"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the
rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not
be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you."
Isaiah 43:2
                           "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Matthew 5:4 

My heart and prayers go out to the families in West, Texas. My blogging cohort mentioned the lack of help the government decided to lend, but as pathetic and sad that may be, in it brought a unity of Texans in a time of turmoil. I have never lived in a place where help for the smallest troubles was literally a knock away. Every Mature southern belle is willing to take up the roll of "second mom", every Stetson wearing man's wisdom is handed out with love and care. When something this tragic happens, Texas proves, yet again, "We don't need no stinkin' FEMA". 

If there is any Texans in the aria of West reading this, I implore you to join the relief, even if in just a small way. Buy some water, send some blankets, hell, fill up your truck with gas and move some shit out of the way. Time is the cheapest and most valuable thing you could donate. 

Thoughts, prayers, and blessings to the 200+ injured, the 14 families who lost loved ones, including the 12 volunteer firefighters that lost their lives helping with rescue. That to me is an ultimate sacrifice, these men weren't paid to do this, they had no gain but had everything to lose, and by going in to help the victims of West, they gave it all. Well done guys.

This isn't over, especially for the 200+ hurt or grieving, but with prayer, time, and the help of everybody, we can move forward. Answer questions, lay loved ones to rest, and rebuild homes.

Thank you all who is helping, thank you all for prayers.
God Bless West.

"Save me
Even as you break me
Every time you rape me
Leave me
coming all undone
Praise me
Turn your back and hate me
Every time
you waste me
Keep me underneath your thumb"
--Seether, Holding onto Strings Better left to Fray.


This is a venting blog. If it seems like a random stream of thoughts and ideas, that’s because it is.


The easily offended, the super religious and judgmental pricks…
you might as well go read something else. This is going to get
rough.


Depression is a BITCH!
It is a pool of tar, and the deeper you
get in it, the more of a hold it has on you. For those of you keeping up with my blog, (because I’m sure there is just so many of you, hi ani) you should be in the middle of my Blog entries “Through Loss, Gain and Questions Unanswered”. It is understandable to be in a state of depression after going through all of that. The part of the story I haven’t gotten to yet, and eventually I will, is that I have four years of probation, there are a lot of ridiculous guide lines to follow, I am ordered to attend Sexual Offender Therapy Classes, as a felon and a registered sex offender, I cannot find a job, but alas I have over $1500 in court fees and fines, if they are not paid on a normal basis, I go back to jail, if I step off the path of these ludicrous rules I must follow, I go back to jail, if someone wants to fuck with me, and knows I am a registered sex offender, all they have to do is cry wolf, and I go back to jail. Life for me, for the first time, is run by paranoia. Never have I been so stressed or unsure of what I have control of and what I don’t. So yeah, I’m a bit depressed. To add to the misery, my mother felt it necessary to inform me that because I didn’t listen to her in the first place, that “those people are not good people, you don’t need to hang around them” is why I ended up in jail. If I had listened to her, this wouldn’t have happened. Just like when she told me that being with my Ex-fiancé, Whitney, was a mistake and she was right that is wasn’t going to work out. That if I just start listening to her my life wouldn’t be in the MOTHER FUCKING TAR PIT! Thank you so very FUCKING mush for bringing up the two most poignant failures in my damn life. That was just the word of encouragement I needed to get through this new depression, was telling me all about my old depression. Thus creating a mixture of super hybrid depression, that is just dandy.


FUCK!!!


I can’t live a normal life anymore. I can’t be me. I have to be
someone else, a fucking pedophile in the eyes of the court, a felon, stressed,
paranoid, angry, and to top it all off, I can’t be a normal brother anymore
because of this shit. My little sister came home early from hanging out with
friends, but I was home by myself, and I can’t be alone with anyone under 18 per court order without someone over 18 with me. So I had to go outside and walk around for almost 2 hours until someone came home. THAT IS FUCKING BULL SHIT!! 

