Autism and Grief: January 2024

My husband of twenty-two years, Bob, died suddenly on New Year's Day aged sixty-three.  He expired in front of me and our then sixteen-year-old son, Ted.  

This is what happened afterwards ...

I immediately decided that he should have a direct cremation.  This was mainly because of cost and because there's no way that me and Ted could cope with a funeral etc.  In retrospect, I'm not sure whether Bob would have actually wanted, but he's not here to ask, is he?  Due to the sudden nature of his death and the resulting postmortem, the cremation was delayed anyway.

I sold the car.  I don't currently have a licence and there's no way that I could afford to keep running it.

There was resulting electrical work to be completed on the house to install a smart meter.  I ensured that that was completed.

Then the leeches started - first was me getting back in touch with Audi Man, a bloke I'd known in the past.  Let's face it, he's either autistic or a psychopath (well, he is an IT professional so you make your own decision.)  Basically, he wanted to 'bridge the gap' for me, sexually and insisted on carrying out explicit WhatsApp video calls with me a mere few days after Bob passed.  He also wanted to use my house as some kind of sexual pop in parlour.  His long-suffering and quite frankly, bloody stupid, wife and three kids wouldn't know about it though.  I got very pissed one Sunday afternoon and told her via the medium of LinkedIn - a bizarre conduit I think that you'll agree?  But hey!  Then he started calling and leaving messages, she started replying and well, the threatening letter turned up and guess what - I called the Police on him.  Nice.  What a gent.  He was warned off.  

My severely disabled brother-in-law, Uncle C, lives in sheltered accommodation up in north London.  Bob dealt with his finances.  It was difficult enough working out Bob's byzantine system of spreadsheets without that added problem.  I initially thought that it was a joint account, but it wasn't.  The manager was always hassling Bob to come up and visit Uncle C and caused the former and awful lot of stress.  I honestly wanted to ring up Mr Manager and tell him to leave Bob the hell alone, but it never came to that.  To cut a long story short, Mr Manager wanted me to empty the bank account and bring up Uncle C's half in cash.  Yep cash.  All the way from south-east to north London.  How very safe.  I complained to the Care Company about him and then the local authority, which was the London Borough of Camden.  Everything got ignored for months and my complaint was upheld.  I broke off all familial responsibility straight after Bob's death as I can't and won't cope with it.  

I spent an awful lot of time with my brother and parents who live in the same road.  They initially wanted me to sell this house and move the two or so miles south of the borough.  I am so glad that I never did this.  

I restarted the Welling Community Choir; gawd knows why I did because Bob was the latest member to die - there's either a curse or the membership are so fucking old that they fall of their respective perches naturally.  It of course, ended badly.  I tend to take a great dislike to certain people in life and they always end up being stupid baby boom women.  This one was called X.  She was and I expect still is, a total and utter cunt.  November will herald more cunts in another choir so keep on reading.  

The Trouble With Tinder

So, Tinder. I uploaded a series of photographs, some of whom were deliberately full length to show that I am plus size. One example, taken on my fortieth birthday up in the home of Viz Comic, a prettu suburb outside Newcastle called Jesmond is shown below. I'm 5ft 9in and am wearing a UK size 16.

Anyway, late one Friday night I saw a series of photographs and blurb of a bloke whom I'll refer to as James. He was older than me by more than sixteen years, but as my late husband had been fifteen years my senior I was already attracted to older men [father complex and insecurity]. He'd already swiped right on me and as I had too, we had a match. I sent him a cheeky opening message; he responded, immediately stating what he wanted!? We exchanged numbers early on Saturday morning.

One hour later James called me. It was akin to an interview and was basically his way of determining whether I was a time waster. Apparently because I'd also worked as a civil servant and was suitably impressed that he'd had a book published etc etc that I was deemed a suitable candidate for his amarous intentions. I sent him a link to my LinkedIn. That's due diligence for you. 

James wanted to do a videochat in the afternoon but as I was attending Drum Club, I couldn't. He later called me from the bath. I did say that I didn't really want one of those kind of videochats and he said that it wouldn't be. It wasn't and the camera didn't deviate from his face. Later on, we chatted when he was travelling back from London and he then insisted on another videochat, but this one was much more explicit - basically he wanted a free peep show. He was very demanding.

