The scoping report was released and I still think this is part of what went wrong with him. One of his main schools was Sexton Street, which was named in the scoping report as one of the worst in the country. He would have had some sort of connection with abusers there. So he was more strange than ever in that last week.
He was moving me to Limerick almost immediately on returning from holiday.
Or not.
It was the plan, it was what he'd told me to expect. But it didn't happen. This was normal in the two months, nothing he said went to plan, or rather the plans simply changed instantly and frequently.
I had arranged to meet with the HAP team to get the paperwork clarified and finished, I was registered as HAP eligible so it was just a small procedure or two now, they didn't even need my latest tax return, which I'd painstakingly downloaded and printed.
Michael knew I was meeting with the HAP team, he'd previously made so many claims that he'd help and support me with the claim and he'd done nothing, I'd done it all.
I emailed him to ask a question as I knew he'd be back from holiday. I asked how his holiday was and he said it was a 'GREAT HOLIDAY!!!' doing that awful popular psychology amplification of things. I'm still puzzled about him and holidays, he normally avoids doing anything or going anywhere with his wife, hence being seen alone in the press all the time, but he goes on holiday with her, and apparently she arranges it. But he seems to like going even though he wanted me to keep in touch while on holiday and was trying to run his business as normal from on holiday and contacted me when I didn't contact him because I thought he really should take a break. I wish with all my heart he would just do things with his wife and not pick up vulnerable people and young men. I wish he'd stop hanging around alone and stop doing press vanity stunts.
Anyway, I told him I was meeting with HAP to finish the paperwork. he was enthusiastic, I told him they'd need several documents from him, he tried to send some of these documents to me but HAP wouldn't accept them from me and it seemed strange he'd do that.
I went to HAP and we went through the final stages, the HAP was now granted dependent on his signatures and documents, which he said he would send by registered post.
The move was due on Tuesday. Tuesday September 10th, 2024. It had been due on the previous Friday but he'd changed it. The constant changes of plan were engrained in this relationship by now and it was frustrating, I wanted to be in Limerick in time to enrol in clubs and classes starting with the school term, also he was demanding I applied for fuel allowance and there was a deadline for that running out. He told me he'd sent the paperwork to HAP by registered delivery. But I had a feeling the move would keep being delayed and yet he was telling me that the new owner was waiting to move in, the pressure was huge, along with the confusion.
Being in the penthouse with the antisocial behaviour, the man hanging around, the lack of curtains and privacy, and the heat if I kept the windows closed against the noise and smoke, was enough of a toll. It was terrible in that end time. I was under more stress than I could handle, I need calm and I need quiet and I shouldn't have to defend myself on that, I am autistic and with PTSD and small very normal requirements should not be made into a big thing. Michael trying to tell me that my experiences and needs were nothing or that I was mentally ill, had caused a permanent rift.
But I hoped that things would be better at Limerick, safer, no antisocial behaviour, no roof terrace and no cannabis or cigarette smoke and I woke up on the Friday morning, the day the move should originally have gone ahead, just thinking about moving my things from storage to the penthouse where Michael would collect them and me on Tuesday. Michael didn't normally drive to and from Limerick and Dublin, he normally got the green bus, allowing him to drink while in Dublin, but he was bringing the car to collect the last of his own things from the penthouse and said he'd bring me and my things to the new place in Limerick.
During the recent times, Michael had tried to force the teenage boys into my life, the ones he'd banned from speaking to me. He'd demanded that I let them help me collect my things from the storage unit, when he'd previously said he'd be helping with that. I said no to this and he tried to use their housemate, I said no. I didn't want strangers handling my things and I wasn't happy that he had ordered the boys not to talk to me, until it suited him. I said I'd deal with the storage unit if he wasn't helping me as he'd promised. I'm surprised that although I found it very odd he was keeping teenage boys from Tipperary in a penthouse, I didn't really question it yet, even though my experience of boys being used is horribly extensive.
That Friday morning I believed that on the Tuesday I would be moving to Limerick, although actually I was anxious about being with Michael for that journey, I was uneasy, I didn't understand him or what he was doing or why he did things as he did. I wasn't sure what we could talk about on the journey especially as he was deaf and I struggled to repeat myself each time he said 'What?' - the panic when I have to repeat myself is a permanent effect of my childhood, being made to repeat and repeat things and being ridiculed and hit as I did, so when I deal with hard of hearing people I panic, unless I can use sign language.