The other day, we had a yard sale at my grandmother’s house, and
a chick pulled in the driveway next door, she had just moved in next door to my grandma. I walked over and started talking to her, she told me she had heard of me, and not only heard of me, she seemed to be a bit interested in me. She is cute, short, and kinda thick, which is always nice. Has a dark sense of style like me, we talked for a little while. She started flirting with me, and I returned the sentiment by being funny and charming. Ha-ha, she went in her house and brought out pretzel M&Ms and gave me some. I definitely would like to get to know this chick more.

But…

My step-father pulled me aside and informed me that I am a registered sex offender, and I don’t know her. She could do something that would put me in jail. And he thinks that I need to tone it down. 

FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC


Thank you so much court system, thank you so much 12 mother fucking jury members for not looking into what this would do to me and my life and running to that damn guilty verdict like a diabetic after penicillin. THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH, you lazy ass, overconfident washed up, washed out pathetic excuse of a lawyer. I don’t doubt that at one time, when it was convenient to you and your career, that you were a good lawyer, but when everybody, EVERYBODY, that has ever had you as a public defender tells me that you have fucked them over, that tells me you don’t give a shit anymore, you are sitting back and soaking in those state checks, you pompous, arrogant, bowlegged bastard. You are lucky I was raised to be a morally driven man; otherwise I would have hit you in your fucking mouth for calling me an idiot. It must do wonders for your practice to cuss people out. I bet it makes you feel 10 feet tall huh? You fucking prick.  


I can’t be a normal older brother, I can’t meet new people, I can’t be romantically involved with anyone without having to report it to the fucking sheriff’s office, I have been forcefully introverted, and my outgoing
personality has been chained. I am restricted from lakes, parks, public pools. I have to have a babysitter everywhere I go. I am in a box, stamped with the court seal.


Yeah, life for me is just wonderful; I get to be the model citizen, minus some.

Part III


“God is my Rock, God is my Peace, God is my rock, God is my
  peace.”


I did eventually dose off. It wasn’t long before I was awaken by
someone else in the cell yelling, “CHOW”. I opened my eyes to a much brighter light in the cell. The little light bulb had shut off and two big florescent
light tubes turned on.  I sat up, dazed, still half asleep, doing my usual routine of getting up in the morning. I put on my shoes and shirt then hopped down from my bunk. I walked out to the day
room, which was a big enough for two tables that sat six, some space between them. I noticed a stairway leading up to a second set of cells, a television that was playing some rock music, and the other detainees sitting at the tables eating cereal.


“Get your chow, they are not gonna wait forever.”



A skinny, long haired man sitting at one of the tables looking up
at me, then pointed to the door and I saw a little doorway in the center of the
door below the reflecting side of a two way mirror. In it was a plate with my
breakfast on it. I walked over and retrieved it, sat down, and (of course) ate
it. Nothing much else was said, I found out later that this first group of
people that I shared a cell block with weren’t morning people. Everyone
completed their breakfasts then went back to bed. It was 6:00 in the morning, and as everybody left me in the day room to myself, I took a moment to look around. Four cells on bottom, four on top, TV was up on a shelf about 7 feet in the air. There was a shower per floor, but the bottom was the only one with a curtain, so I assumed (correctly) that it was the only one used. I went back into my cell to find Andy getting ready to go back to sleep himself.



“If you take a towel, and wrap it around yer head like a
  blindfold, the light isn’t quite as
bad.”


Then he did as he had suggested I do, and went to sleep. I crawled up into my bunk, sat there for a bit, listening to the rock coming from the TV. I started to feel drowsy, so I laid down. This time, I fell asleep a little easier.

It was almost a dreamless sleep, but I was awaken the same as I
was before with a loud call for “CHOW”. It was time for lunch. Quicker this time I got up and put on my shoes and shirt, and headed out my cell. From the look of their staggering movements and sleepy eyed faces, everyone else had slept up to lunch as well. In a line and one by one, the detainees were handed their plate of food through the little doorway I mention earlier; Subs, cookies, Kool-Aid, and a fruit cup. After everyone had finished, the skinny, long haired man came up to me and introduced himself and everybody in the cell. His name was Brian, his cellmate was Jeff in cell 3, Joe and Bulb was in 2, and Andy was in 1 with me. I nodded and announced my name was SAQ. After that, everyone went about their day.