The next day he wanted me to drive from south-east London up to Hertfordshire to his home. On a first date? Are you mad?  I don't drive anyway. I was volunteer litter picking at my local Abbey so I agreed to jump on the Elizabeth line and meet him in Farringdon, which I did. He was very full on from the start - he presented me with a bunch of lillies which are actually a funeral flower. He was attentive, charming and incredibly tactile. I didn't hugely mind at the time. We walked hand in hand around the City of London. He was incredibly intelligent and autistic. Great. He wanted to know everything about me, especially my love life, which in retrospect, was rather odd

We parted at Farringdon a few hours later. He got a snog and a sneaky grope. Lovely. Surely that contravenes the Conditions of Carriage?

The week went on. He was very attentive. We videochatted each evening and some mornings. Then he booked an STD test and wanted me to do the same [as we're clearly a load of old rotten old slags down in south London]. Yikes. I did order the online one, but it brought up past trauma from the 1990s. 

On the Wednesday evening he was in a bad mood and basically admitted to sleeping with a woman abroad on Tinder's travel mode. I was a bit taken aback about that and retorted that "I'd see what I could find on Tinder myself" He got angry, saying that "it was lucky that he wanted me because nobody would be interested in me because I was so mis-shapen in the Viz photograph." I hung up on him and then cried myself to sleep as my weight is my archilles heel. 

I admonished him by WhatsApp the next day. He apologised wholeheartedly but I knew in my heart of hearts that it wouldn't work. He'd reacted badly when I'd expressed concern about him having unprotected sex with a Tinder match abroad. I mean, it's dangerous isn't it? As a result, I was in a bad mood all Thursday and had a go at someone on a MS Teams workshop. I later apologised in writing to the person concerned.

It limped on during Friday. He is a cradle Catholic and therefore has an issue with condoms. I was raised Anglican and believe that safe sex is the best way to navigate through one's sexual partners. He was really obsessed by his own semen. Ick. Maybe I should have just asked him to express some into a suitable bottle and post it to me? He wanted to book a hotel room during the next week and kept asking whether my period had ended. I am currently menopausal, so there's no way of knowing.

I didn't hear from him much on Saturday and not at all on Sunday. He is a world leader in his particular field, bully for him. Thus he's always beavering away 24/7. I must admit that I sent far too many messages to him; I'm an idiot like that. 

This morning I got dumped by WhatsApp. All of my mates who'd been helping and advising me along the way were sympathetic. I did have a blood pressure, height and weight check at the GP this afternoon and I am too fat and my BP is too high so I've been referred to the NHS's Steps To Health gym scheme, which I'll be undertaking during 2025. 

Grief, autism and dating

I'll admit it, I'm lonely. Yes, after being in a relationship with the same man since March 2000 I'm not used to being alone. As the year drew to a conclusion I thought that I'd seek companionship via dating apps, after all, a close female and close male friend had found happiness, following a bit of a bumpy ride. Maybe I jumped in too soon?  In retrospect, I think that I did.

Anyway, I was on Bumble, the female-led dating app, although it's less so now. I chatted to a couple of blokes and one I'm still in contact with now but we've never met in real life (IRL.) I chatted to another via WhatsApp and phone and we agreed to meet in my local branch of Wetherspoons (yes, I am a cheap date). He showed up really late, was incredibly boring and yep, he was autistic. Blah. I know that I am, but at least I have a keen sense of humour. The date was so bad that I orde

Then I tried Hinge (I couldn't understand it, so I gave up.) I then tried Tinder ... 

Autism and Grief: April 2024

 This month we started working with our local authority's family support service.  It really helped.

Autism and Grief: March 2024

March was yet another eventful month.

Autism and Grief: February 2024

OK, so there's February which was yet another shitshow.  On Tuesday, 6th February I had to go to my local NHS Polyclinic for a hysteroscopy which turned out to be much more painful then I'd expected (although the letter did say to take painkillers beforehand, but my bloody mother poo-pooed that.) A coil was inserted which would reduce the intensity of my periods and provide birth control. I did say that I was forty-eight and recently widowed, so I had no need of the latter.

