I have a lot to be thankful for. A lot more, perhaps, than I often may seem to have, given my childhood woes and my present-day financial strains. But I do have a lot to be truly thankful for this season.

As many of you know, both my parents were malignant narcissists. They only loved me, if it can even be called love, when I convenienced and/or glorified them. My mother's "love" for me consisted of aggressively seeking an Autism diagnosis for me from age 5 until well into my adulthood years. She never got that Autism diagnosis, thankfully, because as she probably never figured out, you don't order a diagnosis from a doctor and expect him to just give it to you like it was a Big Mac from a McDonald's Drive-Thru. I did get diagnosed with a littany of other things, though, which made me qualify for Social Security Disability Insurance when I was still a minor. And because my biological father died before I turned... 22, I think the cut-off age was, I also qualified for Surivor's Insurance through Social Security. The combined monies from both of these incomes gives me well over enough to survive and even have some creature comforts as well, month to month. So despite the things my mother did to get me diagnosed with Autism and to sabotage my ability to live a normal life, I have a steady and sufficient income to support my basic needs every month. The only reason I borrow a lot of the time is because I fuck my finances up in some way or another every so often.

My mother also made it an enormous point to go out of her way to go behind my back and tell potential landlords and employers that I was mentally ill... a highly illegal action, I might add, especially when the "child" she's saying this stuff on the behalf of is a fully grown adult in his 40's, who is his own legal guardian. You see, my mother loves to play the victim, as well as the eternally suffering mother of the disabled child whom she supposedly heroically and tirelessly takes care of, and everybody should stand back in awe of how oh, so awesome she is for having such patience and saintly love for her unfortunate and totally idiotic child.

Only, her child is only disabled enough to not be able to hold down a job, but he is still plenty able to handle his own finances, sign his own legal agreements, and be his own legal guardian, just like any other adult out there... and that really tears down my mother's delusions of grandeur. But more than that, it made me realize at an early age that I would need to escape from her clutches if I ever hoped to have a chance at becoming the adult that I wanted to be. Her abusive behavior, as well as the abusive behaviors of my step-father, were the main reason that I voluntarily entered the Mental Health system in Oregon. They offered me an apartment to move into, and by that time I had my monthly Social Security checks coming in that could more than cover the bills in low income housing, and I jumped at the chance to get out from under the roof of those two monsters that I call my parents.

But there's more I have to be thankful for. You see, I entered the Mental Health system voluntarily, and that means that I also had the full right to leave the Mental Health system whenever I wanted to. Of course, they didn't let me know that little tidbit and they had me on mind-altering "medications" for over 17 years that I had become dependent upon ("dependent upon" is a diplomatic and polite way of saying "addicted to"), so any attempts to leave would have been extremely difficult given how little I actually knew of my options at the time.

But lo and behold, I eventually got high speed Internet and access to several websites that explained my options to me... including a means of getting off my medications gradually known as "Titration." Titration is a gradual detoxification from an addictive substance by slowly lowering the doses until the patient is finally able to stop taking the drugs altogether. At the same time, I had had the unmitigated gall to sign up for a private Medicare Assistance Program which required me to see private psychiatrists. I say the unmitigated gall because that gave me options that I would never have been allowed to even consider while I was in the Public Health system. My new psychiatrist cautiously agreed to let me titrate down, and he eventually shook my hand and congratulated me on no longer needing the meds. My time with him done, and my time in Public Health done, I could move on... and indeed I had to, because my housing was provided to Public Health patients only. For the first time in my life, I was in charge of my own life, and I moved to Apache Junction, Arizona, in 2010. While I was there, I learned about my true self, came to terms with my spirituality, and battled the lingering effects of what little dependency I had left to the psychiatric drugs. I eventually ended up homeless, though, because my neighbors were horribly and obnoxiously loud, and the local police couldn't have cared less because they were severely corrupt. I ended up moving to Dayton, Ohio, for a few weeks, and then back to Oregon, where I dealt with my mother and step-father for a few months before the shit really hit the fan.

