Chapter 24: Ugly, Sick, Broke and Stupid

"Our very survival depends on our ability to stay awake, to adjust to new ideas, to remain vigilant, and to face the challenge of change."

— Martin Luther King, Jr.

As the first shadows of dawn clung to the rooftops, the Amazon van’s engine purred quietly. The heated cabin became a flickering refuge, and the faint vibrations of the diesel motor coursed through Alex’s nerves, igniting a fresh storm of racing thoughts. The name tag clipped to his vest—Muhammed Ali, an identity belonging to someone else—served as a constant reminder of how his own choices had led him here. A job made possible only with a borrowed identity stood as a harsh reminder that his daily decisions were misaligned with the actions he was taking. After suspension from Amazon for drug use, a free almost six weeks, felt like another soul-crushing isolation at home; desperation and inability to find a solution had driven him to this: working under borrowed credentials, thanks to friends who'd helped him slip through Amazon's back door after the system rejected him. His tongue traced the edges of his deteriorating dentures, a bittersweet monument to his impulsive decisions. Because of his deeply ingrained neurological fear his childhood, he couldn't think of any other way so he had all of his teeth replaced. That transformation at Germany's top dental clinic had cost him everything—his tax return, dream house in Lithuania and even his land, now collateral for his father-in-law's loan.

"You did this to yourself," said an internal voice, thick with self-loathing.  "Ugly, sick, broke and stupid," he whispered, his breath fogging the windshield in the cold morning air. "Every step, every decision, every shortcut—they were all yours to make." The implants were coming loose now, like everything else in his life, the adhesive failing just as his carefully constructed pretenses were crumbling. Each morning's ritual in front of the bathroom mirror, securing them, brought flashbacks of his former self—the man who had chosen to hide from cameras, who had spoken with a cupped hand over his mouth, who couldn't meet anyone's eyes and smile. This physical transformation few years ago had awakened something in his spirit, but at what cost? His newfound confidence came with a price tag that kept growing, a gift slowly revealing itself as a curse of his own making. Since he stopped the evening cannabis ritual—yet another escape he had consciously chosen—the returning sense of guilt became unbearable. It tangled with an insatiable hunger for knowledge that threatened to drive him mad: a lack of focus meant that everything he absorbed today was already lost by tomorrow.

Anatig watched with growing concern as he sank into nightly sound frequency experiments. Her worry slowly turned into resignation as she withdrew even further into herself. At midnight, Vilhelmas would find him surrounded by notes and borrowed books, quietly asking when father would finally go to sleep. Meanwhile, the light of his laptop downstairs in the living room would illuminate the entire room, casting shadows over the family photos, which more and more resembled artifacts from another life. Each new discovery pulled him deeper into his research while pushing them further away—a trade-off he recognized but seemed powerless to stop. Or perhaps, he admitted in his darker moments, his unwillingness to stop it.

The dashboard clock blinked 5:55 AM, and Alex confronted his daily mantras, each one a mirror reflecting his choices: UGLY wasn't just about his appearance anymore—it was about the ugliness of his decisions, the way he'd chosen to neglect himself and his responsibilities. By letting others dictate his choices and picking shortcuts instead of the right way.

SICK His illness wasn’t just self-proclaimed diagnoses—bipolar disorder, attention deficit, catecholaminergic imbalance, dyslexia, dyspraxia—but his habit of turning them into weapons. Trapped in a victim mentality, he became his own enemy: every failure was not his fault, but that of the world, people, fate, even God who punished him. He wielded his ailments as a shield, justifying why he failed, deliberately ignoring the tasks he had to complete. “Who does that?!” he’d scream at his reflection, and the answer was always the same: “Only narcissists and psychopaths!”

 BROKE wasn't just his financial landscape state that changed every 2 to 3 years, like a rollercoaster—it was the result of years of impulsive unconscious decisions and choosing quick fixes over sustainable solutions.

STUPIDITY wasn’t the mark of a dull mind—it was willful ignorance, a convenient lie he spoke to himself with soundless lips to drown out the uncomfortable truth. Each time he stood as a victim of circumstance at the crossroads of choice, staring into painful reality, he still chose comfortable deceit, as if closing his eyes to a storm and letting it sweep him into an even harsher crossroads.

Though the flood of information wrestled with Alex’s mind, long hours of audiobooks and research lit a beacon on his path to self-awareness, brightly illuminating the shadows of the surrounding world. Psychology, philosophy, and quantum physics were more than sciences to Alex—they became a mirror revealing patterns he, convinced of his role as a prisoner of circumstances, had long ignored. His bipolar disorder wasn’t mere mood fluctuations—it was a frenzied neurochemical dance, a duel of mania and depression in his body. His mind, scattered by hyperactivity, procrastinating tasks and failing to focus, wasn’t the fruit of laziness or a victim mentality—it was a habit, a storm tearing through the pages of his thoughts, reflecting the distinctiveness of his brain’s neurological processing, far from neurotypical. Dyslexia and dyspraxia, once blamed for his failures, were not obstacles but a childhood chaos of letters and movements, teaching him to navigate a unique labyrinth of thought. Alex began to comprehend the kinetic art of his own mind and the complexities of reality (if we can call it that) something that you create with your own thoughts. What you feed your mind with—that you become.

