Writing my Mother from Jail.  At least I can laugh about it, I laughed out loud as I read that on the screen while typing.  Please bear in mind, by this time, I had several interruptions in writing and my thumb wanted to fall off as I am not used to a pen and paper.  It's been 20 years for the most part.

October 14th, 2017

To my Mother, 

Interesting, this lawyer who I have.  One I met through work, he knew of certain relatives.  Funny, he never asked until today.  I should have been quicker to realize why he was asking.  My Father and his Brothers.  They were well known at one time.

Speaking of my Father, it dawned on me the other night.  I was surprised that it took so long.  Dad always said I would miss him after he was gone.  That I do.   I miss him terribly.  Not for all the things he would do, but for who he was.  The other night, 27 days in here, I realized that if dad was around, he would be doing everything he could to get me out of here.  That was my dad.

Where is my Mother?  My codependent as Lisa used to call you as she suggested that I declare you as a dependent on my income taxes.  Oh yes, that is where my mother is, under the influence of Jim Berladyn and Lisa Palmer (Berladyn).  The same people who plotted and manipulated this situation to begin with.

The same ones who made the threats.  The ones gloating and celebrating my destruction.  The same ones my Mother fears going against.  Of course, my Mother would never admit to such, even if not doing so kills her youngest Son.

I made mistakes, before the Port Moody Police decided that I shouldn't live in my home any longer, perhaps a week before they arrested and threw me out on what would eventually be a 'Fear of Injury' charge, you came to me all alone in the garage.  You were helpless, powerless against the dynamics of the Police and your most manipulative kids.  You wanted my attention to talk and resolve things.  Boy did I never expect that to be the last time in my life.  I was on the phone...  I was stupid.

The same thing when I dropped my entire life off or at least what is left of it.  I should have talked to you.  I didn't because I could clearly see you were on the phone reporting every move to whom I expected was my sister.  I should have spoke to you.  Who knows this System, this letter - this might be the last time, if you even get it.

A Judge recently said life is not fair before going on about rekindling a relationship and forgiving you later on.  That Judge has no idea how many times I have swallowed that poison pill, accepted things and made the best of them.  Honestly, neither do you.

Make no mistake, this is Murder.  I realized something the other day.  It is not entirely your fault.  Jim and Lisa convinced you to do this.  Then, misguided and Self-Servingly the Police joined in.  Jim did that.  My blood is on all of your hands.  Jim used to laugh this day would come, that I would never recover.  Like it was funny to see a Family Member suffer.

Anyways, I was wrong.  I had too much going on, losing work because of those women I rented from, they were not good people.  Evicting me and likely about to steal my things like they did to others.  Then there was the emotions of being home after everything.  I didn't see it coming, I am too dumb.

Even though I knew Lisa was controlling you, I should have spoke to you.  I should have never of given everyone the chance.  I will never get up anywhere else but home.  All those people you think will help me, they will only continue to murder me.  Bureaucracy, Red Tape, Appointments.  All things I do not need.  All I need is my home that my Mother has been tricked into denying.

What a complete Fraud.  Denying someone the Right to Life and then pretending that they are the problem.  You have no idea how disgusting this is.  I do not want to blame you, but you have been convinced to kill your own Son.  Furthermore, all those people error in helping you justify it.

If I was to live, I would need to come home.  All of these problems stem from Jim and Lisa.  The Police should have just shot me in February 2016.  It would have been easier and hurt less.  Please at least protect my property.

Your Dying Son

Perhaps a little much in signing off, but it is the truth.  I don't know how many Mother's have Son's write them like this.  Admittingly, it would have been better written on a keyboard.  This was mailed, not to my mother, but to someone else, specifically instructing that although there are no conditions restricting her receiving such, I am not asking him to deliver it, only to accept it.  I actually do not know what he would do with it, but he has known me all of my life.