I couldn't imagine going with Michael or being at this new place, it didn't feel real or possible.
It wasn't. My instinct wasn't wrong.
Friday morning, some time between 10 and 11, I wasn't doing much yet. A text came through, I knew it was him. I thought it would be about the HAP, the move, probably another delay.
He texted...He texted to withdraw the tenancy, and said he'd already spoken to the council.
He texted it. Not emailed with an explanation.
He claimed he had another tenancy which he'd put me in and then sell the place with me in it within six months. Said he'd told the council but they'd insisted I contacted them. He'd actually tried to make the change behind my back!
This, four days before a move, no explanation, destroyed me.
Here are possible reasons he made this sudden change:
- His wife didn't agree to me renting the apartment which he'd been putting me in, it was hers.
- The apartment wasn't registered with RTB
- He was trying to do something he'd repeatedly told me about, selling vulnerable sitting tenants in tenancies to housing associations - this meant them being eligible by HAP and disability and him giving them eviction notices.
Something he failed to tell me was that the new tenancy was in an apartment already undergoing sale, presumably he'd either sprung it on the buyers or hadn't told them, hence his repeat in the text message exchange of 'you can always come back to Dublin in a few months if you don't like it' - and as he'd said before, he wouldn't house me if I did. During the text exchange he refused to explain, but told me 'He'd explain when he collected me on Tuesday'. Absolutely not, I wasn't going. What he was doing was underhand, disrespectful to me, and unexplained, potentially a risk to me and with no stability at all. I'd been unsure of going with him before but now, after he'd tried to put me in with that dirty man and lie on paperwork, I was not going to something I knew nothing about and he refused to explain.
He was claiming now that his wife was seriously ill. She wasn't, he told me she'd been moved to Galway hospital, this would make no sense, she wouldn't be moved from Limerick to Galway, especially not seriously ill, I am presuming she was moved to Bon Secours in Galway, if at all, and was thus not seriously or critically ill, and it has been quite obvious since that she has been at home, as normal, didn't die, and indeed he's gone on signing her name with his on everything even though she doesn't play any part in his social and business life, he's always alone. He used his wife as a distraction while trying to dupe me into something.
The weather was hot, the end of the hot weather, the evenings and mornings were cooler now, but the noise and antisocial behaviour on the roof terrace as I hid alone and undeclared in that penthouse, the only person residing on the top floor, the only person affected, was terrible, overwhelming, too much for someone with PTSD who had been used to the streets, where I could escape this kind of thing. I now had nowhere to go, Michael stopped discussing the situation and I knew I was leaving on Tuesday before he came to collect his things. I was going back to the streets after a two month rollercoaster here. I was shattered. It was too much for me.
I was angry, I was deeply, catastrophically, disappointed. I gave out to Michael about the noise and antisocial behaviour, which he'd denied the existance of, he ignored me, I asked him if it was the Peter McVerry Trust, a terrible organisation, which he used to be strongly involved in, that he was 'selling' me to, as he had repeatedly mentioned selling sitting tenants to them even though he had fallen out with them and no longer worked with them. To my surprise he responded only to retort he had nothing to do with them. And yet he'd previously told me repeatedly he was selling sitting tenants to them even though he was no longer involved with them. I have no understanding of the selling sitting tenants thing, only that he wouldn't explain and that I would be helpless and have no guarantee of a tenancy. Also that he was disposing of me, just as when he tried to hand me to strangers behind my back before.
He made no contact over the weekend. I remember trying, confusedly, to deal with my things and the storage unit, a kind taxi driver and my helpless tears. He sent a strange message on Monday, something about going to a funeral on Tuesday and would arrive in Dublin on Wednesday, how he'd 'leave my walking stick at reception', this was baffling, there was no reception and he'd said he was collecting his things and then the new owner was arriving, I wouldn't be there to 'collect a walking stick' which he'd held onto so long without returning when I needed it, that I'd replaced it. If he was arriving on Wednesday to collect the last of his things and I was leaving on Tuesday, why was he leaving the walking stick there?