Drawing on the insights of Jung, Maslow, Peterson, Watts, Nietzsche, Feynman, Hawkins, and contemporary psychologists, neuroscientists, and astrophysicists, Alex began to awaken—like a traveler who, in the midst of a storm, finds a lighthouse guiding him toward a new horizon. The studies of narcissistic motives and psychopathic behavior struck Alex like thunder. He saw these traits not only in the faces of his family or the actions of those around him, but also in the mirror of his own soul: grandiose dreams carried by manic tides, manipulation tactics forged in despair, a desperate need to be seen and worshipped. His victim mentality—naive yet cunning—and the emotional wall, like an icy fog shrouding his heart, revealed a dual truth: some habits were inherited from childhood and environment, while others he had cultivated himself to shield against a painful reality.

“You’re here because you brought yourself here,” Alex reminded himself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Every choice, decision, and step—it all depended on you, and if you don’t like where or who you are, you can blame no one but yourself.” The truth settled heavily in his mind, chest, and gut, like ink swirling in a lava lamp, tormenting his emotions. Though the situation seemed hopeless, he felt it was something he could work with. Because if he chose the path to this point, he could also choose the path out.

Alex began to grasp what it meant to live with bipolar disorder—wandering a world where time fades and reality dances in storms of emotion. He realized that what matters is not what happens to him, but how he responds and what he does with it. This insight became the first tool in his hand, though he didn’t yet know how to wield it.

During manic phases, he was like a creator, his ideas pouring like a meteor shower, his energy flowing like an endless cosmos. But these highs came at a cost, inevitably collapsing into emptiness, where the world grayed, and his soul fell silent. Alex undeniably understood that these cycles, however powerful, were not uncontrollable. Something within them could be influenced. He didn’t know how, but he felt it: somewhere, there was a way—a method to slow, to pause, to transform.

Attention deficit, hyperactivity, dyslexia, and dyspraxia turned his thoughts into leaves scattered by a storm, letters into chaotic hieroglyphs obstructing his grasp of the world. But one moment, as deep musical tones of 528Hz resonated, Alex found his frequency, relaxing him to a point where he unconsciously began transferring the world onto paper. Writing, he felt chaos turn to meaning, his stories becoming a bridge connecting swirling thoughts. Then he understood: his power lay not in the absence of symptoms, but in his ability to manage them. Though the path was not entirely clear, he firmly resolved to seek ways, making creativity his first tool, and the act of weaving words became his quiet rebellion against fate—creation in place of collapse.

Despite his efforts, Alex had a side that simply slipped through his grasp. “What are you telling me? Why hide behind your diagnoses?” Anatig’s voice, laden with frustration, cut like a glass shard. “You always have an excuse!” Her words struck like a knockout blow, leaving Alex breathless. “It’s not an excuse,” Alex exhaled his thoughts, his voice cracking. “It’s my reality. I hoped you, of all people, would understand.”

“I’m really trying, Alex,” Anatig’s voice faltered, like a song broken mid-note. “But you’re like a shadow in your own world.” Their conversations turned into a bitter routine, words lingering like smoke, concealing pain that burned them both. Once, they were bound by Alex’s vulnerability—his raw confessions of chaos, his devotion, which Anatig saw as courage, while her empathy soothed his anxiety, and a sense of safety held firm. But now, that vulnerability, once their bond, had become an impassable abyss, separating them forever.

***

Alex knew that transforming his life meant transforming himself, so he dared to confront his limits. Two passionate thoughts blazed in his consciousness: to write a book, turning chaos into the alchemy of words, or to create a business that would embody his restless spirit of ideas. A book beckoned—writing, as he discovered through the harmony of 528Hz, was a bridge connecting his swirling thoughts. But dyslexia, turning letters into unreadable signs, and the book’s solitude, reminiscent of the chasm in his life, were, for now, too heavy obstacles. A business—AAGVI Ltd, uniting the initials of himself, his wife, and his son—became a sanctuary, promising redemption and structure for his hyperactive mind. In one moment, as manic energy pulsed, he chose the business. Search My Food was not just an idea but a vow—to remake himself, unite his family, and turn chaos into meaning, as he had done with words. During his Amazon delivery routes, amid monotonous doorsteps and endless steps in Wales, especially in the valleys where packages couldn’t be left below, his thoughts wandered to his own struggle to find specific dishes and recipes that met his needs. A gap emerged in the AI-driven Google search parameters, and in that gap, Alex saw opportunity. This idea consumed him; he truly began to believe in it with all his heart.

