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Well. Probably not. I’m a bit precious, really. Certainly never went camping. Sleeping on floors? Hell no!
But was in such a bad place, like horrible, thinking-death-was-better place that I thought being homeless was a better option.
Was totally prepared for it, too. Would present self at wherever it is you do when first becoming homeless, get myself a sleeping bag and begging cup, and be on my way.
I think that’s what they call rock bottom. A great place to be, really, because you know. You can finally have the hope to know things can only get better.
Thankfully for me, I had help when I got out.
And you need it. I’ll talk about that in my next blog I think.
There’s always help. You never believe there will be, because that’s what they want you to believe. That you’re alone.
The person who helped me was an old friend, Gruff Bastard. (He would love it if he knew I was calling him Gruff Bastard. Truly. He’d take it as a complement. Dickhead.) Was sure Gruff Bastard would give me the “I told you so” diatribe. But he didn’t. Am so thankful.
Thanks to that help am now living in a cosy one bedroom cottage in the arse-end of nowhere. Is freezing. Haven’t mastered the art of fire building or maintaining. Central heating is shite. Next to non-existent. Sat naked arse on it this morning — didn’t even burn.
Still. Have wifi and laptop thanks to Gruff. Also gave me mobile phone. Am part of the world again. Has been so long!
Thanks so much for reading, guys! Don’t forget, you can download my ebook 45 Notes on London here on Smashwords or download on your favourite ereader.