Afterwards I went back to my parents' house for a 'posh coffee' - ie one of those milk powder dehydrated ones. Mother started her high pitched barking coughing, told me that when she'd previously had panic attacks and wanted to die as a result. I started crying and my dad drove me home.

I registered Bob's death on 9th February. It was in the same venue my friend married her second husband back in summer 2022. It's also located in my Borough’s premier park.

I made an effort to get out more on guided walks around other woodlands. The verdant greens make me happy.

I ensured that I became Master Logic's DWP appointee. That was pretty painless as the EO made a home visit. On the same day I had the lock on the garage door replaced as I'd lost the key. The proprietor remembered Bob and expressed his sincere condolences. He also admired the house's high ceilings and enquired whether I wanted to remarry, which was a nice touch I thought. Of course, I didn't mention this in the subsequent 5* Google review.

I bought myself a whole load of Percy Pig merch from M&S to cheer myself up on St Valentine's Day. The mug is especially jolly. 

On the 15th February I had an appointment with my solicitor; Dad came along too. It was regarding the will and the ongoing issues with my brother-in-law's care home. Luckily as everything was bequeathed to me, the estate didn't go into probate.

On the 16th February it was my Mother's birthday. As we weren't speaking it was extremely tense. My brother and his family took Mum and Dad to a local cafe. We were due to visit Chislehurst Caves but Mum suddenly went walkabout sans phone. We thought that she'd topped herself. It was all bloody awful. She was fine but upset and confused.

On the 17th February I attended a talk in the library concerning local flight pioneers Alcock and Brown. I was particularly pleased to see the speaker open a picnic sized bottle of wine whilst stood at the lectern. 

I attended an initial meeting at a local charity which supports people with  disabilities and mental health challenges to secure work. It went well, but soon it all unravelled. At their advice I went to a Job Fair at my local job centre. It wasn't hugely productive - merely a chance for potential employers to hand out a clutch of weblinks. I did, however, manage to show an EO from the DWP my CV, but he merely stroked it and handed it right back to me, advising me to apply for vacancies on the Civil Service Gateway instead. 

My house was valued on 22nd February. I was impressed. I later made the decision not to sell. Along with my Dad, I viewed a rather dilapidated end-of-terrace house which was located a mile away from my parents' and brothers' respective houses. It was also smack bang in front of my old primary school and around the corner from my secondary school so the parking would be horrendous. The owner had gone into a care home, so the whole place needed thousands thrown at it. But, this was looming over it ...

Bullying and Disability Discrimination

My mother and brother are incredibly unsupportive about any kind of disability so I rowed with the latter last Sunday. The former helpfully suggested that I may wish not to disclose my disabilities to any future enployer. Gee thanks.

I am therefore technically still employed at the care home (well, as much as anyone can be on a pesky zero hours contract.) I attended a domestic staff team meeting yesterday afternoon and was sat facing one of the bullies. It wasn't nice, nor was the content of the meeting, quite frankly.

Anyway, today is the day I bit the bullet and made a formal written complaint about the discrimination and bullying I'd been experiencing during the six week period I'd worked there. The General Manager replied straight away, asking me to come in for a meeting next week, so I phoned the job retention officer at the local charity and sought his advice. He suggested that I make myself unavailable. I will be doing that as she made me burst into tears back in July.

2024: The Year of Crap Jobs

The problem with having a gap in one’s CV the size of the Mariana Trench is that the only escape is via National Minimum Wage (NMW) jobs. Please allow me to elaborate.

In June I attained a job in a local branch of Wetherspoons. It paid £11.67 or suchlike (NMW is, at time of writing, £11.44). This particular building contained far too many steps as it is a converted bank and bizarrely had two roof gardens!? The app made it more of a waitressing job and the shifts were all over the shop. The pub closed at midnight and clearup took 90 minutes to two hours, so I ended up getting home at half two in the morning. I managed a total of three shifts, resigning with immediate effect.