He was making it clear he had no wish to see me or discuss things but appeared to be missing the fact that I was leaving before he got there, and I had told him. He was being coldly dismissive, as he often was. I would have no access to the building and would be gone from the area. He failed to offer to return the paperwork he'd stolen. It was a very cold way of dismissing me and his responsibility. He'd chosen to take me off the streets and plan a future for me, he was responsible as much as I was and more so. He'd decided my future while dismissing my concerns and without knowing my full story and why I was so anxious.
On Tuesday I was up very early to finish cleaning and preparing to leave. I remember the music echoing softly round the penthouse, a bit of Abba. 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' and 'My love, my life' seemed most fitting, 'Arrival' always echoed round the penthouse in the same way that 'Snow in August did' - my mum used to say Arrival was about sex, but it's just a nice echoey bit of music. I didn't play 'Dancing Queen', that part of the story will never be written here.
I was very sad indeed to be picking up the heavy backpack and bag and struggling, to leave. I wasn't sad to be leaving the noise and antisocial behaviour that scared me, nor the creepy man who hung around.
I left a letter to Ken, the concierge who was there from 10 to 4, telling him that the noise and abuse of cannabis in the buildings were excessive. And I walked slowly, sadly, defeatedly, to Grand Canal Dock.
I sat on Grand Canal Dock station, looking at the apartments for maybe the last time. I was in a daze, in shock. I had been due to move house today, to Limerick, where I was enrolled on courses and had people waiting to support me into settling, so many things mapped out ready and I wouldn't be there. And most of all, the man I'd trusted with my life, seen as being like a father, was gone. He didn't care and his not caring had been there all along, I was an object to be processed, he was not used to picking objects which objected, which spoke, stood up to him, questioned him, so he'd thrown me away.
I was numb, staring blankly, surprised that the Dart wasn't unbearable. Making my way from the Dart to the bus, not the first time I'd caught this bus in a state of distress, it felt like life would never get better but would always be this bad now. The bus sped on and on, towards my home town, towards a town where I always seemed to find my direction and get back on track. I hoped I would this time.
After being in the penthouse and having the opportunity to eat healthily and look after my body, now back on the streets and with limited funds, I had no idea how I'd be able to keep eating healthily. I tried, but it couldn't last on my limited funds. I remember getting a jacket potato when I landed in my home town, trying to eat it, it was unapetising and badly cooked, and I vomited it anyway.
All I could do now was wait, see who showed up, and book into backpacker hostels for as long as my money lasted. I remember how the cold in the air reminded me of winter coming in. Michael had left me on the streets with winter coming in. I sat by the raging Corrib, always a good reflection of my emotions and thoughts and I listened to 'Ship to Shore' by Chris de Bergh, over and over. I didn't understand any of what had happened and I saw no hope at all for my future, after being given such hope, only to have it taken away.
I was very ill, and for days I couldn't eat and drink, I vomited when I tried. At 5am in the morning the wristband on my wrist started setting off alarms. I had got the wristband when HSE had left me for dead in an emergency and I'd paid hundreds to be assessed privately and issued with prescriptions which keep me alive. The wristband monitored my heartbeat day and night, and now for the first time, the alarm was sounding repeatedly. During the early hours, I'd suffered multiple heart episodes and as a result ended up in hospital, not the first time. And the hospital itself really freaked me out, they made me walk through the hospital from one department to another, with people lined up on trolleys, when I was already feeling so bad, and I was sickened by it. The hospital was messy and the staff abrupt. It added to my trauma.
The rain came down, and I was tired and hurting so much, so damaged, so lost. Evan was sitting in the doorway in his old cardboard boxes, just as he always did. He gets me to eat, to eat for his sake, and I try, he gets me a burger and some milk, I try to eat some of it and keep it down. He talks, reminding me of his story, his wife was killed in a road accident and he spiralled down, lives on the streets and has no hope of anything else. I understand this, the streets keeps trauma at bay and in the penthouse, alone and scared, with the men and their noise outside and me up there alone, the trauma became a monster.
The dark falls and I watch the brightly lit buses without interest, I vomited some of the small meal from Evan. Then they're there with me, John stands in the shadows, as the legends portray him, and my dear old friend is standing smiling gently in front of me. Here I am, for this reason.
