This is a sad, sad story I can't wait any longer to tell. Turn away now if you are the sensitive type. Because I'm angry and I cannot keep this inside any longer.
12 months ago I took a trip to Bali, Indonesia to clear my mind and stay at my first coliving spot in Ubud. I went because I was working 60 hours a week and completely depressed after a polyamorous girl I was seeing decided she didn't want me.
After returning to the States from Bali I decided island life was more my speed and sold all of my stuff to Become a Digital Nomad in Bali. Getting rid of everything I used to own after quitting my job was easy—it only took two months before I moved back to Bali.
The hardest part of moving was trying to figure out what to do with my cats: two beautiful Ragdolls I raised from 12 weeks each—they were the light of my life. And though parting with them was hard, I was fortunate to find a friend to foster them temporarily while I figured out a way to smuggle them to Island of the Gods.
Once I got settled in I spent 12-14 hours a day working for the first 8 months yet still struggled to find work as a freelancer. I had a really bad client who tried to take $5,000 from me by reversing a payment they'd made months beforehand on PayPal.
As if trying to bootstrap myself after quitting my job, learning to integrate with a new culture, handling the anxiety of finding a way to move my cats and proving to PayPal why they were not allowed to just make $5,000 disappear from my account wasn't hard enough, my cat foster told me he was moving in with his girlfriend and couldn't care for my kitties any longer. I didn't know what to do so I did the only thing I could think of. I called my dad.
I didn't know what to do so I did the only thing I could think of. I called my dad.
My father agreed to take the cats but told me I had exactly two months to get them off his hands—or else. So there I was, broke as fuck trying to make it on my own with a ticking time bomb bestowed upon me by one of the only people in my life I thought I could rely upon.
I researched like crazy and once I found out the bill to get the cats to Bali was going to cost me about $4,000 (most on the US side) I started scrambling to find ways to make money. I knew I didn't want to find myself in another negative situation with a client so I did the only thing which made sense to me—learn how to trade cryptocurrency.
So I fought to overcome my fear of Bitcoin and just created a goddamn wallet with Coinbase. Only I fucked up making it and it had me pegged to Indonesia even though I'm a US citizen. And because I was in Indonesia Coinbase would not let me invest a dime.
I contacted my father who agreed to open a Coinbase account himself and I transferred him what little money I had left in my bank account. I sent him $500 after he purchased some Bitcoin right before the Aug 1 hard fork. I timed it because I knew how forks worked and I was confident it would make money.
And it did make money!! Only I never saw it because my father decided he was going to hold my cryptos until I got the cats out of his house. This was exactly 7 days after the two months were up. He fucking had me! Like a caged animal I did the only thing caged animals do and I went apeshit psycho on that motherfucker over Snapchat.
I went apeshit psycho on that motherfucker over Snapchat.
That's when my dad started fucking with my head. He told me via email I would never see any inheritance, that he didn't have a son and started telling my family members he believed I was using cryptocurrency to buy drugs in Indonesia.
I was devastated... I couldn't work for 2 weeks. I just moped around brooding and projecting at people who didn't deserve it. I was so distraught I even tried closing my Gmail account but couldn't focus enough to do it right. Then my dad threatened to have my cats put in a shelter if I didn't do something soon. I called family and friends and no one would help me.
I called family and friends and no one would help me.
Who would want to help someone who's using cryptocurrency to buy drugs, right? FML. So I contacted the police department in my father's hometown of Westmont, Illinois and had them do a wellness check on my cats after my father refused to give me updates about their wellbeing.
Then my mom, who has terrible asthma, and her husband (my step-father, the one who raised me and just found out he has cancer) came through to save the day. They took my two Ragdolls from my fucking douchebag cocksucking motherfucking lame excuse for a dad and gave me just enough peace so I could focus on my work and trying to scrape together enough money to get my cats moved to where I live now—a $180/month apartment in Bali.
Even after the cats were out of his possession my father kept my money and the $500 I've made on the returns I made on the pre-fork investment call—said he'd never give it to me. Well you know what. Fuck that guy. That's not a father. That's a phony! A fake. A fucker.
Thankfully both of my babies are safe now, and out of the thieves evil clutches. Fucking bastard father.
