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 |  This is my blog & my hope, writing daily will help me see my progress and log supporters. |
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| Since moving to Thailand, things have changed dramatically. This move has been coming for a long time and it is hard to believe I am finally here. I loved my mom more than anything and I miss her terribly. In January 2023, she became ill and left home to get better quality care that she needed and deserved. Then, in June 2023, just a couple of weeks after her 88th birthday, she died. Even though I visited her most days during her last six months, I spent most of my time alone and miserable. Anyone who has followed this blog knows I've had a drug problem for a long time. It was my coping mechanism when things became too much for me to handle. But towards the end, I did it out of boredom. When I first moved in with my parents in 2015, I had friends and a life. Mom was still capable of keeping an eye (excuse the pun, but she was legally blind) on dad. Back then, she could get their breakfast and lunches etc. Dad was showing signs of dementia. His condition worsened in the first year after I moved in. I was still working full-time, but provided them with security and confidence (rather than being a caregiver) and in return, I didn't have to pay any rent (much to the annoyance of my ex-wife..who had kicked me out). And as it does, his condition worsened (Mom found him one morning waiting on the footpath for his ride to work and he had been retired for forty years). He would try to cook and forget to turn off the gas hotplate and leave the taps running. I could see the writing on the wall. He was around ninety-two and drinking half a bottle of Scotch a night. Dementia doesn't take the person overnight. They have good days and bad, and one day, I came home after a particularly bad day at work and he had diarrhea. It wasn't his fault, but I was still in my work clothes, I had dinner to prepare and there was shit on the carpet from his bedroom, all the way to the bathroom. I will never forget that evening as long as I live. After I had cleaned him and the mess up he felt so much shame. He was lying in his room with the light off, and as I passed his door, he said, "I'm so sorry, son." Those words still haunt me to this day. I told him not to worry...that it wasn't his fault. But the next day we made arrangements for him to move into care. How is it possible to feel happiness, sadness, shame, guilt, sorrow and relief all at the same time? Everyone told me I had done all I could do, but it made no difference what anyone said. My dad...the man who took me as a child outside at night, pointing out all the different stars and constellations...explaining to this eager young mind the cosmos as he understood it. The man who loved me as best as he could under very difficult circumstances. The man who had been through more hardship...more tragedy and more challenges than I could ever imagine. The man who gave me life...who, when he borrowed novels from the library and picked the one he wanted to read first, then would allow me to take one of the others and read. Isacc Asimov, Peter Benchley, Peter Blatty, Arthur C. Clarke. Whatever he was reading. I read The Exorcist at eleven or twelve years old, despite my mother's disapproval. I was reading a lot, and I know for a fact this is where my journey into writing began. In the end, I couldn't even visit him because he looked at me with such hatred. It wasn't because I was the one who decided to place him in care. It was because he didn't know or trust me. Mom was a completely different story. Dad had full physical ability but no mental capacity. Mom had no physical ability but had full mental capacity right until the end when they drugged her so much so she could die in peace. The evening she died, I sat outside of her room as they prepared her body for the mortician. I felt something I had never felt before, and hope I never feel again...it began as an internal scream, so loud and overwhelming in my mind that I saw a flash of light behind my eyes that was brighter than lightning. It lasted for a minute or two and then it subsided. I thought it was finally over and began to think of this new life...the life I had dreamed of for so long. A life where I didn't have to consider anyone but me. Only I didn't realise that was just the beginning of the next phase. I first had to execute her Will and settle things with disgruntled family members to avoid the long and protracted process of anyone challenging her Will. I was using more drugs than ever because I didn't care anymore...I had been struggling for so long that I couldn't hold my head above water anymore...and the only thing I had that helped me was methamphetamine. It's a funny thing consciousness...life and death and the way things play out. It wasn't long after her death that psychosis came...or whatever the hell that thing was and still is. The truth is, if I had not started suffering from the symptoms of this mental illness, I doubt I would be alive writing this, let alone feel the way I do right now. These visions, who told me they were out to destroy me...to take my soul and make me their slave, saved my life...scared straight comes to mind. Demons? Angels? My own brain doing whatever it had to do to survive? Does it matter? Tonight, I saw Angel for the first time in a while (I suspect it was her the whole time). I didn't even run through the questionnaire because I could tell it was her by her eyes and the way she answered...eyes that move very slowly and with this sweet smile. She would often display some degree of kindness...a kindness I have always had trouble understanding because most of the time she is so evil. One thing I can tell you for sure is she has rarely, in the nine months this has been going on, encouraged me to take drugs. In fact, 95% of the time she has discouraged me from using. But if/when I do, she makes me pay for it in ways you couldn't begin to imagine. I mean, call me foolish for messing with this thing, real or not, but does that sound like a being that is out to destroy me? If she hadn't done what she did, I would probably be dead...or at least wishing I was dead. I'm trying to let go of the why because there never was or ever will be a why. Tonight after my walk, I jumped in the pool to cool off. My new neighbours were talking to each other on their verandah. I heard her ask him if he was happy, and he said yes. He then asked her if she was happy, and she replied that she was happy. Then a very strange feeling washed over me as I lay on my back floating in the water. I was looking up at the same stars my dad and I looked at when I was a child, and I felt happiness...a happiness that is very hard to put into words...impossible to describe but obvious to see. I generally write when I am very happy or very sad. Now I write if I can find the time and feel the desire. I was going to write a blog post every day, but I am at a point where I no longer need or even want to. It's not like those who read it express the desire for me to continue...and that's fine with me. No hard feelings or hatred in my heart. Even for these creatures whether real or not. Whether they meant me harm or something else altogether. Perhaps some higher power protected me...I mean, almost anything is possible. Now I feel forgiveness, love and appreciation to take my next breath. Peace is finally with me since I moved here to Hua Hin, Thailand. This is my home now and I have no desire to move anywhere else. Yes, I will travel throughout the entire continent of Asia, but this will be my base. If you are ever in the neighbourhood, drop me a line and I will show you around. Hopefully, you too will fall in love with this beautiful country and its people. |
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