This morning I woke up from dreams as I often do. Because I was never able to get appropriate therapeutic help, all I can do is suppress what I have survived and live each day but everything comes out in dreams. During my time with Michael, as he planned to move me to Limerick, he told me my rent would be covered by HAP and I would be able to get fuel allowance, he seemed obsessed with fuel allowance and getting me onto disability allowance. This would leave me with some money in my account, something I'd never had the luxury of before, I've lived in extreme poverty in Ireland in order to keep a roof over my head. I told Michael that the scenario he created meant I could probably seek the psychological help from a local clinic in Limerick, with the money I could have. His response was typical of him, he vaguely said 'We will help you with professional counselling'.
There were several things he did there which he did a lot. He said 'We' as if someone else was involved, but would never discuss this, he wasn't interested, this aspect was not part of his scenario, which was an indicator that this whole thing wasn't about me, and he changed 'psychological help' to 'Professional Counselling' which as far as I know, is not the same thing.
The dreams which haunt me mainly go back to my childhood, which I normally neither think about now remember during the day. My childhood rivals that of David Pelzer or Christopher Spry, but with some aspects that they didn't live through. I had a horrific childhood, and as a vulnerable adult, most of my adult life, I've been unable to adequately look after myself and support myself and as a result I have ended up in the hands of abusive people who took me over. I have never seen any justice, and in fact I've been denied justice in terrible ways.
When Michael picked me up off the streets, he didn't know that, but he didn't need to, he was responsible for picking up a stranger off the streets and then for his conduct towards me as he made a decision to steer my life. Sadly he is not a man able to take responsibility and his actions followed by his leaving me back on the streets further damaged, have been catastrophic, and two years later, I am still suffering.
'On Nassau Street, where old ghosts meet, I see him walking now'.
I go back. There's an empty concrete post and many tourists at Nassau Street, near Trinity College, sleeping bags and cardboard on the ground by the shop. He'll never be there again, and neither will I. I wonder what would have happened if he had picked up and addict woman or one of the gypsies, the gypsy who attacked me there that morning and found out that was a mistake. But I think Michael is careful, selective, about the vulnerable people and boys he brings into his life. I still do not understand what he's doing, but he's careful, and so no one except the people he picks up, knows about it.
I was recovering from months of pneumonia, from HSE negligence which had seen me turned away in a desperate state 'because the hospital has a covid outbreak', twice, no GP, I'd long since given up on HSE GP's due to poor treatment. When turned away by the hospitals, I sought private help, as I'd had to repeatedly before, and despite being homeless. I'd got treatments which after several courses, started to clear my lungs, it was after some time that a doctor had said it was asthma reacting to the chest infection which was stopping my lungs from working, and his treatments started to clear this. I survived this illness while street homeless and it had been terrifying at times.
So I was sitting on a post on Nassau Street, homeless, washed out and recovering from pneumonia. It was early on a Saturday morning, around 8, the sun was out and Nassau Street was quiet apart from people waiting for buses and tour coaches. I'd just survived being attacked by a gypsy who claimed this was her 'territory', I had survived many such attacks, these gypsy women are often forced to beg by male family members and they get desperate, especially as I was supported by the general public in a way that they were not. I only ever asked for food and tea, you see the daycentres and feeding points were swamped by hundreds of people, some aggressive, most substance abusers, and standing in a line of hundreds with cigarette smoke harming my lungs, when my legs couldn't hold me for long, wasn't an option, so I'd sit, I'd talk to people and connect, and they'd bring me food and tea and other useful things. The gypsies didn't like this, and didn't like the way I connected and chatted to people when they couldn't.
I met Michael on Nassau Street in Dublin that Saturday morning in July. I was sitting on my concrete post, hoping for my cup of tea. He came over the road to me, and hesitated, which was a bad sign, a lot of the perverts who think homeless women are an easy target hesitate. The one thing I believe about Michael though, is that he probably does not look for sex on the street, I don't think he approached me looking for sex and realised up close that I'm ugly, the men who approached me for sex on the streets didn't tend to care what I looked like. I cannot for the life if me understand what he was doing, but his reason for involving himself in vulnerable lives is obscure, and I hope that is true, that it's not sexual. However, something is amiss, and I do not know what, even now. What went on was confusing and harmful and I am suffering. I am left with questions which will never be answered.