In July I forwarded my CV to a local care home. They were offering zero hour bank care work, so I was duly interviewed and offered the job on the same day. Unlike Wetherspoons I was given a whole raft of paperwork to complete and then a huge amount of online training. I attended an in-house 'moving and handling' course, finding that everyone there had worked in care since leaving school, unlike me. 

I had a really bad reaction to the CPR etraining, allied to the fact that I was being interviewed for a DfE role on the same day. This led to me seeking assistance from a local disability charity. The head of retention came along to a meeting with me, the General Manager and her deputy. It wasn't great - I was admonished for not declaring that I had bipolar and I didn't accept the job.

Time went on ... I was interviewed for office jobs and a Co-op role. Nothing succeeded. I then decided to re-look at the care home job and I started on 9th September. The first week was great - I was shadowing an absolutely lovely Care Assistant, but sadly this wasn't yo last.

My second weekend (Saturday 8am-8pm and Sunday 8am-8pm) was bloody awful. There was an absolutely foul care assistant I was teamed with on Saturday who picked on me all day. She and the senior care assistant made me accompany one of the residents to A&E, meaning that I was there for hours and ended up having to call the Deputy Manager to relieve me. On the Sunday there was a bossy Care Assistant who was a nightmare to work for so I ended up in tears, going home early. Following this, I did ask the deputy manager for Reasonable Adjustments via email, but they were never granted.

I worked there for twelve shifts in total. Although I never completed another 12-hour care shift, I didn't like it as the atmosphere was so strange, cliquey and unfriendly. I'd already changed my number to a burner phone so that I'd never see the WhatsApp messages which popped up all day every day. 

I don't regret it whatsoever.

Post #192 - Reach Out ... Be Rejected?

Now, I cannot recall whether I said that I used to be a member of the local branch of a national mental health charity's online regular quiz, music and general chat sessions?  Well, I was, but I won't name the charity in question because it'll be outing.  I left it because I got fed up with certain members' actions within the group, became bored with moaning about it to management and quite frankly, I think that I'm ready to be released back into the wild.  My bipolar and autism dual diagnosis doesn't seem to cope well with too much contact with other people with mental health problems nor others with autism.  That said, I do have a couple of excellent friends who have MH issues and we understand one another very well and I'd never abandon them, but I know them IRL and they've both known me for way over a decade.  I am a spiky person - like those darn spiny things on Mario:

There was one woman, let's call her Shaz, whom was a long-time member of the quiz group and who later on joined the music appreciation sessisons.  I really liked her and we had bantz - although it was an online group and we'd never actually met in person.  Until her recent retirement she was working, although thinking back, she might have been a permanent homeworker, but who can tell these days?  The morning session of the time before Easter that I decided to leave altogether, which wasn't a particularly nice day as the Police turned up on my doorstep following my report of sexual assault (see earlier posts ...) I offered her a book my son was gifted once on the Titanic as this is one of Shaz's  passions - she had various framed photographs and diagrams of the doomed vessel hanging on the walls of her flat.  Now I think about it ... MH problems?  Special interests?  I think that you know what I'm inferring but I won't say it ...

I passed on my deets (as the kids say) via the group leader and received a call a few days later (which I missed because I was napping).  This led to a text exchange which wasn't hugely friendly as Shaz stated that due to her physical disability she was unable to leave the house and that if I left the book in the charity's offices, her husband would pick it up.  I agreed but felt a bit, well, cheated.  I was kind of hoping that we could meet for a quick coffee but clearly she didn't want this.  When I dropped the book off this morning even the charity's receptionist seemed surprised at Shaz's rather odd behaviour, also believing that meeting up for a coffee and chat would have been much better than this rather strange way of operating.  I then WhatsApped Shaz to confirm that I've dropped the book off and then blocked her.  I know this sounds a bit odd, but if that's the way she is then I don't need or wish for any more contact as I don't want to start a row.  

Things will be better once I'm back at work as I'll just go to work, come home, contact my existing friends and then concentrate on my son.  That's the way it is.  

