Loops

This is just going to be more of the same. Nothing has changed. 

The only new thing that happened to me was getting invited to stay with Bruce Macdonald for a month in Costa Rica.

But I have no money to go there and no passport.

I'm completely dependent on my mother. 

I resent this life. Every day is the same. Stuck in this trap, these loops of the same thing over and over.

The pain is compounded whenever I look back to how it was when I had my own home. My own privacy. My peace of mind. Sanity. Money. 

I came so close to realizing my goal. By minutes. I was minutes away from financial freedom and getting out of Canada to go elsewhere.

How can anyone... recover from this situation? It's unique. Turned about $30,000 into $200,000 and managed to lose it because the stock market closed before I could put the sell orders through and the next day it dropped to $170,000 which flipped a switch in  my mind and for some reason, I didn't sell. The next day was $140,000 and that is when I started becoming despondent.

And the messed up thing about all this is ... it felt like I was being guided. I couldn't have been more alive and more aware and in tune with my spirit than at that time. And I pre-emptively thanked God for getting me up to $200,000.

But...

I guess I messed it all up. So bad, that months later I lose my appetite and somehow end up going on a road trip with two of my passports that I eventually lost along the way. And that's just part of what's happened during that time.

Now, I'd have to re-apply to get a passport. 

But I'm so tired of all this.

Every day. Every day I tell myself that I want to go home. Home for me is either to be with God in the spirit and leave this life behind, or home meaning someplace where I belong and feel safe and able to connect with my spirit again.

I'm exhausted living with my mother. I resent her charity. She has enough money to be comfortable. Almost a hundred grand. She doesn't worry about a thing. She'll toss twenty dollars at me and say to go get dinner.

I resent it.

I've no independence left. No pride. No dignity. No peace of mind or privacy or anything.

I have nothing left.

Even if I did went to see Bruce and spent a month with him in Costa Rica, I'll still have to come back here.

To this shit place.

And I'll be angry about calling it that. This place is shit. Mold in the basement that sent me to the emergency room twice already. Weird smells caused by my mother. A lack of cleanliness in the kitchen because my mother doesn't use dish soap and makes a mess with food stains on the fridge handles, light switches, handrails on the stairs.

I resent this place so much.

Sitting outside listening to the loud traffic. Squawking of crows. People looking down at me from the apartment across from us.

And all I can do is stare at my damn phone. Soaking in all the horrible news about what I was preparing myself against more than four years ago in 2020.

I can't believe it's been four years already.

And I'm stuck here.

There's no point in getting a job. Assuming if I can even get one, and still have to come to this bullshit townhouse I'm in. With my mother.

I'm so fucking tired, God.

I have so much potential.

And it's been suppressed.

Squashed.

Can't do anything but stare at the damn phone and watch videos all day or play games.

What a waste of a life. 

I came so close. I didn't want any of this. I wanted to write. I wanted to see new people and see new things. Start my own life. Live my own life.

On my own terms. 

Own my own home. I don't care if it would've been a shack if it was in Ecuador and I had my own water well and fruit trees.

I just want to see the clear night sky. No airplanes or helicopters or chemtrails.

Stars. Bright and twinkling and constellations.

Can't do any of that here.

I'm done with all this. I really am. Dead man walking.

If I managed to get to Costa Rica, I'm going to cry the day before I have to leave and come back.

I wonder what it would be like if I just ran into the jungle and hid. But that wouldn't work. Can't survive for long. Don't even know Spanish enough to communicate with the locals. Not going to be able to pay off a cell phone bill. Can't guarantee I'd find water or food. Can't charge my fucking hearing aids because I'd be almost deaf without them. 

Constantly scratching my head right now. This place has some bad stuff in the air. My mother doesn't notice it of course. She's ignorant of these things. Can't even smell the weird sewer smell in the washroom that is absolutely repugnant and I know that I am not imagining it.

What a waste of a life. 

I give up on this.

I believe in miracles, but will a miracle happen to me?

Because I need at least $200,000 to get out of here for good. $500,000 would be optimal. 

Anything over $500,000 is going to be for other people and not for me.

I know that I am a good person who's made mistakes. I resent the choices I've made with some of the women I've dated and upon reflection, I understand why I made those decisions. There wasn't any other way but to go through the motions.