'Michael's cowardice changes nothing' the Keeper of the Purpose tells me. 'You must go'.
'There's nothing there in Limerick, I have no rights there, I would be on the streets in a strange city, they'll force me to go back to Dublin'.
'There will be people waiting for you, there aren't any other choices, it is Limerick and not Michael that this is about'.
The Lantern-bearer agrees 'You know you'll never be alone, if God sends you somewhere he will provide what you need'.
I am not entirely in agreement, thinking about the harsh and terrible experiences I've had, but still in my heart when I think of Limerick, there is a surge of joy and hope. This is what the women meant when they said God would lead me, that I would find out where I was to go. I am so naughty to call those women 'The Coven', bold. They are extreme religious women with extreme ideas.
The wise old priest smiles at my anxieties 'I'm not dead yet, you will come back many times before I pass'. Which was true enough and I know he knew better than me, he'd proven that many times.
'A Ghaillimh ghráúil, baile bheannacht na cúise'.
The Lantern bearer's last words to me are to know the road from Limerick to Shannon Airport blindfold, which I certainly did within weeks, and now I could make that journey in my sleep, but the unexpected coup changed what might have been. This is part of another story, one which Michael doesn't belong to, so I will return to what happened on the night of Friday September 13th, 2024.
The Limerick bus, warm and bright, comes roaring in. I am soaked from the rain and still covered in ECG pads, I haven't eaten properly since the night before I left the penthouse. I run for the Limerick bus.
The warmth of the bus helped a bit. And before too long the strings of lights over the Shannon were sparkling and welcoming me to Limerick.
O'Connell Street, Friday September 13th to Saturday September 14th, 2024.
It isn't raining in Limerick but I'm still soaked, cold, shivering, shocked. Limerick is busy on a weekend night, which helps, it keeps me safer while plenty of people are around.
It is very quickly that I find some of Limerick's spirit, especially compared to Dublin. People are concerned, people care. They ask if I'm okay. Three young men in a row offer me a sofa and although I appreciate it, my instinct is still there, and I politely say no, it is nice if they are being kind and concerned, but I can't go with a male to his accommodation. I know some women would, rather than being out, but not me.
A man comes along, searching for something, speaks to some lads, sees me 'Do you know the cigarette game?' he asks 'Come with us, let's get some food from Supermacs'. Looking back, this is pure Limerick, comedic and surprising, bizarre and beautiful.
I was grateful for food and how nice the staff at Supermacs were, they still recognise me now, although I rarely go in. And there were toilets there. I was able to eat, I didn't vomit. I didn't go home with anyone, but walked around all night, and town stayed busy, and sometimes a bit stressful with people doing what they shouldn't, and ample garda interventions. At one point, about 4 am, I was looking up at the apartments where Michael had claimed he was going to put me, but even in my sleepless shocked state, I knew it wasn't real, these apartments are expensive and designed for working people, they are not for HAP tenants, definitely not, and not for people who Michael only considers fit to be on disability allowance for life. I will never know if Michael intended to kidnap or traffic me but I do know that the apartment he suddenly tried to say he'd put me in and sell me as a sitting tenant was sold within months, already undergoing sale when he told me he was putting me there.
In the morning I get some tea, something to eat, I am no longer sick but seem unable to remove the ECG pads from my body. I walk over to Arthurs Quay, a group in hi-viz jackets are gathering with litter pickers. I ask them if they are Tidy Towns, who I used to help with in Dun Laoghaire, they say no, and they tell me about their volunteer group and invite me to join, contact details are exchanged, introductions are done, and I'm with them, picking litter and then having a coffee, having arrived the previous night and having not slept, having dried naturally from the rain, still covered in ECG pads from the hospital I left yesterday. I understand that I am home, my first tenuous link with Limerick is formed.
'There will be people there waiting for you in Limerick...and Limerick is the last stop...The Road to Shannon has begun'.
And there were people waiting for me in Limerick when I came home. Two years ago.
Sorry Michael, I'm not mad. I'm a writer, and don't say it's all the same thing. Nor is autism or trauma insanity. You ignorant old bogtrotter.
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