My life has NEVER fully recovered from what happened halfway through in my 36th year: 1/31/99. I was gaybashed, and lost all my hard-won autonomy. Despite all my hard work at recovery, my Trustees won’t return active control of my finances to me. I’’ve NEVER asked for nor wanted full control of my wealth; but right now they , by their actions, trust Butch more than me; which is just fucked up. They still don’t see fit to give me a credit card, backed up by the Trust, W HICH I MAY. USE FOR TRAVELLING and for keeping my cognitive gym up to date. My iPad’s been dead for over a year now so reading is limited or not possible; same with writing, so I dion’t even try anymore. I live in poorly painted public housing; I have to have a roach infestation or presence cleared up, every week.
Arguing for my independence with my trust lords has gotten really old, really fast. See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears: all my money is in a special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees: Gil Roth and Peter Johnson. Gil, I’ve been friends with since St. John’s. Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow. Nighty-night.
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