I know better now, but it's useless knowledge when I am stuck in this trap I'm unable to get out of.

I used to pride myself on finding creative solutions for complex problems but this one is beyond my means.

No credit. No money. No passport. No job. No friends. Family are all vaccinated and ignorant as to what is going on. Except for three.

No intellectual or spiritual stimulation in this place. Just the opposite.

I am being treated like a child. Almost 50 years old and my mother treats me like an idiot.

And I keep thinking about what would happen if I was able to sell those shares in time before the market closed. Would've looked like a genius to everyone if I did. $200,000 in the bank? I would've been out of debt and not have to file for bankruptcy.

Could've gone to Mexico to meet Jeff Berwick.

Who knows, maybe we would've gotten along well.

Maybe I'd have moved to Ecuador or Nicaragua or Mexico.

Who knows.

Thinking about the what-ifs is about the only thing that gives  me a tiny measure of joy in my life. Dreaming of that alternate reality that I was so close to living in.

But now, it's all gone to shit.

This is... not worth living.

In loops. In cycles. 

In the middle of the economic collapse surrounded by ignorant people who don't see any problems or know how serious those problems are. 

People that laugh and smile who still trust the government and doctors and believe in institutions.

They are morons. Four years after covid and they still think voting matters. Trump or Pierre is going to save us.

I'm tired of all this. 

I just want to be in a grassy field on a warm night looking up at stars in the sky.

In Ecuador or Costa Rica.

I don't want to live in Canada any longer.

It's finished.

I'm finished.

Insane Asylum

Every day. Every day I realize what a loony bin I am living in.

This crazy, clueless city that mindlessly celebrates hockey, flies rainbow flags, filled with more migrants than Canadians and migrants dressed in nicer clothes with nicer cars; this city with all of the increasing homeless population being white. This crazy city with weird women with multicolored hair, too much makeup and overpainted nails -- all thinking they are better than men.

15 minute city announced months ago, nobody cares. Doesn't seem like anyone knows what it is even. My mother certainly doesn't.

And doesn't care when I try to explain it to her. Can't see the big picture.

She drove me crazy today like she does most days. To any outsider who only knows my mother from brief interactions, might think she's very nice and cheerful and full of positive energy. Which she is, most of the time I admit, but living with her, interacting with her for more than a few hours and being her child, really is different than anyone will ever come to understand.

It is hard to put it into words but I'll give it a try as to why she is driving me up the wall and is killing my soul with some kind of supernatural skill that she either doesn't realize she's using or... something else I can't put my finger on.

Maybe describing "moments" will be better in painting a picture of what she is like living with.

One moment today was her asking me when are we going to pick up my car from the dealership and if it wasn't getting too late. I said the dealership is open until 530pm and it won't take long to get there. 

So I go to the bathroom, do my stuff and get out at 430pm. Come downstairs where she asks, "what time does the dealership close at? 6?"

...I already had told her 530 was when it closed. I was only in the bathroom a half an hour. I know she heard that I said 530 before, so did she just forget the time? 

Second moment was listening to her in the car on the way there. I can't even remember exactly all the things she said because they were so forgettable. Everything she says is bland. There's no sharpness in her observation. She states the obvious. It's like listening to a parent tell their three year old child "look! a tree!" while driving to the grocery store. Yes, it's a tree... and? What am I supposed to say about that? 

Third moment was her driving. She's... There was this car in front of us that slowed down so it could turn into the lane on our right-side. It signaled, paused briefly and then turned. My mother aggressively waved her hands in the air all impatient for the two seconds that car in front of us slowed down. And not only was the hand-waving/anger not justified, but she then herself TURNS into the right lane as well even though we were supposed to stay in the left lane for an upcoming left turn. Does that make any sense? Even she admitted out loud that it was a mistake. I couldn't say a word in response. What am I supposed to say? "Do you know how to drive? What is wrong with you?" ... So I said nothing.

At the dealership my mother... sighs.. starts loading up on the free tea bags they have there. Stuffing them into her purse. Just like she did last time. I guess that's not the worst thing but it still rubs me the wrong way. Especially when she loudly complains about the service.

Outside she starts talking about getting me Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner. I don't like KFC. I've told her this many many times. It's too greasy. It doesn't taste as good as it used to. Nandos has the best chicken. Mary Brown has better chicken. 

