Pavement for my pillow 8386

Beginning with her illegitimate birth, Chris Kitch had always felt the outcast. This is her story, sparely told, of the long road down to bag lady and drug addict, and the slow slog back up. Born in Bradford, where she was resented from conception by her family, Kitch was sexually abused, taunted by classmates, and tormented by a growing awareness of her lesbianism. Though she loved reading, Kitch was expelled from grammar school for offending its middle-class sensibilities. Soon she was hanging out in city pubs, running on self-destruct, and drinking and sleeping with anyone of either gender. At 21, she fell in love with Jean, a prostitute and heroin addict. For fifteen years, the two drifted around and downward through flats, B & Bs, hostels, prisons, and, finally, the streets. When Jean died of drug-related illnesses, Kitch sank lower still. The years lurched on, a blur with bits blacked out, until, in Kitch’s words, “I was looking at the grave”. For 32 years, Chris Kitch lived in the netherworld of the hopeless. How did she get out? She’s too honest to point to one solution or incident; it took a series of treatment centers, the affection of nuns, Jean’s death, and a potpourri of 1990s solutions ranging from acupuncture and feminism to the music of Clannad.