Post #191 - I don't even want to host my husband's belated wake ...

 ... well, I don't.  It would have taken place on a day next week which would have been his sixty-fourth birthday.  I just cannot bring myself to clean this house and prepare it for people to visit - I know that it's only really close family but I don't even really want them here if truth be told.  We would have scattered some of the ashes in one of the Royal Parks and the rest in a ruined abbey but there are so many of them that I've decided to scatter a flaskfull in each location and then either bury the rest in our back garden or line ceramic pots with them and grow nice plants on top.  

Why?  Well, that farrago that was Easter Sunday still rankles with me and I've got the grazed finger joints on my right hand to prove it.  One of the sofas is in the front sitting room and the other is in what I've called the laundry lounge - ie Master Logic's space, formerly used as the dining room/laundry/gym/art studio.  Actually, what is the point of dining rooms in today's modern world?  Surely they hark back to a time when families used to eat together, something we never do and totally alien to Master Logic's strange autistic world.   

Post #190 - Victim Impact Statement

My sexual assault case is NFA which means 'No Further Action' which is fine by me.  I was advised by the PC who visited me this morning to contact Victim Support to submit a Victim Impact Statement, which I will do tomorrow.  Apparently Victim Support have been attempting to contact me, but as my voicemail has been off because of all of the hassle I was receiving from Camden Council regarding my late husband's brother's issues.  

Anyway, this is where that particular thing ends.  It's also the conclusion of my involvement as a volunteer with the Friends [environmental] group.  As two of my reports to the Police were directly related to there, I think that I can conclude that it's a pernicious place and I'm not suited to being there in an official or semi-official capacity.  I was never one of the chosen ones anway and despite having a BA in Medieval and Early Modern History, my expertise was never welcomed nor utilised.  

*Update*

 Victim Support referred me to a charity called the London Survivor's Gateway.  I tried phoning them and ended up in a huge queue.  It was painful holding on, so I eventually hung up.  There was no email address earlier so I left it there.  Clearly such charities are overwhelmed and my case just didn't seem worthy enough.  

Post #189 - Easter 2024

Yesterday I visited my parents, having cooked a splendid (even if I say so myself!) toad in the hole and a Bird's trifle in a box.  Clearly my recent bereavement has made me even more arsey, but my temper is very short these days.  Arranging the day was a pain in the arse - apparently I must be as explicit as possible in regard to planning my visits(!)  Dad picked me up and helped me pack all of the food up but hey, as soon as we arrived my brother and his over-enthusiastic golden retriever, Honey, were there and if you know that breed then you'll no doubt be aware that they're very bouncy indeed and we almost dropped the trifle as a result.  My brother is very like his canine housemate in so many years, despite being in his mid-late forties at time of writing.  

It was the usual festival of odd chez parents.  We were just finishing our lunchtime meal (aforementioned toad-in-the-hole, boiled frozen veg, watery gravy ...) when my brother rang the landline, suggesting a trip out to the largest park in the borough.  As you might already be aware, my mother's mobility is seriously compromised by her balance and resulting lack of confidence in walking.  Look - it was hideous - it was horribly muddy due to all of the recent rainfall, my mother had a hiking pole in one hand and my stepfather's paw in the other - all of the time the family (consisting, additionally of my brother, sister-in-law and two teen nieces)  So - we decided to move both cars and head for the nearest road, which meant covering a huge boggy area.  My mother struggled, my brother offered to give her a piggy back(!) and I fell over and then gave them both a piece of my mind.  I then escaped, walked to the nearest exit and was picked up in my stepfather's car - I said to my eldest niece "your father's a complete idiot!"  Harsh, but fair.

My stepfather later told me that we should have gone to a much more suitable park with a nearby car park and proper concrete paths.  He, as ever, was absolutely correct.  

Post #188 - Mea Culpa

OK, yes, I was wrong ... but let's admit it, WhatsApp group are tricky, right? Especially when there are no rules to comprehend. I suppose that common decency is paramount? Anyway, I'm back in the fold, so to speak.

This afternoon's survey was fine and I was finally able to discover the woman's name who so upset me back in January. What an officious person she was. 