My parents decided at one point to buy me a new 25 foot long trailer to live in. They gave it to me as a gift, and they said that it had Black Mould but that my step-father, who had built apartments for a living in the 1960's and knew exactly how to properly deal with Black Mould, would get rid of it all and would make it livable. He worked on that trailer for about a month and a half, and finally I was able to move in. He started work on sealing the roof by preparing it with one of those fancy metal brooms that looks similar to a push broom but with all metal bristles. But before he could apply the white sealant, he and mother decided to take a long vacation in a drive across the country. The day they left, the rains came in and drenched the area. I had leaks all over the place, and on several occasions I tried and failed to stop up several of those leaks. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine what would happen next.

I started waking up in the middle of the night, wheezing and having to get up and step outside of the trailer to be able to breathe properly. This happened the next night as well, and the third day, I found out why when I tried to yet again fix one of the leaks, which was in my kitchen ceiling, where my step-father had told me that he had replaced the Mould-infested wood on that ceiling.

You see, the leak was coming from a vent in the roof, the type that in a travel trailer is supposed to be cranked open on a nice day to give the people inside some fresh air. Well, he hadn't completed his replacement of the necessary parts, and the original, highly brittle dome that covered that vent was still in place. The leak was coming in through that brittle piece of plastic... and dripping down through the vent hole itself... and right past the TWO layers of plywood that made up the kitchen ceiling. I checked further to see if maybe it was only one sheet, and realized that it was two because my step-father had hand-sawed the opening for that vent, and the cuts on the new sheet didn't match the cuts on the original sheet. I realized then that my step-father had merely covered up the black mould in that ceiling with a second sheet of plywood.

I quickly went around the rest of the interior of the trailer, and I found Black Mould everywhere, mainly inside cupboards and other storage areas, but also some sticky mould that was seeping through the cupboard doors and out onto the surface. The whole inside of the trailer was riddled with Black Mould. My parents were away on a long trip, and they had left just as the heavy rains had begun. My step-father the professional carpenter who knew exactly how dangerous Black Mould was and also exactly how to properly get rid of it, had merely covered it up. It was obvious what my parents had tried to do. I was heartbroken, because I knew then, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that my parents didn't love me at all, and that they in fact given me that trailer as a "gift" in the hopes that it would also kill me.

Luckily for me, I had been in contact with Leshpar, a friend who at the time lived in Texas (he has since moved to Washington State with his mate), and he invited me to move to Texas with him and his mate until I could find a place there. I sold the trailer for scrap, along with everything inside it, the buyer having full knowledge of the black mould inside it. I got maybe a hundred dollars for everything, but that didn't matter to me. It was off my hands and I was free to make my move. All I needed then was enough money for a Greyhound ticket to Dallas, and I'd be on my way. I was homeless in Portland, Oregon, for four days. I got my direct deposit from SSDI on Monday, October 3rd, 2011, and I bought myself a Greyhound ticket for that same day. Several days later, I arrived at the bus station in Arlington, TX, just a little ways from the baseball stadium there. I lived with Leshpar and his mate for three months, and then I found my own place. During that time, I ended up in the ER because of bronchitis, which the doctors agreed was likely caused by my exposure to the Black Mould in that trailer in Oregon.

Since September 30th, 2011, I have been No Contact with my monstrously narcissistic parents, and I have been thriving. I've since moved to a different apartment complex, I've become financially stable for the most part aside from the occasional goof-up and bed bug infestation that costs an arm and a leg to prepare for, but otherwise I am doing outstandingly good. I am my own man, I have food on my table, I have good friends who have shown me that my parents' behavior was not normal or loving, and quite frankly, I am alive despite my parents' efforts to kill me four years ago. I can't prove what they did to a court of law, because they're too good at covering their tracks and putting on the right face at just the right time, so I haven't even tried. But the single greatest thing I have to be thankful for is my life, which could have so easily been taken away because I had inconvenienced and refused to glorify my parents one too many times.

So I have an apartment, I have plenty of food, I have a steady income, and I have my life. I also have my soul name, my spirituality, and the knowledge that I am loved and that I have real friends in this world who love me for who I am, rather than what I can do for them. Despite how much others have victimized me over the years, I have a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 26th, 2015. And I am thankful, beyond words. Make no mistake about that.