I really didn’t do much that first day, I situated my stuff in my
cell better, and then I sat back and observed the routines of the people in the
cell. It was either car shows on TV, a game of spades, people calling family and friends for any information on their cases, pacing in the cell for exercise, or sleep.


Time that week went on as if my hourglass
bottleneck was thinned, letting through just one grain at a time. I slowly got
to know the detainees better; Andy, 42, was in for a case similar to mine, he
had pissed someone off and figured making up a lie was a good plan to get rid of him. He loved WWE wrestling, collected old toys, played x-box, and loved being with his sons. Brian, 31, is a drummer, has some stuff on YouTube, loves his classic rock, and got caught with meth. Bulb, in his 30s, also in for meth, was facing some serious federal charges. Always taking showers and pacing the cell out of paranoia. Had a wife that was also in jail he often wrote to. He wasn’t too good at writing, so I had helped him write a few letters to her. Joe, also 30, became a friend in jail. He was there 2 months before I was, and is still there to this day. Not in jail for meth, but was on it when a fight between him and his girlfriend happened. He had pushed her back and she claimed he choked her, which makes it Aggravated Domestic; the charges later were dropped when the court found that his girlfriend was lying. He is now waiting prison sentencing for being on, well, close to everything while on probation. He is a cool cat though; your typical laid back stoner. He helped me cope with a lot of the shock
of being in jail. Jeff, 23, was a dude I went to school with a while back. I
don’t remember him from then, but he seemed to remember me. He was in for pulling his wife out a trailer window and threatening her with a knife. He had been to prison before, as has Brian, Bulb and Joe, but he looked at it as a free living. To him, his life was in prison. I think I prayed for him the most in
  jail. He was the go to guy for questions about court and processes. He had been in the system for so long, he knew about as much as a 2nd year law school student.


It wasn’t long before my first court date came up. I didn’t meet
my lawyer then, but they explained to me that I was looking at a class 2 felony, Aggravated Criminal Sexual Assault. They later revised it, saying since there was no evidence of rape or any testimony of me touching any sexual organs, that I had allegedly touched her thigh while she slept, they changed my charge to Aggravated Criminal Sexual Abuse. Either way, it still sounds bad. I was told I would be given an attorney, my attorney would be Brad Vaughn, I had a month before I would return to court, and back to jail I went. From here on out, was a waiting game. If I wanted to see or talk to my lawyer, it only happened in court. Any information I would get on anything, I got in court. So basically, any court accounts I write about, excluding my trial, happened in 9 or 10 days in a span of 7 months. All the time between that was spent sitting in a cell.

