Where does one know where to begin?
Sure, at the beginning – however that would mean going back to 2012 and then all the way back to 1972.
Which means I will think start with the day that I found out I was to be evicted due to NHS incompetence and continue to the point where I am at now.
And what might that be?
As far as the NHS, The Royal Borough of Kingston Upon Thames and The Metropolitan Police are concern a Vulnerable Adult (on the Safeguarding list with two alerts) has disappeared.
How have they sprung into action to help this person?
By ignoring any pleas for help I have made to them since disappearing.
Not one fucking one has bothered to contact me.
The range of which starts at my Social Worker, Steve Maltby and ranges to include his boss Iain Richmond.
It goes even further to include the Managing Director of the Council, whom as far as she is concerned there is no problem with my care and so she doesn’t need to act according to what The New Care Act, 2015, states she should.
Even the Police know what is happening, as I first reported abuse in January 2015.
However officers such as DC Jenny Curren, DCI Claire Moxen, Second in Command Anthony Enoch and even his boss Glenn don’t care.
They don’t believe that the people whom are supposed to be giving me life are taking it – Wilful Neglect is the charge I have laid at a number of people – only for the Old Bill to ignore me.
Thing is, I was right.
Tolworth was killing me.
Now I have found a way to sneak back into what is MY life – and I am no longer embarrassed that I happen to be more clever or had more money than everyone else they deal with.
Furthermore, it seems impossible for anyone whom works for The System to believe that someone whom has found themselves part of The System wants fucking out.
Wants never to be given another hand out, rather earn the money they need – well, ain’t my fault I am unique (too unique according to Balance, the Autism Support Centre in Kingston, to be given help – after all Simon, I was told, its not like the rest of the world knows about autism and so what do you expect?)
But I am out.
Out of the best places I have ever lived, and the one that has cost me my innocence, nativity and health.
So if all that is left in me is to tell the story, post the emails and letters, so be it.
After all the five Ministers of Parliament that I have contacted, as well as the PM herself, don’t seem to give a fuck either as they haven’t even bothered to get an aide to contact me.
Who the fuck am I? I am Simon Edgley and I have a tell to tale that seems more fictional than any Stephen King I’ve read – yet its my fucking life.