Following my father’s death in 2020, I recognized that had it been me that died of COVID-19, I would’ve done so feeling unfulfilled in this lifetime.
When I quit my job last August, I explained to my mother that I was investing in time, which she refused to comprehend. Instead she barraged me with questions about bills, COBRA, and savings. To which I explained that if I assumed a lack mindset like her I’d only be stealing from the time I was investing in by worrying about money.
In response, my mother said she’d cry herself to sleep with worry, which only made me laugh. This coming from a woman who could go months without talking to me and years without seeing me when my dad was alive.
Shortly after that I saw a significant drop in my viewership on social media. With platforms that have audiences in the billions, I was only reaching a few hundred, which was a stark difference when compared to the thousands I was initially able to reach.
As of this post, my viewership on TikTok has been reduced to 25 views on a good day. While I continue to be ignored by most everyone in my life and haven’t grown my audience, I’m proud that I didn’t give up on myself. Had I conceded to my mother and her paid minions, I likely would’ve never uncovered the why behind the attacks. I would’ve never remembered the gay conversion therapy I endured at the hands of my mother at 7 nor the inheritance my Grandpa Joe left me to offset her selfish, narcissistic behavior.
While the goal was to provoke and traffic me, I remained patient and focused on the job at hand. Glad I did. Had I lashed out and gotten angry due to my circumstances, I would’ve only fulfilled the narrative my mother has been pimping since 1978, one in which I am a delusional menace to society that needs to be locked up, and she is a saint forever burdened by her insensitive, troubled son.
In this life we each have the choice to seek validation or fulfillment. At a minimum, I’d like the record to show I chose the latter.
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