another time about that, it was totally unsuitable even if I was looking for another home.
My old dentist who was the only good dentist I ever saw, had left the practice and the new one filed my broken tooth down and had a bridge made up, but she kept ramming this bridge onto my sore gum and she wasn't English and didn't seem to understand that she was hurting me, I never wore the bridge in the end.
It is so unfair that I had found a good dentist and then he left.
December started with a bang. The bangs and crashes were from the upstairs neighbour at 2.45am in the morning, and I gave my notice when the landlord wouldn't do anything about this.
So I spent December looking for a new home and packing up my stuff.
I was very depressed and unhappy, but work and university continued, and I was offered a temporary home.
I was relieved at the thought of leaving the home that the police had destroyed, I was terrified every day that I remained there.
I tried to keep my life normal and prepare both for Christmas and the house move. It was stressful and I messed up a music assignment but scraped a pass.
My books about homelessness were beginning to grow a following.
Christmas arrived, and it wasn't too awful in some ways.
I enjoyed all the Christmassy television and the lights and decorations, I was worried about money, because having put a deposit on the new place etc, I hadn't enough even for food, let alone celebrations, but several people stepped in and all was well.
I had just been to midnight mass and as I walked home, the police had closed the road and there was a dead man there, he had been murdered. That cast a shadow over Christmas a bit.
On Christmas morning I went to church and then spent the day with some people who live nearby, it was a nice enough day.
On boxing day I went to support the boxing day swim and came home, there was a strange man hanging around and I asked the police if it was a crackpot or one of their DCs, because this man hung around for ages and rang my doorbell but I didn't recognize him, he may have been a parasitic reporter about the murder up the road.
Anyway. I moved house a few days later and I am here at the new house, just finishing telling you about this terrible devastating year, and it sounds like many people have had a bad year.
The USA have a new president and the UK are leaving the Eurpoean Union and everyone us stressed and uncertain, it hasn't been a good year for anyone. But for me it has been pure hell and there seems to be no way it can get better, the damage to me can't really be repaired.
Happy New Year.