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An open letter to an alcoholic…

This reminds me of you when your head gets yanked out of the sand.

Dear M,

You were boring. The night you started messaging me I got bored. Went to sleep. You crashed into my bedroom door with a flashlight and woke me and refused to leave.

You seemed so sincere. So I stopped yelling at you to get out and told you to go downstairs. You were so meek in obeying. I got dressed and came down to see what you wanted to talk about. I noticed then it was 3am.

You made me a cup of tea. You were so sweet.

You remembered that I get cold feet. You tried to warm them. I thought that wow, the boring man is a sweet drunk.

I kept trying to send you home. So many times. You made so many excuses to not go. And finally, that thing you shared a house with yanked you back. Abusively. Just how it always referred to you. Idiot. …doesn’t matter, it’s Mike’s… he’s a complete idiot…

Always putting you down behind your back.

The first time I knew you lied was when I asked you if you ever had had a beard. Your eyes travelled to your housemate for guidance…you replied no. But I knew I had seen you with one.

I didn’t like that you groped my legs that early morning/night when I should have been sleeping. I was furious. Of course, I should have told the thing. My mistake. I should have called the police instead of indulging you. The heartache it would have saved.

I asked you to make amends. You didn’t even finish that. But before not finishing, you again molested me and then seduced me. I wanted a spare bed or a blanket, but somehow I ended up in your bed. Although there was another one you could have used. You had entirely separate rooms. You could have used your housemate’s bed.

I did not want sex or to be naked, I wanted sleep. I had already been asleep. No one rapes me since I was raped, so we had consensual sex. It was pretty good considering. And again in the morning and the afternoon.

I felt nothing for you. Especially hearing the fake laugh into your phone to your housemate.

Things happened. Extreme rudeness from the housemate. (I should have told her you had groped my legs and taken me to your bed.)

My friend chucked stuff you promised to dispose of for me over the fence. I was not happy about that. I was cross. Your housemate threw them the next day nearly giving me a head injury.

I made a statement to the police about you. I wish I had never withdrawn it. Never let you take me to your bed twice before I told you about that statement to the police.

I still felt nothing for you. Then you started visiting me. I wanted not to be used. I wanted to be touched but not love.

I liked you. You were kind, thoughtful. Then it got more than talking. I liked it. I liked you.

I was fine when you lied to me. I realised I was better off without a coward, a bullied man.

Then your ex phoned and she was stunned at how much you had opened up to me. She thought I would see you again.

I was fine until you did come back to see me. When I realised your desire for me, I finally fell in love.

And then you became a nightmare. Using me, being lustful. Being lurid in your boredom. I realised the depth of your alcoholism. You looked terrible.

When we coincided at the Custom House, my companion and I moved to be in the sun. Not to avoid you. After all, I had done nothing wrong. You looked like two strangers who decided to share a table because it was crowded. Not even friends or housemates.You gazed me for far too long and often. Those sunglasses don’t suit you. You looked at me in a way that told me everything.

Your friends, Simon Bagnall, Matt Hammond, all of them, enable your alcoholism. They don’t care that you broke my laptop, they just enable you to avoid taking responsibility for your life. All I want is a laptop that works. And someone to help you get sober, which comes through connection.

You will die an early death. Everyone who loved you, hates you now. Your Dad, your ex, me, your housemate hates you too. Her alcoholism is more advanced than yours.

You know she is foul when it is drunk. She was vile after my sister died. Abusive and vile. A drunk. You admitted it that morning at 3am.

Your path is set. Unless you get sober. Get connection in your life. Instead of having your housemate at your tail abusing you, mocking you, making you small.

I wonder if you ever will. Get sober. I’m not actually capable of hate. I just want my laptop replaced or fixed. I’d like the truth to be told.

You said you would tell me what your housemate has over you when you are ready. I’m waiting. You owe me so many amends.

Now I know that your housemate wrote to the next tenants, telling her lies. But they were truly ghastly. They were clearing the shed when I knocked to ask if they needed anything. She looked at me so strangely that I wondered if you had left all my books in the shed. They had my name in them. The ones you said you would take to charity shops. Now I know they got a letter from your housemate. I had a year of acute pain, but the second letter got rid of such cruel people.

The current tenants showed me the letter, and are disgusted that anyone would behave like that.

I don’t hate, it’s not in me. I am sorry for you.

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Still not great…

Today is a better day, although I can’t say it’s been good. It’s pouring with rain and the wind is estimated to be around 80mph. They reckon a month’s worth of rain will fall this weekend.

I feel for the people in flood areas. Techically, I am in one, and I’ve had lots of flood warnings by phone. But the waves won’t reach me. The harbour wall was raised last summer, so now when one is out on the Quay there is a low parapet along the edge, instead of a drop into the sea.

Earlier, I realised I’m due at the theatre tonight. I thought it was in March. I don’t mind braving the elements, but I’m in no mood. On the other hand, it’s music I love, and seeing people, both of which are healing.

Also, I can get cash and some food. The pros outweigh the cons but I feel so ick and bleeeaaaagggghhhhh. As Snoopy might say.

I got some housework done, and ate something. The first I’ve eaten since Thursday. I find it hard to eat when someone spews anger over me. Someone phoned me about that, and I was aghast that the angry person had lied about several things in the last few months. I hate losing faith in people like this.

I will tell the truth to my own hurt.

My daughter came at some point. She helped with a few tiny things around the house. She did not present her best self, and said some hurtful things.

I just got an email to say one of my articles on medium has been curated. That means a publisher on medium has published it and now I am one of their writers. Live Your Life On Purpose publishes articles about slices of your life and how you live it on purpose. Not just going one day to the next, only having a job to pay the bills. Having no resilience or passion.