But it's like she can't ever remember these things. 

I've never liked pickles or liver/onions but she will act like it's new to her whenever I say that I don't like something, despite saying it for years on end. Multiple times.

Another moment today was seeing all the exposed food in the kitchen. Watermelon, apple, blueberries, strawberries. Just sitting out in the open. Why is this bad? Because bugs were crawling over the Watermelon and the half-eaten apple, both of which have been sitting out there for at least two days.

Think about how that makes me feel. I can't stand having bugs crawling over my food or having bugs at all inside the home. My mother doesn't care. It doesn't matter how many times I bring this up. She just keeps doing it over and over and when the bugs obviously ARE bad, she "promises" she'll never do it again. But she never keeps her promises, and still will eat half a banana and leave it on the table for two days or longer. 

I don't mean to sound entitled or spoiled or OCD or whatever the word would be, but my mother is not a normal human being.

Another moment today was asking me to how to spell the word "attic" ... 

ATTIC.

I couldn't believe it. I told her to sound it out for herself. AT-TIC. AT-TIC and she still couldn't figure it out. She started spelling ADDICT, instead. 

Not only was this shocking to me but her excuse was that she's not from Canada, that she's from Poland. Which ... frustrates me as an excuse because she arrived here over 40 years ago and can't spell attic. Not only that, but I saw her reading an email from the condo association where it clearly says ATTIC and I know she read that word because she informed me about how they are doing inspections for mold in people's attics. IT SAID SO IN THE EMAIL. ATTIC. She read that email twice at least!

How can you not spell attic? My stepfather is similar. Neither of those two read books or engage themselves in higher learning. They don't care.

Add up all of these moments and squeeze them into a six or seven hour period and you'll understand why I spend so much time alone by myself in my car at the park. Away from this crazy person who happens to be my mother. I can't love her at a distance. I'm forced to interact with her on a daily basis.

The crazy just isn't obvious to an outsider until they live with my mother.

How about the towels with disgusting brown stains on them hanging in the bathroom for more than two months? You can clearly see the huge stains on them. She doesn't care. Won't wash it. Also destroyed my favourite towels by using them on people when she dyes their hair. Ruining the nice towels while keeping the ugly ones hanging up on the hook.

I don't think I can adequately describe all the ways she makes me crazy. The way she guilt-trips me is a masterclass for anyone looking to destroy someone's dignity. I still remember the scolding she gave me for not eating something that I did NOT WANT to begin with but she forced on me anyways. "OH YOU DIDNT EAT MY CREPES" when I didn't WANT crepes and wasn't hungry. She's lived with me for a year and knows that I eat one meal at night. That's it. But still. Guilt trips. She's a master.

It's like her memory is so selective. The important stuff gets forgotten about but the unimportant things like, "oh (ex-girlfriend) once told me you are spoiled!" somehow is magically remembered and not only that -- I don't remember it being said at all, and I have a pretty good memory. Definitely better than hers.

It took 42 years of being alive before she decides to tell me that my dad was married before meeting her. I don't even know how the hell was that kept a secret. He didn't say anything about that to me. But my mother was adamant this was true and that she saw a picture of the woman. My dad described his escape from the Czech Republic to me numerous times and never included this woman in his story. Either my mom is lying or my dad was deliberately hiding it from me and everyone else.

Convenient that she tells me about his wife after he's dead. Not one mention of it ever until three or four years ago.

And the burping sounds and loud yawning noises and throwing bones and scraps of food outside for the loud crows to eat and the mice which she complains about but... 

I can't properly put it all into words what an insane asylum this is. Whenever I lash out against it, I get guilt tripped into not being able to control my emotions. 

It's madness.

`Looks like I've really screwed up my life by losing my home and having to move in with her.

I can't mentally build myself back up living in this environment. 

Another moment today was trying to have a quiet time outside in the yard but the large apartment building across from me has an equally insane man on a high balcony who likes to sit there smoking without a shirt on and talking loudly to someone inside his apartment or on the phone while watching me down below. There's branches of a tree that reaches up high enough to block most of his balcony from view, but he manages to put his chair in exactly the right spot in the middle so he can stare down at me. 

Oh, and there's two rainbow flags I have to look at. One on a balcony that flaps in the wind and one that hangs in the window of another apartment.