So, wait I did. It’s the only choice I had. My Step-grandfather
sent me a 100 dollar check so I could talk to my Mom on phone cards. He died while I was in jail, but I got the chance to thank him later, I’ll tell that
story when I come to it. Any one that knows me knows I am very connected to my family, our bond that has been built from the shit we had to go through
together. From living in shelters, and surviving off of food pantry lunches and
donated food, our life has been a struggle from the beginning. It made all of us stronger though, I was able to deal with being in jail easier than I think I
would of if I grew up with a silver spoon in my ass. I learned to work for what
I wanted, and to protect everything that mattered to me. My family is number one on that list, and sitting in jail, I had no power and no way to help or comfort my brother or sister. I only had a limited time with my family now. With visits and phone cards, I had only 50 minutes a week to talk to my mother, brother, and sister. 20 (if I was lucky a little more) minutes in a weekly visit with glass between us, and 10 minutes on the phone. Soon, and quickly, phone cards being $10 dollars a card for only 20 minutes, started getting expensive. So, for the sake of releasing some of the financial strain off my parents, I had to call less and less. I was being morally restricted from talking to my mother so she could pay her bills. And being put in that position killed me, I wanted to hear my family. I wanted to be reminded that there was something else outside these walls. I also wanted them to continue having the necessities that require money. It tore me apart.  It doesn’t take
  long to get the feeling that the world suddenly fell away leaving you in a box
  alone. I only got to see the sky once a month, breath the outside air just once a month, hearing my family let me know that whenever this ended, there was life waiting for me. What killed me the most? For years I did my best to be the comfort for my family. I can be a pretty funny person, and humor is the cure for a lot of ailment that brings you down. I was my family’s strength and they were mine, and we were now separated and alone. I could do anything to help them. My mom wrote me a letter and told me that when I call, her phone don’t always get signal. Because our calls were so few now, when I call she would do everything to get to an aria with signal. She was in the store on afternoon when I called, her phone rang and she answered but the call was breaking up. If it was dropped, precious minutes were wasted. She left her cart where it was at and begin to run out of the store, and while doing that almost knocked an elderly lady down, she wanted to stop and apologize but couldn’t, she didn’t want to lose me. She told me that she felt so bad later about running into the old lady that she cried. I was not only in a position to help my family, my situation was putting unneeded strain and pain on them. It was the opposite of what I have been trying to accomplish my whole life. As a support, I. Was. Failing.
 Prayer, faith in God and in my arrogant lawyer, phone calls, visits, and a little blue bible was all that was keeping my sanity together.        


For a while my routine continued to repeat; get up, eat, sleep,
get up, eat, play cards, watch TV, walk around the cell, shower, go to bed, wake up the next day and repeat. It was extremely monotonous, stressful, and at times frightening. Guys in jail are so wound up tight; the smallest thing would cause them to snap. Playing cards one day, I had responded to one dude by saying “Si Senior” which doesn’t take a Spanish major to know means “yes sir”. His interpretation was a little different, and apparently insulting. He knew the Spanish phrase to mean “little boy”, and indignantly told me that I “wasn’t his little boy”. At first I thought he was just messing with me, I hadn’t and trouble from anyone yet, and figured he was just messing with me, the logic behind that thought is confusing I agree, but that’s where my mind went. I in return informed him that it didn’t mean “little boy”, that it was “yes sir”. He took what I said offensively as well, I might as well called him a dumb, ignorant, bastard son of a whore, I would of gotten the same response. He stood up and threatened to smash my glasses into my face. Still confused as to what exactly is going on, I took in a deep breath and said, “Whoa, ok… let’s just roll back a bit, and calm down, alright?” After a few “Shut the fuck ups” and “Don’t bucking talk to ME’s” he did calm down. Later that day, we went about the routine like nothing happened. It was a stupid reason to pick a fight with someone, but it stands as a perfect example of the crap that can happen in a high stress environment. After that we had no further problems.


My next court date is when I met my lawyer. He told me he didn’t see why this was taken to court, other than the messed up way the law is written which states


“In this section,
"sexual contact" means the following acts, if committed with the intent to
arouse or gratify the sexual desire of any
person:


(1)  Any touching by a person, including touching through
clothing, of the anus, breast, or any part of the genitals of a child;
  or


(2) Any touching
of any part of the body of a child, including touching through
clothing, with the anus, breast, or any part of the genitals of a
person.”

The “Touching of any part of the body” is what I was told, gets a lot of guys sent to prison. He said even if it was just her thigh, all the jury had to do was prove sexual intent. He also informed me that the only witnesses to this alleged touching of her thigh was just me and her. The case was a “He said/She said” case and he didn’t see much reason I wouldn’t get to go home soon. That, or course, raised my spirits a lot. If I can tell you one thing that messes with people the most in jail is false hope. I was spoon fed it from the get go. He went on to tell me that he saw it as an “easy  win” and it would be another point on his “winning streak” he had going for trial cases. His confidence gave me confidence. So I went back to jail in high hopes. I thanked God for the good news, and life in a cell continued.



