As no one will help me and I mean no one; not the police, the lawyers, the media, GPs and certainly not the family, I am literally teetering on the edge.
It is not as if I have not tried to pull myself out of this trough. I have always wanted a Beach buggy and found a cheap one on Ebay. As I cannot travel far, I paid for it to be brought up to Lymington; it was not cheap, I can tell you. I then endured the 40 min trip from Yarmouth to collect it. On the day, I was elated but that has long gone.
It has sat on my drive for two weeks under cover and my kitchen is full of bits and pieces to improve it. But though I love cars and love working on them, I cannot bring myself to even leave the house; not necessarily because of agoraphobia but because I have been beaten down for so long; most of my life really, well ever since my father thought it would be a good idea to bugger me and then treat me as a slave by working for him for f##ing peanuts. I guess that it was all a part of his desire to control me, away from the influence of my beloved Mum, who has gone now.
There has been a little rain since I bought it but most of the time, it has been lovely weather, ideal for me as the sun is weak and would not burn my skin due to my lack of pigment in my skin because of all that has happened. But, due to the desperation going on in my head, most of the time, it is a case of what is the fucking point so I just sit in the kitchen, speak to no one, drink and smoke and do bugger all. What a fucking life