I remember the hesitation, this older man looking over at me from near the tour buses. When he came over, he said 'What's the story', which confused me. 'What's the story?' or 'What's the craic' are a way of asking what's going on, but no one had ever asked me that while I was homeless, it seemed out of place.
I struggled for words, what to tell him. I did my best, I told him I'd lost my job and I'd been in poor quality accommodation which I hadn't been able to sustain, which was the truth. The truth on top of everything else, my disabilities and background which make it hard for me to look after myself, the horrendous way I was treated in employment, and the conditions at the house I'd left. Ireland treats disabled people poorly, the health service has never helped me, and the housing crisis is leaving terrible unregulated lodgings as the only choice for the poorest and most vulnerable and people who the council either aren't housing or are keeping on waiting lists which can be over 10 years long. Read that again and you may understand why I put my life in the hands of this stranger, Michael.
Michael asked how he could help and added that he didn't carry cash anymore and most people didn't, I asked if he could get me a cup of tea from O'Brian's, (that darling cafe who were so kind to me and other homeless people, whose kindness I will never forget). He started walking up to O'Brian's and someone else stopped and gave me some food, packet food I would eat later, I was dying for a good cup of tea.
When Michael was walking back towards me without tea, I was disappointed. He hesitated and I smiled and said 'Hello again'. I was certainly used to eccentrics on the street, and made some good friends among them.
He told me he had to get back home, he used the term 'The West' to describe his home, even though Limerick is rarely described that way. I knew Limerick, having house sat in Limerick and on the Limerick Clare border. He gave me a fiver and told me to get my tea. He was still hesitating, set off, and came back again.
If he hadn't said he was going back to Limerick I wouldn't have taken the apartment key he was offering me. I never had sex in order get shelter, food or anything else. The addicts have to, to get their fix, but my mind is clear and I find ways to survive which don't involve sex or crime.
He offered me this key with a grey fob, he said 'I have an apartment, you can stay there'. I was stunned and confused.
He told me that people had been staying in the apartment but they'd be gone and it would be cleaned by 1pm. I was puzzled, who had stayed, who was doing the cleaning.
Ever since then I've puzzled as to what Michael was doing in Dublin at 8 am in the morning while apparently there were people staying in the apartment he stayed in while he was in Dublin, when there was only one bed in there, and who was staying in that nearly empty apartment, and where he had stayed overnight? Not really my business but sometimes it adds to my unease, especially with those young lads in his other apartment.
At the time I was just bewildered. He had already lost interest as I struggled to process, and there it was, a warning sign right there, he wanted to get going, he'd just given me the key to an apartment which sold three months later for 850,000 and was not interested and wandering off. I was a total stranger to him. Of course I was scared, of course I was afraid he would come back and expect 'The rent', I was also exhausted from illness and out of options. This was not a normal situation.
He had stopped long enough to ask if I was using drink and or drugs, and I'd told him no and that plenty of people could testify to this, which he brushed aside. He told me I wasn't to take anyone else to the apartment, and he gave me his business card with a flourish. I will never forget that. 'Business card'. He'd produced that when I'd struggled to tell him my phone number, as I do, I can't sequence the numbers and verbalise them.
His business card purported to be property management and he told me he was in property management, but in reality he runs an owner-management business (or three) which just means his properties are under his 'business', he doesn't manage other people's property. And the website on his business card was that of an American furniture company. But I didn't know all this at the time.
He asked me when I got my payment and I said I'd have it on Monday or Tuesday and I'd hand it over then. I automatically assumed he expected my money in return for shelter and I certainly wasn't bothered, in fact I was reassured, I told him I'd give him the whole payment and I could get food from the food bank or soup run. He shook his head, opened his wallet and gave me 50 Euro, telling me it was to 'tide me over until my payment. I was stunned. I didn't understand what he was expecting of me and he wasn't interested in stopping to tell me, which was a red flag, you don't put a homeless stranger in a luxury penthouse without a proper discussion.