I’m going to end Part 3 here, I’m currently writing 4, so stay
tuned its coming soon.

Time likes to toy with me, it may you as well, but it seems that
when I am in a position to need to do something of worth, I am in a spot to
where I can’t get done what needs be. Time then chooses to drag on as if adding
sand to the top part of the hour glass. When I am DOING what needs to be done,
the hour glass then gets shattered completely and time lapses making an hour
feel like minutes. I regret to inform you that I again have no blogs to post. I
will work on them in my spare time, which seems to be a rarity these days, until
then, cheerio.

There you have it…

 
The blood stained blade in my fingertips, crimson glimmer rolls down the edge and
plummets to the floor. Leaving a puddle of liquid shame that grows and grows. I
sit back and glare at you, if you had done things right from the beginning, we
wouldn’t be doing this, if you had just listened, your life wouldn’t be at its
end. As you creep to that bloody demise I want you to THINK! Think of all the
people you hurt; your friends, your family, and most importantly...... me.
Everything you did, every choice you made hurt me the most. You selfless,
ignorant FOOL!!! Always following the lead of others, never thinking about the
aftermath, what it could have done to you, TO ME!! You future is gone, your
life… dissipating. Every drop of blood is another moment closer to your death,
and as these moments come to an end I want you to think about what you did. Not
just to everyone… but to me. I hate you. I despise you. With every moment of my
remaining existence I will loathe the day you took breath in your lungs when you
was ripped out the womb.


 As I watch the life fade from your eyes, the mirror on the floor is taken over by the growing liquid shame. The image, gone. You are forever from my sight. Gone from me, gone from memory, and gone from this world. As I slip away I drop the crimson stained blade from my finger tips and it plummets joins the liquid pool on the floor. I lay slipping.... fading... remembering... to the end..... of my hate\

--SAQ

I Googled myself and found my old Myspace. I dusted it off and started to skim the pages. In it I found a Blog post of a Story I was given a long time ago. Gives quite the perspective on things. I found a site with the story on it, click the button below to read it.
Enjoy.

The Egg
By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me. 
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was  skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said. 
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff  right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
“They’ll  be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They
didn’t have  time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside,
but will be  secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If
it’s any  consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens  now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their  own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode  through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You  asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my  experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by  the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you  can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you  are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or  cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had. You’ve been in a human for the  last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start  remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An into  lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around you’ll be a Chinese peasant  girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time,  as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come  from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want  to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And  with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously?  You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little cliche?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to  mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole  universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and  greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations  of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said,  with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever  lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed  him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time. 
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all  this?”
“Because someday, you will become  like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s  time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way. 

((any and all credit to this story goes to the writer from the link below))

Part II


We arrived at the Sheriff’s office, and I was put in an interrogation room, and a representative of DCFS was there, he asked if he could film the interview, I said yes, and he began his questioning.


At first I had no honest idea I was the one in question, I knew vaguely of what was going on. I knew that something bad was happening otherwise there wouldn’t be police involvement. He had asked if I knew the 10 year old daughter of Bill and Mindy’s, I said, “yes”, it then dawned on me that the something that was wrong, had to do with Bill and Mindy. Panic quickly set in, something happened to them, that’s why they had been quiet for the past 3 days. I started blaming myself for not trying harder to check on them. Logic quickly set in, and I realized the point of stance the questions was in. They weren’t sympathetic questions, or inquiries at all, they were accusations. I was informed that a sexual harassment had happened, and I was at the other end of the blaming finger. 
He continued to speak at me, and ask questions as if setting up a trap;



“Have you ever been alone with the children?...



Have you ever masturbated in the house hold?...



Have you looked at nude pictures of women from your
  phone?...


 Are there pictures of the children in your phone?”


Circling me with these ridiculous questions that I tried to
  answer honestly, it seemed every answer I gave him showed some sort of
  monstrous intent.