This place is fucked.

I cry almost every day over it.

What am I suppose to do? Getting a job isn't going to solve anything. Still have to live with my mother.

Think I can save up enough money to move outside of the country in under a year? No.

Think I can afford my own place to live? Not with rent the way it is these days. And groceries. And gas. And insurance. And every other expense.

Open-air prison camp is what this place is. This country.

And nobody cares. My mother is all surprised at why we have such long waiting times for doctors and why we don't have enough doctors. Can't figure out that it's all from immigration taking more and more of our services. And doctors that are retiring/leaving the country. They're not bringing in immigrants who have a useful education or skill.

My mother is constantly complaining about different things and I keep telling her the same reasons for all of it. Why are food prices going up? Why are taxes going up? Why this, why that? And she can't seem to engage her own brain in any of the explanations involved. Doesn't agree with me when I tell her that it would've been better to leave the country to retire in a cheaper one. She left Poland for this place and now this place is shit. But she won't ever go back to Poland. Too traumatized by her growing up on a farm there. Doesn't make any sense.

I don't mean to use this post to complain about my mother but I have no where else to blow off steam. This isn't for anyone but myself to read. I don't share my blog and I'm not sure I ever will.

Maybe. Maybe if I know that my death is imminent I'll invite a relative or two to look at it.

I'm too exhausted to even care. My life is shit. That is just how it is.

I can't renew myself. I get beaten down every day. Living in this city among all this noise and all these immigrants speaking in their own language and the homelessness and the litter and the constant interruptions and traffic and poor infrastructure...

I hate this place. It's not how it was.

It's nothing like it was.

And I knew I wasn't going to live out my last days here. I prepared. Had my suitcases packed. Mexico or Nicaragua, I wasn't sure which.

And then I lost it all.

Now I am realizing the worst possible outcome. Living in THIS city with MY mother and NOT having any money to get myself out of it. Complete dependency on a lunatic.

I don't have any options at the moment. Can't survive a Canadian winter outside in a tent. Can't get my own place. Can't leave the country.

Unless I save up enough money to fly to Ecuador to find an abandoned spot in the rainforest and hunker myself down to not ever come back. They won't find me. I'll have to be responsible for all of my needs, including food, water and health. Basically forage for survival. Not going to be able to use a cell phone either if I can't pay for the bill each month and don't want to be tracked.

Can't speak the language well enough either. I'll be the weird gringo living in the Amazon. If I get malaria or some serious illness, I might as well kiss everything goodbye. No insurance, no money, no vehicle, nothing.

Is that an option? I wonder.

I just want to die under the stars. Outside in the open. Among the trees on a grassy field. Fresh air. Maybe little fireflies dancing in the night.

If I can't continue to live like this, why am I still living like this?

This place is hell.

If I keep this up, there's no reason to stay alive with an existence like this. Living in a 15 minute prison camp city with a social credit score that has been decimated by my bankruptcy and having to compete with immigrants for jobs where they openly advertise for non-white applicants.

Fuck this country. 

Love the geography. Hate the system. Hate the people that are fooled by the system. The ones that jabbed themselves up without any critical thinking involved. The ones that care more about the Oilers than getting themselves the fuck out of the collapse of the western empire.

Why does my aunt and uncle who are awake, STILL have a million dollar home in Kelowna with all the homelessness and crime getting worse and worse? Why not sell? Why not move to Mexico with that money? 

Fuck this place.

I cry every day like I said. I often pray and try to speak to God or to my spirit but it's just the same thing every time. Every time I get silence.

Nothing cares about my tears or how heartfelt my words are.

Nothing answers when I call upon Jesus, Yeshua, my higher-self, my guardian angel, the holy spirit.

I've learned a lot of unpleasant things in the last few years about spirituality.

Wish I would've known all this four or five years ago.

I'd give anything to be out of Canada.

Anything.

I'd give anything to be connected to my spirit like I once was.

Anything.

To be in communion with the divine again,.

Anything.

To have my independence back.

Anything.

To have at least $500,000 in the bank right now so that I can leave and buy a home in Ecuador or Costa Rica.

Anything.

But I don't have much to offer. My soul... belongs to whatever serves the highest virtues. Love, truth, beauty, compassion, justice, prosperity and freedom. Whatever entity serves those virtues, is what my soul belongs to.

