Clearly no one cares, but, as always, I find writing is a little therapeutic for me. When life gets me down more than I can handle I’ve reached out for help from both “friends” and mental health organizations like the Enrichment Centre here in town and others, but nobody responds. Healthcare in general is a total mess right now in Canada, but mental health is by far the worst. People are waiting months for desperately needed appointments. Sad.
As I have said in other life reflection posts I feel totally trapped here in Belleville and feel like I am just waiting to die, which, thanks to my apparently not so urgent medical issue, might be closer than I think. It’s now been a year since the doctor at the walk-in clinic supposedly gave me an “urgent” referral to a neurologist in Kingston but I haven’t heard a word yet. As is said, too much analysis is paralysis, so I’ve stopped researching why you go to a neurologist. There’s no simple reasons. All of them are downright scary.
No question that Belleville is the very last place I ever thought I would live. Many years ago I ended up here after things didn’t work out for me in Ecuador and my friend, Heather, a former employee of decades ago, offered to let me stay at her son’s house outside of town which was under renovation and she thought based on my years of renovating several houses that I could help him. That turned into a total disaster when the pellet stove he installed failed and I froze my ass off for several days. I ended up breaking down in tears at the Salvation Army and they managed to get me into a group home. Yet another disaster.
After far too long I managed to get into another group home, this one run by All-Together Housing, where I met the President, Bob Cottrell, which was the start of a years long relationship. Back in 2017 when my time was about up at the group home, plus my rent for my room went up a hundred dollars, plus I now had an absurd amount on my credit card, I made the decision to give Mexico a try. Although it sure was an adventure, including falling in love with the love of my life and getting engaged, it was yet another disaster when I lost one of my pensions, about a third of my limited income, I couldn’t afford my very expensive medications, and I got dumped by text message and she married my best friend, who had money, way more than I did. I was forced back to Canada and tried to go back to the Okanagan where I had spent fourteen wonderful years, but it proved impossible to find anywhere affordable to live and I had no choice but to return to Belleville.
When I lived here before I found several good friends, but things have sure changed now. One was a guy I lived with at the last group home. We did a lot together, like going out for dinner, going to the show, visiting parks in the area, and going to Kingston several weekends, but when I came back he had moved to Winnipeg. Although I don’t remember where I met her, Doral was a good friend when I first came here. We used to go every Saturday to the Trenton Legion to see the bands. I helped her at her trailer north of town many times. We worked the Elvis Festival in Tweed. We helped a buddy move. We went to the casino for breakfast a few times with another good friend, Kate, all before the virus shut everything down. When I came back from Mexico the bus from Toronto dropped me off miles out of town and I was panicking. I called Doral and she was kind enough to pick me up and rescue me. I called for emergency housing and she got me connected to take a cab to Trenton to stay in a motel for the night. After that I barely ever see her other than once in a while at dances here. She won’t take me to Trenton for some reason and has nothing to do with me anymore. It’s the same with Kate who has been a dance partner for some eight years now, but she has abandoned me as well. I also met Jassmin and we went to Cheap Tuesdays at the movies. I bought the tickets and she gave me a ride, but she too has stopped responding to my messages. With all these “friends” I don’t know if I’ve done something to upset them and have no clue why they’ve dropped me.
I don’t know if it’s a post COVID thing or me, but people seem to be a lot less friendly now than they used to be. I’m in the Quinte Singles group which has close to eight hundred members now, but they don’t come out to any of the events. A recent corn roast/pot luck event only had twenty-four people show up. There’s a dance coming up soon so hopefully lots of members will show up.
For me the summer has been a total disaster. Not only have I never been to a dance in Trenton because Doral won’t give me a ride anymore, but I can’t get a ride to anything. There’s been some great bands playing at the casino Friday nights, but the last bus home is at 9:40 so I miss most of it. One of the bands that I built a website for, Back Swing, was there recently but I couldn’t go. There’s also great concerts at the Lions Pavilion at West Zwick park, called Concerts On the Bay, every Wednesday and Sunday nights, but the buses don’t even go there so I’ve not been to one concert. I’ve never been anywhere near a beach this summer. Never been to Kingston on the weekends. Even the Saturday night dances at the ANAF club are impossible because the buses don’t run on Saturday nights and it’s impossible to get a cab even if I could afford it, which I can’t.
Hard as I try my website business, something I’ve done for decades and in many countries, has failed to make a dime. What I used to get four or five hundred dollars for is now down to a hundred and twenty-nine dollars and I do a lot more work for it, like registering the domain name, building a much more complicated website, and free hosting. I did build a couple of band sites for even less money. I also invested about three thousand dollars worth of time building out one of the most complicated sites ever, my mistake, yes, but the client turned out to be an idiot and ended it just insulting me.
Life is certainly not good now. I did just manage to connect with my son from another mother to tell him about my health issue because it might affect him someday. His mother told me never to contact him again but I felt I had an obligation to let him know because he is my biological son and he thanked me and asked me to keep him posted so I will.
As much as I would be giving up on ever seeing my kids or grandkids before I die, I still wish I could go back to Mexico to live out what’s left of my life. My dear friend, Annie, said she would marry me so I can stay in Mexico, but I would again lose one of my pensions when I am out of the country for more than six months and I could never afford my diabetic medications, which are free here in Canada. I told Annie that if my eventual diagnosis with the neurologist is fatal I will sell everything and come back to live out what’s left of my life with her and her wonderful family.
Should anyone care, stay tuned.