“Yes, I have pictures in my phone of nude women. Yes I have
  pictures of the girls in my phone.”


“Have you ever masturbated using the pictures in your
  phone?”


How do I answer that? I am lucky I am very astute in my speech
recognition; I had to give reasoning and explanation for everything.



“Yes I use the phone for masturbation when I feel the urge to, no
I don’t use the pictures of the children to do so, just the nude, over 18, and
pictures I have”


And yeah, some might see that as a nasty thing. At the time I was
trying to make a long distance relationship work. So she had sent me personal
pictures, and yeah, I happen to be a dude with dude urges, I find self-pleasing
to be a hell of a lot safer than sticking my dick in some bar whore. None of
that was getting thru to this Douche of a cop. He asked to see the pictures in
my phone, so I showed him… all of them. Then he told me he was taking my phone
to have his people check more into it. I was ignorant of the fact I could have
told him to take a hike because he hadn’t a warrant. I didn’t know that then,
what pisses me off is that he did, and took the phone anyway. After that, he
continued to pound me with cornering questions; it was getting difficult to
follow what the hell he was saying. This last part, I will bring up later, was
mysteriously erased from the recorded DVD of my interrogation, so it wasn’t
shown in court. He then pointed a finger at me, and
said,


“You know what, I think you are guilty. You are not a parent, so
there should be no reason for you to be in the room of these children. You are
going to go to prison, and it’s not going to be a fun ride for you. It never is
for your kind”


Man that pissed me off. I got as close as I could to him without
being threatening, and said,


“You have no right to say that, you are no judge or jury. I was
asked to take care of these kids, nothing foul happened while I was taking care
of them. I may have urges, but I also have self-control. I lived with Bill and
Mindy for over a year and a half, so yeah, some things to that nature happened,
never out of the bathroom, not while I was babysitting and defiantly not around
the children.”


We continued to quarrel for a bit, he wrapped things up, and then
kicked me out into the rain. No phone or car, I walked to my grandma’s house
because it was closest. Told her what happened, and then called my step-brother.
This is the event that drove whatever relationship he and I had right into the
dirt. Not what I had been accused of, but what he did in retaliation to it. I
had finished explaining the story to him; he hung up, and drove to the Sheriff’s
office. He made sure he wasn’t in trouble, or had any warrants. Then came to my
Grandmother’s house to tell me he couldn’t deal with the stress to my problem,
and then kicked me out of his house.


In an emotionless state I sat and gazed at nothingness. Friends I had grown to know and love as family, cut off from me. I couldn’t call or talk to them to make heads or tails of this situation. I lost my house, and with it lost a brother/friend.  And finally, the cherry on the shit cake, this accusation made towards me; this crazy, out of the blue allegation that I had touched this child.


Besides arguing with the Sheriff’s office, trying to get my cell
phone back, things were quiet for a while. My grandmother said I could stay with
her; I slept on her living room floor, helped her with things around the house.
Soon after that, she had surgery on her spine. She had one vertebrae removed,
and three more fused together. With after surgery pain, a foot long scar, and
neat little “makes grandma loopy” pills, she began her recovery. Besides the
crappy situation I was dealing with, I believe it was divine guidance that put
me in her house. She was barely able to move around let alone live by herself
safely. So I, with my aunts and mother, helped her back to recovery. Today she
is doing splendid with it with minor pains.



After 2 months with grandma, I moved in with a cousin in a town
called Lawrenceville, about 45 minutes away from where I was at. Life began to
perk up. He is as big of a nerd as I am, so it was movies, videogames, and
internet 24/7. There was an arts council putting out fliers for auditions to a
production of Airplane on stage. I got involved in that, started to find new
local businesses to apply to, life was rolling forward. Until it was abruptly
stopped with an encounter at Wal-Mart, I wasn’t even aware of.



