Genealogy

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction this may be a confusing read. no AI written content

Good evening, good afternoon, wherever you are, fellow humanoids or extraterrestrials, or inter dimensional beings, whomever or whatever you are, hello and welcome to my blog.

Well, it has been quite a weekend and quite a few amazing days to start the week with. Yes, things have been quite hectic this week and this weekend, to be honest with you all. I have been doing in depth family tree research witch was absolutely draining and now I am paying for using up all my spoons, The brain fog has started to creep in, the pins and needles. Yes, everything is going. Slightly haywire. It looks as though I'm going to have to this afternoon, going to a dark room with no sound and just lie down. And I think that's going to be it for a while, as I can't see myself doing anything when I'm feeling like this. Still, unfortunately I'm going to have to keep this short, so sending everybody out there peace healing, love and light. And remember, a nothing burger could be UAP / UFO disclosure. We might not know for a while, but when we do, that might be quite interesting. Stay well everybody. until next time...

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

So, my dad’s finally passed. No tears, no fuss just a nice, quiet obliteration. Dead as yesterday’s news, and honestly, a bit of relief: nearly 90, more aches and pains than a used Vauxhall, and now he’s ghosting about pain-free, probably giving the afterlife staff hell.

We didn’t have the typical family drama. We had 1,000s of miles of Skype buffering, WhatsApp conspiracy theories, and two decades of gene-detective work, chasing dead brothers and rejected half-sisters like a couple of Poirots. No “happy endings,” just hard drive clutter and unanswered emails. Dad’s long lost brother Eric? Still a ghost in the records. Maybe he’s haunting someone else’s family tree now.

Adoption, by the way, is a real bastard if you want answers. You end up playing Guess Who with a stack of birth certificates and the emotional stability of a tired magpie. We even signed up for a DNA site hoping for a ping, maybe a new cousin or two. Instead, plot twist: I found out I have a daughter in the USA (cheers, genetic lottery), plus three grandkids who were expecting a Disney dad, not some knackered old biker in a wheelchair with a line in gallows humour. Fair play to them they ran for the hills.

What can I say? MS turned me from “not bad for a weird bloke” to “the goblin on wheels who says the quiet part loud.” No more Mr. Nice Guy. People don’t like raw truth especially family. Most of them would rather pretend I’m a ghost, too. That’s fine by me. I’m not here to collect friends like tea towels. I’ve got Albertine, a rescue dog on the way, and enough old stories to fill a thousand pub sessions. If that’s not a win, what is?

Mum’s funeral? Missed it. No invite, no closure, just another adoption special “Sorry mate, she’s gone. By the way, don’t come round.” Classic. Different’s never sat well with the clan. The looks I get are priceless; I could sell tickets.

So here’s to my dad spiritualist elder, late bloomer, stubborn bugger, and the reason I know the truth always tastes better with a dash of venom and a twist of disbelief. Rest easy, you old bastard. I’ll keep riding (even if it’s just in my head).

Life’s a circus, death’s the punchline, and I’m still here, loving every bit of the weirdness.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.