Okay, I'm at the Dallas Library at the moment because I'm currently forced to live at the Salvation Army as the last portion of my "plea bargain" before I am relatively free under the scrutiny of probation.
Early last year about February/March 25 2014, I ... I faced some very exceptional circumstances. Me and my stoner friends adopted a new guy who came into town. he was tall, blonde, blue-eyed, cool, and friendly as hell. He would bring over excellent weed to share and he quickly became a welcomed and popular addition. One by one though, my friends stopped coming around as often and rumors of meth use emerged. Before I knew it, I was sitting all alone in the dark of my room again.
He had convinced one of the weaker members to get a trailer behind the DQ. He helped pay for bills and kept the drugs coming. He effectively set up a drug den and had captured all my friends. I went there to save them. I tried to appeal to what was left of their free wills to try and get them to come back. The drug pusher shows up and whips out some meth. I continued to speak out against what was going on. He said "If you're not going to smoke, then you need to leave." I got up to leave and he suddenly changed tone. He yelled at me, "Sit down! Now put it to your lips..." He was armed with a .38 snub-nosed revolver and a tech-knife box cutter. I didn't feel like getting shot or stabbed...
I "over-amped" and went into a seizure. They dumped me off in my bed at home and when I woke up the next day I didn't remember anything that happened. I thought it was weird that I fell asleep in my clothes, didn't remember going to sleep, and woke up feeling like a million bucks. Over the next few days in which I still do not remember if I slept... I noticed I was chitty-chattery more than usual and felt a little skitzy. About 3-4 days later I started crashing and I felt a surge of depression like I'd never felt before... and you know me, I've dealt with long term chronic depression most of my life. I was bat shit out of my mind too. All the worst of my quirky insanities were magnified a thousand fold and I was truly insane.
Our home had been without electricity for a month, as some of you may recall from my last few journals leading up to this all. We had no hot water or anything really. My dad came home the morning of the ~22-23?? from working at the donut shop. He started bitching at me to do dishes by hand with no hot water or good soap of decent scrub pads. I snapped. I beat the shit out of him. He wasn't bleeding, no black-eyes or knocked out teeth, no broken nose... I just duced him up around the chin and throttled him violently for about 20 minutes as we rolled around into the front yard where he eventually made a run for the neighbor's house.
Standing there in pure despair, torment, anxiety, and pain... I looked back at the house, a place I associated with pain and told myself I would do anything ... ANYTHING to not have to go back to that life... alone in the dark. I burned that motherfucker to the foundation; A 100 year family estate, gone. There was a point when i stood in the middle of the house and turned a 360 to see every room in a blazing inferno and I knew, truly, that I was in Hell.
I got taken to the hospital. I spent three days in ICU for smoke inhalation. They had people come and talk to me, none of which had much more than an ounce or two of brain capacity. They asked me how I wanted the situation to be handled despite I was clearly not in a state of mind to make such a decision for myself and my mental records should have clued them in. At the time I was afraid they were going to lock me in a mental ward and throw away the key, so I chose the criminal system; Genius right?
So... I sat in county/state jail for ~7 months total because my court date kept getting pushed back and my attorney was kind of an idiot who didn't seem to be putting much effort into my case. I took the "plea bargain" instead of fighting a case that carried 2-25 years of prison. I was sentenced to S.A.F.P.F. for 9 months. If you don't know what that is, neither did I at the time. The prosecutor told me it was a mental health facility. HE FUCKING LIED! It was a penal colony for drug addicts and alcoholics. It was a retarded series of pointless programs that yielded, on average, an 80% relapse rate in clients. Those are terrible stats and all such facilities should be immediately shut down for the sake of tax payers. I started off at a 6 month facility (The Johnston Unit). I told them repeatedly that I was a special needs client and needed psyche meds. It took them 4 months to process that tidbit and ultimately I got moved to Jester-1 which was a 9 months facility. It was a bit better there, but it really wasn't helping anyone either. Now I'm at Salvation Army (a "Half-way house") for 3 more months before these assholes will let me go.
I've been able to get several teeth pulled, but other than that, no SSI or any real help with anything. TDCJ is my new enemy as are all units of the S.A.F.P.F. program.
You guys remember all those FEMA camps that got commissioned with razor-wire around them and plastic containers? Yeah... this is what they turned them into. ... God help me. Now I'm in the Texas Criminal System and this probation bullshit may be used as something far more nefarious than simply keeping an eye on me.
I'm done smoking weed. I'm doing a little better now that I've outgrown my teenage angst and young adulthood bs. I'm miserable and everything else that comes with the conditions of my sobriety, but I'm at least willing to face it on my own terms instead of escaping it via weed.
I really need help; I'm not to proud to ask you, beloved peeps. For what it's worth, I've spent about the past year and a half thinking about you, my true peers and family of my virtual home. I've spent alot of time working on my hand drawing skills and very soon I'll have so much to show you. I've produced somewhere between ~50-100 pictures that are being kept safely by a few friends and family members. I love you... more than you may realize and perhaps in regards more intense than you may reciprocate. You are the ones I missed, the ones I thought about in my time spent in an isolated jail cell, when I laid awake at night. I have so much to say you many of you individually and much to say to you all. I think my art will reflect some of what I cannot find words for.
For now, I'm still being held against my will, against all fairness, and with only God as my defense against the insanity of the prime material world. I will be able to come back in 1 hour spurts 3 days a week. I can't look at all the work you've put out here.
As for my gallery... I thought I left behind many journals and all my works. I don't know what happened, but I am a little disturbed by it. It's one thing when I delete everything as an offering to those who can use it, but to have it taken is different.... I'm not comfortable with the change in dA's symbol either. I can't help but suspect the corporate suits have done something to my home while I was away.
I'm out of time for now, but I'll try to have more information and more updates as I can post it.
What makes things worse is that the meth actually unlocked a bunch of memories that were hidden from me. I don't feel comfortable going on about them just yet, but for example: I used to have a vivid dream all the time which didn't make sense; I've had it for years. It felt like a memory that was missing pieces. After the incident, while I was in isolation in county, the memory came back in full. Soon more memories that once didn't make sense started coming back in full to reveal a very disturbing story of things I probably didn't need to remember. They paint a history of abuse, manipulation, and some scary shit that would make normal people shake their heads in total disbelief. I questioned my own sanity as these memories came back little by little. I want to tell somebody so bad, but at the same time... who is going to believe horrible conspiracy stories from someone like me? This stuff goes far beyond just psycho-emotional trauma. Eventually I'll post them, but... ... the anxiety is eating me up.
I don't know what kind of help I can ask for. I don't know how to handle alot of what I'm going through now and what yet awaits me. With my mind clear after all these years, I feel more powerful having taken the paths I've chosen to this point. I recognize that I'll need the help of Many. Like I said, I don't know what to ask for, how anyone can help, or what I can do in return. I only offer you what I always have... <3
I worry the "Criminal Justice" system intends to try to make me into a long-term prisoner. I believe I can meet most demands of probation, but there are many nuances that I worry about. I'm unfamiliar with the processes and systems. It seems I'm not getting much help from those within the system around me either. I'm just an animal in a kennel for now. > I'm at war with these people and their inglorious system of manipulation and red-tape. They refuse to accept that I'm not one of them; that they have no rightful claim over me, my life, our culture/ways.
I love you peeps. I'll return as soon as I can<3