If the devil is the ruler of this material realm and can grant me those things... well, what's the price?

What does it really mean to sell one's soul? To really do *anything* in exchange for something that they want?

In my case, I'm willing to surrender for a more nobler purpose. My soul can be conscripted to serve a higher purpose.

But I will not sell my soul under the condition of having to be eternally bound to this mortal realm and to do the bidding of the evil forces that rule over it.

I don't care if this is a movie and we're all actors in a play.

I'd rather not be on stage at all. 

Don't want to be in the audience either.

I want to be in my own realm. Be my own God. 

Create my own creations. Live my own life. Invite others of like-mind to join me if they wish.

I realize it's more complicated than that. Being a God and creating a perfect realm... well, there's all sorts of challenges and problems that comes with that idea.

For instance, if I was God, how would I experience true love? If my creations are with a soul, then they have free will and cannot be compelled to love me. If they are without a soul or free-will, what value would their "love" have for me at all?

That's one problem.  Another would be to realize that as a God, I wouldn't have anyone else on equal footing to my own. Could I find love and comfort in another entity that is so far beneath my own intelligence and perception and appreciation of all things?

Like my mother for instance. Could I love someone like her if she was my wife and kept saying the most shallow and superficial of things? Offering no intellectual or emotional stimulation? No real connection?

I tell you, I came close to crying twice while with my mother today. Fought it back twice once I recognized the onset of a particular emotion coming over me. That feeling of being trapped in hell with no way out. And your only company is a deranged inmate who doesn't realize they are in hell and actually thinks you are the crazy one for thinking otherwise.

See how messed up my situation is? My own mother.

Can't accept my own mother.

I'm calling her deranged and ... I don't feel loved by her.

Does she offer monetary support? yeah... sure... yes she does.

But she never could buy me a gift that I know I would like. All those years, she would ask what I want for my birthday or Christmas. Couldn't figure it out on her own what I would like. I often try to give her subtle hints but... 

Anyways that's not love. Love is acceptance. Maybe she does accept me but she also enjoys suppressing me. 

I'm too tired to get into that right now. Another long story for another day.

What else do you expect from someone who is happy when you announce to them that you're filing for bankruptcy?

Yeah... explain that one.

Bunch of lunatics in this place. In my own family.

No wonder I wanted to leave. No wonder I kept quiet as much as I could about the money I was making on the stock market and the risks I was taking. The two passports I got. My researching into which country to go to. Figuring out what to do about my home, whether I should sell it or rent it but unable to do either because its in my mother's name despite my having made the payments on it for over ten years.

I just wanted to get away from all this. I knew this country was going to suffer a bad fate.

And now it looks like I'm going to experience the suffering I worked so hard in avoiding.

All that preparation was a waste.

I have almost nothing now.

Not even my dignity.

I'm tired, God.

Yeshua.

Holy Spirit.

Mary.

Allah.

Ahura Mazda.

Archangel Michael.

Yahweh.

Satan.

Lucifer.

Moloch.

Saturn.

Jupiter.

Sun. Moon.

Apollo. Zeus.. 

I'm so bloody tired.

And I didn't even discuss what happened to me yesterday. Another emergency procedure to drain a bacterial infection. Third time so far. That's how filthy this place is.

Handle on the fridge is sticky. It's always sticky.

Light switches have grime smeared on them. 

Don't touch the handrails on the stairs. I always extend my sleeves out of a long-sleeved shirt to cover my palm as I walk down.

Place is a dump. Someone was playing loud music at 4am last night. Bassy techno. 

I don't belong here. Don't want to be here.

I'll do anything.

$500,000 is the perfect amount. Close to $350,000 USD after conversion.

I can find a peaceful place to live, rent-free, with everything I'd need and pretty much retire.

I'm so tired, God.

So tired of all this.

What are you gaining from watching through my eyes? Through my tears?

I am not moving forward.

Every day is the same thing.

What's the point of all this.

I refuse to be a slave to the beast system. So what's the alternative?

What can I do to get $500,000 or more into my bank account by the end of November 2024?

Because I don't think I can go another winter like this.

Stuck inside with my mother.

No money. No other place to go.

What's the point of this kind of life, God?

Why bother with any of it.

You tell me.

I'm waiting for an answer.