Post #187 - Volunteering: Don't Do It!

I'll start by saying that there are clearly a whole bunch of absolutely lovely members of the Baby Boom generation out there, but - I seem to constantly butting heads with them. My mother is a Boomer, which explains a great deal. Many of them seem to have extremely fixed ideas when it comes to autism or disability - my advice is never to shop at M&S unless you want your neurodiverse child/young person shouted at.

During my now eight year hiatus from work I have made various attempts to join clubs and societies. Unfortunately I am not of retirement age and this cases a major problem for some of them. The latest case was yesterday when I went along to the second-hand book hut(!?) to talk members of the Borough's premier park about helping them expand their existing (IMHO: poor) social media presence. I had alway attended their last meeting but found the septegenerian Chair very imperious, brusque and rude to another member. 

One of the members had already failed to ask me whether I'd wanted a coffee and the others looked askance when i pulled out a plastic chair to sit on, so maybe that was also a bad omen. When I raised how well the Instagram platform was working in another Friends group, The Chair shouted "STOP!" loudly at me. Apparently that's acceptable because, and I quote: "she used to be a teacher!" Excuse me!  I picked up my bag and fled in tears.

I immediately found a bench and started off firing off emails/Xs of complaint. I wrote some comments on their Facebook page too, ditto a one star review. One email was to the Borough's main complaints address as all Friends groups sit under the Council's parks department.

I raised it on the other Friends group I'm a member of which sits in the North of the Borough but one woman, whom I'd found to be incredibly rude to me in the past tried to police the group, so I came right back at her and left that group too.

I am now ploughing my own fallow.

Post #186 - The Bully Dog Incident

On Tuesday, 19th September 2023 I experienced an awful incident during a volunteering session at one of my local parks. A group of us were tending the rhododendron beds which are located a fair distance away from the park lodge; there were four men aged between sixty-five and seventy-one plus myself, the only woman. It was during the lead up to the XL Bully Dog legislation.

At about 10:45ish two light skinned mixed race guys plus a young child of about five or six years of age approached us with a juvenile puppy Bully XL dog on a lead. They were apparently "touring the local parks to show people what nice dogs they were really." At first one of the gentlemen in our volunteer squad, let's call him Steve, went over to pet the huge thing, agreeing, saying that "yes it's the owners, not the dogs - all that kind of bullshit etc." The blokes wouldn't leave. They kept hanging around trying to provoke a reaction. I had been cowering at the back, hoping that they'd piss off, but they wouldn't. Eventually, I blurted out: "I hate those dogs - they're bred for violence."

Cue: absolute mayhem. One of them starts threatening me and my colleagues step in to protect me - I'm literally cowering behind the council branded brown bin. I'm yelling "I'M AUTISTIC!? LEAVE ME ALONE!?" One's filming the whole shebang on his phone, stating that it's going out live on Instagram. The other shouts at me to stop swearing in front of his autistic son, which is rather ironic and quite frankly, why is his son not in school as it was term time.

The Estate Manager, let's call him Dave, turns up and remonstrates with  the men, who by now are accusing me of attempting to attack his dog with a garden fork. Yeah - like I'd do that to a weaponised dog that could literally rip my throat out!?  One of the blokes calls for my dismissal (er, I'm a volunteer!) stating that I am a "disgrace" or suchlike.

I depart, in tears. My would-be groomer, Mr X, drives me home where my husband, Mr C, and son, Master C, are watching TV (my son is off sick from school). Mr X sees my house's interior for the first time - it was untidy and as such, I have always hugely disliked visitors. He later delivers a bunch of flowers. I was supposed to have attended a guided bat walk that very evening, but I get a refund as I'm too distraught to return.

The next day, which was Wednesday, Mr C and me are choosing bathroom flooring in the next town when he receives a call from Dave, the Estate Manager. Apparently eight or so blokes and their Bully XLs have turned up on masse. They are calling for my sacking!? Err ... I don’t work there!? Mr C confirms that I won't be returning and Dave states that it's a shame that he's lost a member of his team. We then drive straight to the Police Station to report the incident as a Hate Crime.