He told me to phone or text him so he had my number, and he hurried off before I could reply and tell him I struggled to use a phone.
I was taking a huge risk here but my circumstances were desperate, I was exhausted, my boots had been worn through and letting in water and sharp objects for a long time. The previous day I'd suffered a nasty attack which I won't go into. I needed the shelter and to sleep, even if I had no understanding of the terms at the time, which was too big a risk and shows the state I was in. I would never ever do this again. No woman should take the keys of an apartment from a strange man without knowing anything about him, the apartment, or who else has keys. I put my life in danger. I owe my life to good people, which is why I look after myself and keep myself safe and do my best. I was often offered shelter by men, in their own homes, I never took up the offers, but this was different, and I should still have been much more wary, and I should have asked this man to talk to me properly, but he was set on getting the bus home and I can't use a phone and I was confused and not assertive. It happened too quickly.
I had food, I had enough money for any amount of tea, and I didn't need to sit there if I had an apartment to go to later. I'd been away in my home town to seek medical help, and had only arrived back the previous night, My best friend Lisa hadn't seen me for weeks and I knew she was frantic with worry. I texted her and started walking towards North Earl Street.
'Janey Mack! I was worried sick!' She's sitting outside our cafe with her tea, she insists on getting up and getting me my first tea. Lisa and Lorna are my bestest friends and they care a lot, but Lorna has been spiralling since she started going to the Rape Crisis place, she wants to be homeless like me and stay in the same places as me and I got too scared of contact with her, but Lisa is still herself and over the moon to see me and to see I'm getting well instead of dying.
This is my friend Lisa on Castletroy Words, and the second link is Lorna, as different as chalk and cheese:
https://castletroywords.blogspot.com/2026/06/i-was-thinking-of-you-today.html
https://castletroywords.blogspot.com/2026/06/life-and-fire.html
I told her about the situation and her small calm voice raised concerns as well as hoping it was a miracle. She continued to raise quiet concerns as time went on and she saw the impact on me of this strange relationship and she was there at the end when my life was shattered. She prayed for us, for me and Michael, as the rollercoaster two months left me unsure what was happening and at one point so distressed I couldn't meet her for coffee and she was afraid for me.
We sit for a long time and talk, we have an outside seat, and others join us, a man from Canada stays and shares great stories, we watch the world and spot people we know, I comment on Greedy Bob, my old nemesis, running around thieving food off people. Later we part company and I promise to text all the time, she'll be checking up on me later. I walk down to Dealz to get toiletries, I have enough money, and if I'm going to stay in an apartment, I will have a good shower and wash my clothes. He tries to phone me, Michael, because he doesn't know I struggle with phones, and I panic and try hard to hear him, he says the apartment is ready and I can go there. I'm so nervous but he doesn't want to talk for long, thankfully. He says he'll be in touch later.
I walk down O'Connell, my rosary was broken yesterday and there are people handing out rosaries, so I take one and wonder if I'm the luckiest person alive.
I get the Dart at Tara Street down to the Dart station near the apartment. Then I'm afraid he's tricked me as I don't know how to get into the apartment block, there is no key. I wouldn't have known to use the grey fob on the keypad, I have little experience of apartments. Then someone comes out and lets me in, and I will have to ask Michael how to get in the door. I am confused about the huge lobby and the two lifts, the stairs, the corridors, where do I go?
I get one of the lifts, it says I'm going to the 7th floor. I arrive on the 7th floor, there's a roof terrace ahead of me, and I have no idea what trouble that terrace will cause, and there are only two apartments. One of those is the one I'm going to. I am very nervous, afraid of what I'm walking into, but nothing led me to expect what I found.
