It’s been twelve years since I was fired and accepted disability retirement, and in that time I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve become more assertive and more discerning about which friendships are worth holding onto and which ones are better left behind. It’s not that I want to end any friendship, but when something turns toxic, it’s not healthy for either person.
Back in 2015, I met someone I thought would be a real friend — a guy named Cody. Now Cody came from a gang background, and he latched onto me partly because I knew tech, but also because of my faith. He claimed to be a Christian, but I never saw much of the fruit of the Spirit in him. He had that tough street attitude, the kind that doesn’t mix well with humility.
Cody was also a blind gangbanger — which, let’s be honest, is something you don’t hear every day. I knew him for about six months before the truth started showing. He was a womanizer, juggling multiple girlfriends, treating each one like she was the only one—until they cheated on him. Funny how he couldn’t handle it when the shoe was on the other foot.
When he left to be with some woman in Michigan, one of his exes told me flat out that Cody never saw me as a friend. He was using me for his rap career. That stung, but it also opened my eyes. Ironically, that same woman and I stayed friends for about three years after he left. We even tried a long-distance relationship for a while, but… you know how those go. They rarely last. Eventually, she found someone better suited for her, and I wished her well.
Around that same time, a woman named Leanne moved in. We dated for about a year and a half, and I truly loved her. She was an answer to a prayer I’d made the night before my birthday — I told God, “I don’t want to die a virgin.” Well, sometimes God gives us what we want just to show us it’s not what we need.
Leanne was a Seventh-day Adventist, and I’m not knocking anyone’s denomination, but they’ve got a lot of rules about food — no pork, no shellfish, none of what they call “unclean” foods. She’d get on me about eating bacon one too many times, and I finally said, “Leanne, Romans 14:14 says, ‘As for me, I am sure that we may eat any kind of food. God does not think that any food is unclean.’”
She looked surprised and said, “Wait, it says that?”195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTHqSoOwJb2
“Yep,” I said. “We’re not under the old law. We’re under grace.”195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFQR2SpM0Ts
“Well,” she said, “we’re under the law too.”195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdZW1dD94S4
I just smiled and said, “Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
But honestly, I was paying two-thirds of her rent out of kindness because she’d lost part of her income from her father’s annuity. I wanted to help. Had she lived through COVID, she would’ve gotten that money back after the laws changed. But I digress.
Eventually, our relationship soured. She started making little snide remarks after she moved into a rehab home. One day she called and said, “You don’t need to be playing Minecraft — you should be sitting in a room like me with nothing to do.”
That one hit me deep. I said, “Leanne, that’s cold — even for you. Why would you wish that on anyone, especially if you claim to be a Christian? Is that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness? No. That’s just you wishing misery on someone else.”
And that was the end. I still cared about her, but I knew the relationship was toxic. Sometimes love isn’t enough to save something that’s eating away at your spirit.195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIKa5ga0Noi
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Leanne was evicted, and Miles told her she needed to come get her stuff. She had this smart TV, and I said, “Leanne, let’s swap TVs. I’d rather my old one get thrown out than your nice one.” Truth was, she couldn’t really use the smart features anyway; the interface was too complicated, even with the built-in screen reader. So, we swapped, and Miles helped set it up.
Later on, she made another snide remark, and that was it for me — all those lovey-dovey feelings I had for her were gone. I told her straight up, “As boyfriend and girlfriend, we’re done.” She said, “Fine. I want my TV back.”
I said, “Leanne, no. You agreed to the swap, and it wasn’t contingent on you getting it back. Besides, I consider it payment for helping you out — not that I even wanted payment, but your attitude made me realize maybe we should just go our separate ways.”
We still talked, but not as often. After that, I had a short fling with a high school sweetheart — Lizzy. I loved her, and she loved me, but she lived in a privately run group home. Deep down, I knew she could never move to the Bell Home, so it wasn’t meant to be.
Leanne passed away in February 2020, right before COVID was officially discovered. I think she might’ve had it, honestly — she’d mentioned having cold symptoms in an email. I still cared about her, but I knew we were never getting back together.
In 2019, both MIles and Holleyretired from the Bell Home — director and assistant director. Pastor Dave took over, which was a breath of fresh air compared to before. Where Miles ran things by law, Pastor Dave runs by grace — though if someone takes advantage of that grace too long, he’s not afraid to drop the hammer. He’s not a man who angers easily; most things roll off him like water off a duck’s back. Honestly, he’s one of the most Christ-like people I know.
In February 2020, Pastor Dave called me into his office. “You knew Leanne Carey, right?” he asked.195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqrKLg4BQAh
I said, “Yes.”195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL98LqEFvYW
He nodded softly and said, “She was found dead last week, buddy.”
He was kind, gentle, and full of empathy — calm in a way that filled the whole room.
That same year, the love of my life, Rose, walked into my world. By June, we were dating. The next three years through COVID were rough, but we made it through together.
In 2023, I actually caught COVID myself — first and only time. It happened after I went to the Indiana School for the Blind alumni convention, weirdly held in winter that year. I came back with a case of COVID and bedbugs. I was lying there, itching and feverish, thinking, “Well, this is just great.” Pastor Dave realized how bad it was, and Mom took me home. A test confirmed it — positive.
I spent nearly a month recovering at Grandma and Grandpa’s before I finally tested negative. When I got back, I showed Pastor Dave the paper, and he smiled. “Welcome back, bud. People were asking about you.”
My doctor had even sent a prescription for Paxlovid across state lines, and Grandpa paid for it in full — bless that man.
In 2024, I bought a refurbished PC instead of saving for a new one. Six months later, the graphics card broke — right around the Bell Home’s centennial celebration. Then in November, it broke again. So, I switched back to the Mac for the rest of the year.
Finally, by March this year, I’d saved enough to buy what I really wanted.
Back in 2023, I’d made a friend online named Lennon — an atheist and a homosexual. But I looked past that; I hoped maybe, with time, I could help him see God’s love. Things went sour, though. One morning, he wanted me to listen to only his side of a story, and I said, “I can’t do that, Lennon.”
He said, “Then I can’t trust you.”195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2Nc1YnhX5U
And I said, “If you can’t trust me, why are we even friends?”
That was the end of it. I blocked him and stopped playing on the Minecraft server we’d shared. I still miss him sometimes, but it’s not worth the toxicity.
Funny enough, he once told me, “All AMD users are jerks.” Well, call me a jerk, because on my next PC, I bought the graphics card I wanted — and I love it.
Rose and I have now been together five years. Even after her stroke and everything she’s been through, I still love her. I still cherish her. I still want to marry her.
Life’s not perfect, but it’s good. I know who I am — and Whose I am — through Christ. And for that, I’m thankful.
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and then Add to home screen.