Come to Jesus with footnotes I

1. The definition of “mental health condition” includes conditions or disorders involving alcohol or substance abuse. 8 V.S.A. § 4089b.

I am having a come to jesus meeting with myslef tonight. A few thing have clarified for me today and last night. It has been not good the battle in my mind. Oh where do I start. Probably last night  

Yesterday I was fucking around on my phone at work and I was playing with DNS and CDN shit and trying to figure out a weird relay. I found a listener on my phone in an IP run. It was named “akaquill,” which isn’t too significant to anyone except my business name registered with the state and notary license, and the Chrome user I use in my laptop and phone and Chromebook are all VegasQuill. And nobody really knows that, except me and  someone with accress to all my state records and devices  

I ran some WHOIS and DNS searches and the registration for the domain came back redacted and the update dates were all strangely significant. They have been tracking me for a while.

I guess I knew, I suspected I should say, but having solid evidence is crazy. Then I realized the need for cause because I think (fucking Patriot Act) that that kind of monitoring—mirroring my phone and my devices periodically—requires a warrant. Don’t quote me on that.

I panicked. Texted lawyer boy asking how the hell I find the warrant for that. Where would that even be filed? He ran me and I have no criminal warrant, but that would be a different type of warrant and he wasn’t sure if the warrant search he did covered that. Fucking Boyd.

Speaking of Boyd—

So last night I talked to {D2}, the alcoholic lawyer, about what was happening with this and he said, “You’re just chaos, that’s why I stay away from you because your decisions don’t make sense.” Then he kind of called me out on something small, my assertion that real {D} was offered the job at the Nevada AG’s office. {D2} said, “He wasn’t barred in Nevada; they couldn’t have offered him the job.” In a smart-ass, I caught you kind of way. I then explained he was studying for the February bar and the job opened in—wait for it—fucking February.

He doesn’t believe me. He didn’t outright say it, but he just doesn’t believe me.

So, my answer to that would have 100% percent been to send him the video which he hasn’t seen or heard. He skimmed the administrative synopsis and the police report and Googled. I didn’t send him the video. I just told him I was sorry I was too chaotic for him.

{D2} wasn’t actually quite a lawyer yet. July bar just came out a couple hours ago and in a cosmically fitting way, {D2} didn’t pass. {D} was right—fucking Boyd. He wasn’t good enough for me anyway. Fucker. Believe women.

But it did throw me off. I stayed up last night and read the interview transcript. Twice. Out loud in parts. God, I was rambling. I wanted to look at the part where they had my phone in their hands going through all of the text between me and {D}. I was rambling and they were taking pictures of my tattoos and I was trying to describe {D}’s watch—a stainless steel Tagg with a crystal over the mechanical because it’s self-winding and cool to look at.

I actually said he has a shark bite on his ankle but I don’t think you can see it in the video and then I told them about his wrist and scars from the surgery. They were making sure they could identify him. So I was paying zero attention to the cop with my phone.

Fourth Amendment—I know better. It’s just that day and that interview was so fucking stressful. The first part of the interview I was trying to stay out of trouble because {D} had been telling me I was going to be arrested.

I kept just stopping and saying no one is going to believe me and I’m a bad witness and {D} was a great lawyer and had tried a fucking Supreme Court case—there was no way he was getting charged. I fucking told them that several times. I was like, “Do you know how many DUIs he has, you can’t charge him he will get out of it.”

Anyways, I really started second-guessing myself reading it last night. I was making excuses and downplaying what happened and how our relationship was and why I looked bad—like pointing it out to them.

Then, the texts. The cop with my phone starts saying things like, “Wait he threatened you with murder-suicide?” “He told you you were going to be arrested?” And reading what he was saying was in those texts, hmm yeah. And I was still saying, “Yeah but no one will believe me.”

This fat fuck says, “We are here right now and we believe you.”

They believed me. I then told them no one else would. Will you look at me always knowing everything  

I said at one point that’s the problem with being crazy is people tell you you’re being crazy and you believe them. He raped me and threatened me. And raped me more for months.

I’m not crazy, I’m traumatized.

And this shit keeps going.

And I read it again. And I poured over it like I pour over everything having to do with this case. I spend so much time because obviously I missed something. The math still ain't mathing' in my head. I can't be the only one who sees what a travesty of justice this shit is  like yeah of course the cops believed me it's on fucking video  I said something like "It that was a video of my daughter, I'd be after that man" 

Then this morning happened.

I think I’m going to do this in two posts so they are read all the way through. Makes me feel like someone heard me that way.

Til tomorrow.