The black oblong cursor is blinking at me flashing time away like the second hand of a clock.
I so desperately want to write about how I have felt being a victim of hate crime on more than one occasion and I so desperately don’t want to write about being a victim of hate crime on more than one occasion.

The cursor has moved along a bit and I have made the first few brush strokes on my canvas. This blog update has to be figurative, descriptive and tangible, it can’t be semi-abstract or abstract or evasive.
Perhaps that is why I am struggling to write.
In the last couple of years and even a bit longer – I have been physically assaulted over and over again, the victim of malicious gossip and of lies and untrue things by people in courts. There was no justice, none what so ever. I was punished for having my ribs broken and I was punished for speaking out. I was punished for complaining via official channels and I was punished for facial bruising and I was punished for having a human body which bled and bruised when punched and attacked. And the police and the courts did nothing to protect me. And as they did nothing to protect me it gave my attackers licence to go again and again and again.
I was not believed.

It took vast amounts of photographic evidence, hospital reports and sound recordings and video footage (all of which I relentlessly collected) to, eventually, be listened to.
As a result I was and still, am being ‘safeguarded as a vulnerable adult.’    It also took input from the Independent Office for Police Conduct.

This is not a blog where I offer insight or guidance to anyone who has experienced anything similar. I can barely cope myself, I can barely look after myself and like Dorothy’s friends from the ‘Wizard of Oz’ – I have no brain, no heart and I am rusty. I am broken. The hate crime against me broke me.

The violence and lies against me – broke me and that was their intention. That is any bully’s intention and it works.

Is it possible to survive, repair oneself and recover?
I have to believe so.

Sticks and stones do break bones and the agony and pain is excruciating post-attack.
The words did hurt me.
“Faggot, come with me and I will kick your head in where there are no cameras”
“Dirty Tranny”
“You’re not disabled you make this autism thing an excuse”
“You need to be got rid of” and from the police (some not all) ” Quite frankly I don’t believe your account” (this kept on my computer  as a sound recording of a voice mail message left)

Alongside this blog, I have the means of adding video, photographs and sound recording – all of which would show you as the reader that I am telling the truth about my ordeals. But I have chosen to spare you of that distressing content and protect you. I care. Because I care. I care about you as a reader. I am, in fact, a really lovely and loving person and have striven for equality all of my life.

I wish I had a to-do list and guidance notes to give out. How to cope as a victim of Hate Crime…

I don’t and my sincere apologies. It seems far more responsible to just state that it is really hard and that the emotional pain and grief is like pain in which there are no words for.

Here is a gap in the page with no words.

This morning I cried and it was the first time in years. It was too short-lived and too quiet to represent much – but useful and I am determined to practice crying and weeping.

If the saltwater of tears can wash away the wounds of devastation and grief then this will bemuse, irritate and chalk up resilience to the bullies’ efforts.

Plus healing is a gradual,  arduous process and one that is and can be so incredibly lonely.

Hate Crime has gone up within the UK. This is an undisputed fact.

Whether it was my disability, my trans-sexuality or that I am perceived as gay – no odds to some. They would have battered me for wearing yellow socks too.

None of this has made me want to hide my identity and be less proud of my identity and the intersectionality of such. I have been and remain a proud member of my LGBTQI plus Brothers and Sisters and They.

And too – my communities of kick-ass autistic people who are often incredibly inspiring.

It was my openness that, at times, may not have protected me – but my openness is autistic (my leopard spots)

I am frightened of the world now though, or more frightened. I had always suffered from depression and made suicide attempts and none of what I have written about has helped of course. I am so grateful to friends and professionals who have shown me support and love and, of course, the ‘Samaritans’

I am here and I am doing my utmost to heal.
The cursor has blinked it’s way into a couple of pages now and, in fact for a while there I hadn’t even noticed it.

It’s flashing and blinking at me now like a cheeky metronome. ‘Do it!’ –  it’s teasing me ‘write it and publish it.’

OK then.

The End.

The Samaritans  freephone number 116123