During breaks in his van, he'd frantically scribble notes on delivery receipts—features, user interfaces and marketing strategies. His phone became filled with voice notes recorded between deliveries, each one a piece of the puzzle he tried to assemble. The concept was clear—a personalized meal and recipe browser that would understand not just ingredients, but people's unique dietary needs and preferences. His purpose became his fuel: even racing through a 70-hour weekly marathon of deliveries, his energy surged like an untamed geyser.

When he first walked into the accelerator program in Wales, Alex felt like an impostor. The other entrepreneurs seemed to speak a language he was just beginning to learn. Terms like entrepreneurship, marketing plan, MVP, user acquisition and scalability floated around him like exotic birds. But despite his social anxiety screaming at him to retreat, he found something unexpected—acceptance.

The Welsh ICE accelerator team saw something beyond his awkward presentations and halting explanations to the potential beneath. They didn't mock his delivery driver background or his obvious nervousness. Instead, they offered guidance, patience, and most surprisingly to Alex, respect. However, this acceptance, rather than easing his anxiety, sometimes made it worse. He'd catch himself holding back in meetings, afraid that too much interaction would expose him as a fraud. "Your idea has merit," his mentor, Matthew, would say.  "I see your belief and burning desire to take action on that. See your next steps and act on it.''

His mentor’s words would echo in his mind during sleepless nights as he learned to code and market his platform, fighting against time, his own self-doubt, mental and physical exhaustion. The grueling schedule began to take its toll. His Amazon shifts started at 6 AM, the deliveries a blur of addresses and packages. After work, he'd rush to accelerator sessions, often still in his delivery uniform, trying to hide his exhaustion, smoking some of his magical plant and the medicine he prescribed to himself. 

Nights were spent learning coding through YouTube tutorials, his eyes burning as he struggled to understand database structures and user interfaces. The breaking point came during a crucial pitch meeting at a different startup accelerator. Alex had prepared meticulously, rehearsing his presentation in his van between deliveries. But he never got a chance to stand before the investors, as their polished appearances and scrutinizing gazes triggered every insecurity he'd been battling.  But whatever had prevented Alex from presenting his ideas had led him back to Welsh ICE. There, he faced a potential angel investor who mercilessly mocked his presentation and scorned Alex for failing to answer a technical question. In that moment, the echo of the investor’s laughter seemed to crystallize all the childhood taunts, adult rejections, and deep-seated doubts.

"The MVP needs significant work, not only drawn images on paper,” said the potential investor.  “Also, the market validation isn't there.  Where are your users?" all the while maintaining a nonchalant expression.  "Who are your clients?"

But, what Alex heard was different:

You don't belong here.

You're just a delivery driver playing entrepreneur.

Why don't you go back to where you belong?

The technical requirements for building a proper MVP became overwhelming. Between Amazon hours and dwindling finances, Alex couldn't dedicate the time needed to build the user base the investors wanted to see. Each day became a choice between earning money to survive or developing his burning dream. 

The unravelling began quietly, like most storms do.  His weak mind was stronger than ever and the emotional turmoil was getting out of control. His mind waged a relentless war against the tide of new habits and unfamiliar truths, each step forward met with a stubborn recoil that gnawed at him—a discomfort so raw, so piercing, it twisted into a physical ache, as if his very soul resisted being reshaped.

Not knowing or wanting to do the hard work, Alex couldn't distinguish what was real anymore. He knew it wasn't a fake idea, but internal turbulence was unbearable. His 36th birthday marked not celebration, but contemplation of ending it all completely. The authority of duties, responsibilities, and the relentless flood of new knowledge and realizations pressed upon him, each truth sharper than the last, until the pain grew so immense it became an unbearable torment, threatening to shatter his very core. Not realizing at the time that this was exactly what he needed to reveal his true I”.

The life insurance policy he purchased a few days prior, naming Anatig and Vilhelm as beneficiaries, was his idea of a final act of provision—a way to transform his perceived worthlessness into something of value when he would be no more.

September 10, 2016. The date burned into his consciousness. Behind the wheel of his delivery van, each route became an exercise in resistance—fighting the urge to accelerate into concrete walls, transforming every highway barrier into a potential ending. His thoughts spiraled between self-disgust and desperate rationalization. The tears streamed down his cheeks.  "What am I good at? What does the world need?  And why I am doing something I can't fully grasp'' These questions haunted him, their answers lost in the void of depression. The mockery from investors, the strain of financial failure, inability to absorb new information, the stress of Anatig's disappointment, Vilhelm's distance and fear of his father—it all converged into a suffocating mass of misery. And yet something held him back. Perhaps it was Vilhelm's face in his mind, or maybe the stubborn flare of hope that refused to die. Whatever it was, it kept his foot on the brake, his van on course, and his story continuing.