I open the apartment front door, struggling a little with the lock, and I get in, a long corridor is inside the door and I think I've not walked into an apartment but a corridor of apartments. I put my bag down and shout 'Hello? Anyone around?' Because I'm lost and confused. On the right there are four doors, ahead another door, and on the left three doors. No sound, No answer.
I try a door, a bathroom, the next, an empty room, a cupboard, another empty room, ahead an empty ensuite bedroom with a balcony, then a huge empty living room with doors onto a massive terrace, then a kitchen with a posh island dining area, a fully equipped but empty kitchen, at least it has a kettle. I smile. Then there's an ensuite bedroom with a lone bed, a luxurious double bed with a huge feather duvet and plumpish pillows.
I was overwhelmed, this was a massive luxury penthouse apartment. He had told me it was undergoing sale and that I could stay for about a week and the new person would probably be moving in soon and he'd be staying here himself probably next weekend for the match. This too had given me confidence, he was not expecting to stay while I was staying, he wasn't after having sex with me.
The thought of deep rest and no checking out like I had to with backpack hostels and bed and breakfasts, being able to put my heavy bag down and rest my back and legs, and sleep in the day if I needed to, shower, wash my clothes, make tea! It was if I'd died and gone to heaven. Make the most of it, deep rest may aid healing.
The first thing I did after making tea was I got into that bed and after a few minutes worrying in case someone walked in, I slept. I was still coughing, my airways still fighting to close, and I was still on medications and an intensive inhaler routine, and I still felt rubbish.
I woke up feeling unreal and a little rough, my lungs still had to clear after sleep. I made tea and thought about a shower, what if someone walked in? What if there were hidden cameras - we did think hard about that at one point actually.
He kept trying to phone me that evening. I had been to the shop, got some food and gratefully cooked it, lamb, spinach and potato, luxury, I couldn't often get cooked meat without all the takeaway additives and I needed the nutrients. I found that even though I tried to answer the phone, the phone was actually broken, too much rainwater, I couldn't always keep it dry on the streets, I got his email off his business card and emailed to explain.
He emailed back, he was okay with email, he praised my email writing and asked for my bank details, he wanted me to do whatsapp but I couldn't explain why I couldn't, he started to ask for personal details and bank details, family details and so on, and I was uncomfortable. It's too complex and people shouldn't assume there's safe family, people in church always do that 'But haven't you any family?' as if family were the solution rather than the problem. He was too intrusive.
He never stopped asking for bank details and so on. He asked for my CV and references and I felt backed into a corner, I couldn't tell him what had happened, and I was embarrassed. His demands for personal information started that first day and sometimes I was forced to give him information, I didn't like this, and then in the end when he blatantly took very personal, and inaccurate information, it harmed me very seriously, not least because in the past my data and privacy had been severely breached.
My life has been very difficult and my CV masks a lot that cannot be told. During my time in Ireland the employment which I've been in has mainly been exploitative or even modern slavery. My recently deceased friend in my previous post rescued me twice, once very actively, from terrible situations, the time he actively stepped in, I was in modern slavery. My employers previous to Michael asking for my CV were not people I'd give as a reference as the manager, who was also the owner, was violent and would do dangerous things and threaten his employees, including myself, with violence. Being backed into a corner for CV and references and his demanding such personal things when I was a captive audience and beholden was a very difficult thing for me. What I did was give him a brief background with no names or places, and a link to one of my house sitting web pages with excellent testimonials including those from Limerick and Clare. But when he came to meet me the following week, he wanted more.
One of the most truthful of Michael's strange incessantly repeated mantras was 'It's not what I can do for you, it's what you can do for me' and while that sounds like a rather vain and grandiose pretence of shaking off altruism and making the vulnerable person feel useful, it was literal. There was another one as I became increasingly distressed 'Don't beat yourself up', he's not the first abuser to use this, to tell a victim that they are the one causing the hurt, not him. Whoever taught him these manipulations, they did it well.
Here is another summary of the long-winded tale I'm telling you:
https://thestorybehindlifeforce198.blogspot.com/p/a-summary-of-what-happened.html
Here is the next part of the blog:
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