The cost of the Jersey bloggers to my life:
I came home from a hard day
Work was too much for me but I worked and worked
I would rather work than suffer poverty and the barbaric system
I came home looking forward to my supper and Hollyoaks
I got home and my cat woke up and greeted me
I put the kettle on and went into my cool, clean room
I thought I would need a shower after cycling to and from a day's hard work
The kettle boiled but I never heard it, never moved
The Jersey trolls were attacking again,
as if to jeer my complaint to the police I made after two attacks within a week
and I collapsed.
Time stopped, I forgot the kettle, I forgot my programmes,
the television rambled on but I saw nothing,
twice I got up, put food on to cook and burned it beyond even the cat's tastes,
I have not eaten.
This happens week after week, month after month,
and eventually the Jersey trolls and their lies about my case will kill me,
there is no doubt of that at all now. Final decision.
And they will do it willingly and laughing as I die in the anguish in which they make me live.
Why is rubbing my raw wounds with sandpaper so productive to them? So enjoyable?
The cat meows, meows, doesn't understand, and I cannot remember what he wants,
my hands seem disconnected from my body, as I email and text,
cancelling my work, my music lessons, my meeting,
and watch my life shatter yet again, at the hends of the Jersey trolls.
The bed and floor were tidy, everything neat and ready for pain therapy, meds,
safe bedtime routine, supper, and Hollyoaks,
but now I hardly know where I am. And the bed and floor are strewn and the cat has vanished.
I cannot work out how to cook supper, when the pizza is in the bin and the replacement, grilled meat,
met the same fate.
It is 9pm but I don't know how. in normal life, Supper starts at 6 and the dishes get washed in the advert breaks.
I don't know what to eat, I cannot afford two burned meals in the bin,
and I would only burn another meal.
What does 9pm mean when time has stopped, and I will be in terrible pain by tomorrow and cannot do a thing.
My blood sugar is probably low now, it has been a long time since I ate. And I have worked all day.
I am dizzy and confused but I am writing, because what else can I do, but plead my abusers to stop!
I wanted a hot shower, or bath, before preview, I worked so hard today.
Tomorrow I will still have to wake at 6am and deliver papers, but the rest of the day is cancelled.
Life is cancelled, at the hands of a group of horrible cruel men in Jersey,
Part of a life that should be long gone, but they ghoulish keep the corpse of it alive.
And this week, these cold monsters have attacked three times with their lies and assumptions,
keeping the trauma alive and slowly, horribly killing me by rewriting my life to suit themselves.
They know, because I have told them, that they are harming me, and they really don't care.
They don't have souls, just an obsession, that is killing someone who is screaming as she is killed.
These abusers of mine.
The back door is open, did I open it? I think I have poured water on a teabag, someone has mown the lawn,
I stand there trying to understand, why someone who claimed to be on my side has worked to hard,
to destroy me, along with his chums, and why they won't stop even when I go to the police. harm.
And why these people persist in what is abuse, because they know it is causing harm.
I am not a human being to the crazed and obsessive Jersey trolls, I am a bit of meat for them to chew,
and to me it is no different, in fact worse, than sustained abuse, which these same people claim to abhor.
I don't know how I will go to sleep tonight, what's the point when my work is gone, and the bed is strew with stuff instead of neatly turned and everything ready for soothing night time routine?
What is the point of anything when the crazed Jersey trolls have made it clear that they will abuse me until
they get the same results as their sponsors, the diocese of Winchester, or more likely, this time succeed in killing me after the Diocese only narrowly failed?
After all I have been through, why are they punishing me instead of letting me rest in peace?
What crime have I commited to them apart from screaming at them to stop hurting me? That they won't allow me to live?
And do the Jersey trolls know My life and story?
No, they haven't the slightest bit of interest in the true story,
all they do is repeat lies and whitewash, and will do even when they kill me.
They are supremely disinterested in the story of the person they are killing.
HG