I don't actually return until March 2024, but keep in touch via WhatsApp with Mr X, who really steps up his grooming campaign after Mr C's sudden death on 1/1/24.

Post #185 - A Bad Day ...

Twenty-four years ago to this very day I first met the man who was to become my husband at a mutual friend's fortieth birthday gathering in a pub located in Soho. I miss his company.

Today was the day that I finally plucked up the courage to report the sexual assault which occurred last month. It's been a trying time.

This afternoon I attended my usual online music group. It's run by a local mental health charity. The session is held on Microsoft Teams and consists of a facilitator acting as the DJ and playing attendees' choices via their/the Charity's YouTube account - ergo music videos. I had an issue back in late September 2023 when, post Bully Dog Incident, one person chose an extremely violent and aggressive Scouse Rap video. I got upset and soon left the group. After this the rules were reviewed and tightened up.

Since then, it's been patchy. One member, who's clearly got a Learning Disability, wanted to play a Nicki Minaj track with a violent/sexual video - I said 'no!' quite strongly and was duly admonished by the Facilitator. I followed this up by email later on, suggesting that some members might be better suited to a Mencap group instead. She disagreed with the wording "I've got this." Right.

So - one bloke chooses a song by an individual called Just Jack and the video is set in a high rise tower block. It's gritty and ends with the man and woman throwing themselves off of the tower block's roof. Suicide. This is a mental health group, right?  I reacted quite strongly, the man apologised saying that "he'd never seen the video" I countered with "maybe watch the video beforehand?" The Facilitator stated that "not everyone can" - so I growled and left. I immediately emailed the Charity's Recovery College, stating that I wasn't happy and wanted to be removed from any future courses and sessions. I then thought - sod it, let's forward this to the Charity's Chief Executive, so I did.

Post #184 - Life After Death?

I'm back; my husband died suddenly on New Year's Day - he was sixty-three years old. It's now almost three months on and it's getting better but it's still a daily struggle.

The thing that's been most difficult to cope with is certain horrible people have felt the need to try and screw me over - sometimes literally. Yes - married men taking advantage of an autistic and bipolar woman's grief. It's very difficult to fathom why anyone would ever do that. Fear not: one got their wife told via LinkedIn [yeah, I know that informing people about their unfaithful spouses isn't the primary aim of the business network, but hey ho.] That ended in phone calls, email threats, a postal threat and ultimately a report to the Metropolitan Police as Mrs X was threatening to come to my house and shout at me; my autistic son also told his school who raised it as a safeguarding issue.

The other bloke, a grandfather in his seventies whom I met through a local environmental group, was very clever indeed and groomed me over two or so years. After a traumatic incident including a Bully XL dog during a volunteer gardening session he started visiting me at home but it didn't step up until after my husband died. This bloke has three daughters who are all around my age, so I thought that he was being fatherly and kind - he lent a sympathetic ear [my parents are both autistic themselves and didn't offer a huge amount of support.]

Over time he basically rubbished my late husband's memory, suggested that I remove my wedding ring and 'go out and have some fun with men' - I told him all about Mr X (see above). He was also grooming another vulnerable woman from the same Friends Group. One Thursday he visited and was overtly sexual - telling me that "you're big but you're attractive" and commenting about the size of my breasts. He then proceeded to tell me, in excruciating detail all about how an ex-girlfriend's mother had "introduced him to oral sex". Yuck - he's gross looking, smells and has about five teeth. As he was leaving he went in for a kiss on the mouth, something I absolutely abhorred. He said "I'd missed them lips (sic)" and then tried to French Kiss me. Yeah. I obviously didn't return the favour. When he left I burst into tears and wondered whether anyone would believe me. I told some mates via WhatsApp and then emailed my support worker at the Council who told me to tell him what he'd done wrong via WhatsApp and then block him. The stupid man had admitted his "advance" on a WhatsApp message so I had written evidence of his crime - and it was a sexual assault.

I then reported him to the council employees who co-ordinate the voluntary work. They agreed that his behaviour was unacceptable and spoke to him.