Chris, the Italian IT developer from his connections at Accelerator, presented Alex with a project and expressed interest in working on his with Alex.  It felt like both salvation and surrender. Chris didn't just see the business potential, he also saw the human need the platform could address.  Alex’s technical expertise brought the first real working application of Search My Food to life. He took a gamble bet all of his finances on the project.  But the real challenge wasn't building the platform—it was finding users willing to test it. And one step at a time, Alex's schedule became his prison. Five days of Amazon deliveries left him only weekends to chase potential customers. Saturday mornings found him haunting local food markets, awkwardly approaching restaurant vendors with his pitch, his delivery-weary body again running on caffeine and desperation. Nobody wanted to sign up, even for free.

Sundays were spent on marketing strategies, sending unanswered emails to restaurants and food bloggers, each silence was feeding his growing anxiety. "You need professional marketing," Chris suggested during one of their development meetings. "The platform is almost ready, but without users, it's just expensive code."

The marketing company's pitch was slick, their promises intoxicating, and they were well known among the hospitality network in South Wales. They spoke of social media campaigns, influencer partnerships and viral growth potential. Alex maxed out his last credit card to hire them, ignoring the knot in his stomach that warned him this was a mistake. Their monthly reports were filled with impressive-sounding metrics, but empty of actual users and promised clientele. Each week, they demanded more money for the advertising budget, while delivering nothing but excuses. "We're building brand awareness," they assured him in emails that became increasingly defensive. "These things take time."

But time was the one thing Alex didn't have. His credit cards were maxed out and the marketing company's invoices had drained his final financial reserves to the brink of no return. The platform Chris had built sat like a ghost town—beautiful, functional and only two real Italian restaurants that Alex convinced to sign up—along with 40,000 restaurants detailed references, database which Alex bought of the network developers.  And this…just NEEDED to survive. During one particularly dark Sunday evening, as Alex reviewed the marketing company's latest report of meaningless engagement statistics, the reality of his situation hit him: he'd built a platform with no customers and spent everything he had. The marketing guy sent his assistant when Alex demanded answers. And on top of everything, Alex left Amazon naively thinking it was the right time to expand his engagement with restaurant routines—got two jobs, one at Five Guys burger chain and another as a delivery guy for a food delivery company called "Deliveroo.'' Alex thought the delivery job would be a gateway into onboarding more clients.

The fatal flaw in Alex's entrepreneurial dream wasn't just his inability to manage time, responsibly planning and executing—it was his inability and desperate gamble with his family's financial security. What brought a new revelation of his mounting failure? The marketing company he'd hired hadn't just drained his resources; they'd accelerated his descent into financial annihilation. The cruel irony wasn't lost on him: he'd created a platform to help people find their favorite food while his own family's grocery budget dwindled to nothing.

Almost two years later the morning came, staring at his bank account, the reality hit him like a physical blow—he couldn't even make a single loan payment. His dream of Search My Food had reached a devastating standstill. A scheduled meeting with a potential advisor and renowned Welsh investor, the gravity of Alex’s perceived inadequacy, crushed his resolve. Self-doubt won the battle, and he canceled the meeting at the last minute, his fingers trembling as he sent the cancellation email to Wels ICE admins. In that moment of clarity—or perhaps surrender—he reached out to Chris. "Do you want to buy Search My Food?" The words felt like shattered glass in his mouth. 

The sale price of one British pound was symbolic, a token amount that represented the death of his entrepreneurial dreams. As he signed the digital transfer document, Alex felt an odd mixture of relief and devastating loss, like amputating a limb to save his life. He never returned to the Welsh ICE accelerator, never visited another restaurant for his platform. The toll of his failures—his inability to multitask, manage time, and control his emotions—had finally broken him. His negative thought patterns and ignorance continued to shape his life, leading to yet another loss when his position at Five Guys' Cardiff Bay ended abruptly.

The breaking point came when an uneducated manager began mocking his sexuality, mistaking his newly discovered gentle nature for weakness. When Alex finally stood up for himself, asserting his boundaries, the situation exploded. Though he had evidence of their discrimination on his phone and considered legal action, he chose to walk away without a word, too exhausted to fight another battle. Left with just one job now, delivering food himself and sinking deeper into depression and looming financial bankruptcy. Despite everything, Alex found a fading ember of strength to dare a new beginning. It wasn’t hope—it was a stubborn rebellion against the story’s end others imposed on him.

NEXT WEEK! Chapter 25 : Losing Control – Cannabis, Divorce, and Gangs

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