Meditation still works for the nerve in my leg. I have pain elsewhere, and I have a skin condition that is weeping.

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The Press…

Last week I was contacted by The Metro, a London newspaper who had seen my petition about consulting neighbours before installing noise making things that cause disturbance. They wanted my story, why this had happened and so on.

I told them how the letting agency for my neighbours, Quay Living, had been told a pack of lies about me by a former neighbour and how this would never have happened if I had not dropped my complaint to the police about being sexually assaulted. I told them how my neurological disease is affected by high pitched sounds.

No decent person doesn’t realise that telling lies about someone will affect their future. Only a psychotic person who thinks only of themselves does not think about it. The lies told about me have changed my new neighbours attitude toward me and they are being incredibly cruel. Who knowingly inflicts agony on someone??

I got told I have too much ‘stuff’ by Michael Ebsworth. Well, he’s had about 12 addresses the last 25 years while I have been bringing up a daughter on my own. Daughters like ‘stuff’ and they give their mothers ‘stuff’ and it’s hard to let go of that stuff.

I am a prisoner in my bedroom. I eat here, I watch TV here, I write, Read and sleep here. All because of the wind chimes. I roll around in agony here. No one would believe how I’m forced to live because of my neighbours, because they were told lies.

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My lucky escape

So I’ve written here how Michael Ebsworth came to move in with me and left because he created a lie in his head. Well, at first it hurt a lot because he told me I’d only wanted a relationship so that I would have a cook, cleaner and nurse. Anyone who knows me realises that is complete tosh. Nonsense. So far from the truth.

Then I realised how lucky I was that he left because my concerns about how much he drinks were confirmed. I told him eleven months ago that he needed to cut back his drinking and quit smoking. He has paid no attention. He spends so much of his time in black out. He doesn’t recall things he’s said or done.

The sweet, gentle, kind hearted man I discovered isn’t there anymore. He’s changed into the state of further along the path of alcoholism, where his need for alcohol supersedes other concerns. He cannot take responsibility for anything, let alone his behaviour. He cannot see that the malicious lies his friends told to their letting agency have irrevocably changed my life here in my home of 14 years. If I had not withdrawn my complaint of sexual assault, none of this would have happened. That is my only mistake. I should have stuck to that. I have paid so dearly in being merciful. He has repaid mercy with selfishness and games. And if he had never visited me last March I would have carried on happily forgetting him. I was not unhappy when his friend found him out. I was a bit sad, as I’d enjoyed his company. But I did not want a man who jumped to heel when commanded.

He must be so lonely in his make believe world. Everyone who ever loved him hates him, including his Dad. I don’t care enough to hate him. I’m just grateful that he isn’t in my life, making me lonely. There is nothing lonelier than being in a relationship with an addict. Even if he had decided to stay, I would have soon asked him to leave.

Because of the lies told to the letting agency who let the house next door, they have no regard for me and won’t ask my current neighbours to move or change the wind chimes. I have started a petition to create a law that ensures that if a householder wants to hang something that makes noise or visual disturbance they must consult their neighbours to ensure no harm or nuisance is caused. This would benefit night shift workers, young mums with toddlers as well as those with illnesses that are detrimentally affected. Anyone can sign it. If you would like to sign it just let me know.

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Don’t want an alcoholic in my life…

After spending the morning waiting for a phone call, I went to get a watch repaired. I tried a jewellers first, as that was what I was told I needed, but ended up at the little watch repair shop in a department store.

On my way there, I ran into an old friend and we decided to go for a coffee. We had a double vodka each. We talked about the past, our now, our pain. I ended up sobbing as I told him about my neighbours’ refusal to change the windchimes to a lower tone, like bamboo. I told him about the physical torment it gives me and how my former neighbour lied to the letting agent. About her malicious behaviour. I told him how I fell in love with Mike , and how he’s been trying to contact me all year and how he moved in and out within 24 hours.

I can never live with Michael. He drinks too much. He would be lazy and slobby. He left quite a trail behind him for his short stay. I’ve had enough of bad relationships.

I am seriously worried about my health due to those windchimes. It’s all because of Woodhouse’s malicious lies. That’s the one thing she does well.

So I went to a solicitor and am going to sue them, the letting agency and my current neighbours.

I have to. This has to stop. I have to regain my health and peace of mind. It’s time to stop considering others and put myself first for once.

My laptop is not working properly because the end of bed couch got kicked over in the night when Mike was here. I’m having to give vegetables away so they don’t perish. Mike Ebsworth has deactivated his phone number – an act of real cowardice.

The friend I met in town prayed for me. I so appreciated it. I have deep faith in God, and pray, but it’s been a while since anyone prayed for me. Not any one with real faith.

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Aftermath…

So less than twenty four hours after Michael Ebsworth arrived to live with me, he left while I went to a neighbour because he was sleeping.

Last night he told me could never be without me. I met him when he lived next door. I thought him boring. One night he got to my bedroom because he wanted to talk to me.

I accepted an apology on the grounds that he help me put things together that I needed around my home. This led to him seducing me. His ‘partner’, unaware of all this, began to be malicious to me because she wrongly assumed I had sent messages on Instagram. I never saw these messages.

Mike then pursued a relationship with me, which was very happy until we were found out. He then lied to me,

Recently I started getting emails from his account but I thought it was the woman, toying with me.

Mike arrived last night. He kept saying it was my home, but I had already assured him I was happy to change anything.

I have lived with depression on and off for many years. Right now I feel I’m looking into my left shoe with my right foot. I’m so in love with this man.

I am so low. So hurt. So betrayed. I can’t see the way ahead. I wish I had never withdrawn my complaint to the police about the sexual assaults. I would never have had the opportunity to have feelings for him.