I made a trip to My Mom’s house to visit. I wanted to see my brother and sister, so I chose to stay the weekend. That night we made a run to Wal-Mart to get some things. I was walking from the deli to the self-checkout towards my Mom, when I got to her she told me that I had just walked in front of Bill, Mindy, and the kids. I looked to the door and saw them walking out. From what I could tell, they came in, saw me, and then walked out.
The baby I mentioned earlier was walking next to Mindy with her hand in
Mindy’s.  That ate me up so much to  see that. Prior to this ordeal, every time we visited Wal-Mart, the baby went in  a cart, but she was walking now. And it was like I missed a step, a moment in her life, and it killed me. Seeing them again for the first time in about 3 months killed me. I couldn’t walk up and say hello, what’s up, how’s things. They walked away as if they were complete strangers. I was in a dejected mood after that. My Mother took me out to eat, when she paid for the meal, she gave me the change. Which was like 3 bucks and some change. I didn’t bother to put it in my wallet; I just shoved them in my pocket. After that she drove me back to my cousin’s house.


My cousin has PTSD and is slightly paranoid, so my Mom was never
allowed to drive all the way to his house. So, she dropped me off at Subway, and
I walked the remaining 4 blocks to his house. On the way she called my loner
phone, (because even at this point, the cops still refused to give me my phone,
even though they scanned it, checked it, and cleared it saying that it had
nothing incriminating on it.) and asked me where I was at, I told her I just
  made it to my cousins. She continued to tell me that the Cops were just at my
  grandmother’s house looking for me. That a warrant of arrest has been made, and
  they have people out looking for me.


Panic set in.


I ran into my cousin’s house and told him about the warrant. He
tried to look it up online but couldn’t find anything. I began pacing, my heart
was light and heavy with every beat, breathing became a chore, and I felt like I
was going to flip. This was the most anxiety I have ever felt in my life. My
cousin calmed me down, informed me that no one knows where he lives, so no one
could direct the cops to come here. I calmed down for a bit. That made sense; he
made sure his house was a secret from anybody we knew. So I would be fine as
long as I stayed there. Things got quiet for a bit, he continued to search the
internet for anything related to my warrant, still no luck. The stillness was
suddenly broken with a loud pounding at his front door.



My cousin answered it, and 4 officers came into the house. 3 had
guns drawn, and one had a shotgun pointed at me. They announced my name, I
nodded, and they told me that I was under arrest for Aggravated Criminal Sexual
Assault.


They put me in handcuffs, took me out to the squad car, and took
my loner phone and my wallet. They kept asking me if I had any guns, or if I had
any weapons, if I was going to be cooperative, because the warrant they was
given stated that I would be armed and dangerous, hence the extra man power and
guns. I assured them I wouldn’t give them any trouble, and I would go with them
calmly. We arrived at the Lawrenceville police station; they cuffed me to a
bench and begin to pre-process me. I was told a Richland county officer was
  going to come and get me. The guard on duty was kind and allowed me to call my
  Mom from the office phone. She answered and had everyone, my brother, sister,
  and step-father around listening on the speaker. In angst, confused, and
fearful mindset, I began to speak to them as if I was going to my death. I told
Mom to give my brother the 3DS I bought him, told my sister to keep fighting for
her dream as a Doctor, told my Mom that I loved her, and told my Step-dad that I
thought he was doing a good job at being their father. Emotion finally took over
and I began to bawl. Not cry, weep, or tear up, I bawled on the phone to my
family. I was facing a road unknown, and didn’t know if I would ever see them
again. After the phone call, the guard told me it was pointless to dress me out
for their jail when I was about to go to another. So, he put me in the jail
library to wait. It was in there I began to pray, hard. Nothing complicated or
familiar, but a simple prayer that seemed to calm me the more I said
it,


“God is my rock, God is my peace, God is my rock, God is my peace….”


Over and over I repeated that prayer, until I fell asleep.



Later deduced, I was sleeping for 4 hours until the Richland
  police came to get me. On the drive over there the officer tried to make small
  talk, but I wasn’t interested. We arrived to the Sherriff’s office; I was
  booked in then dressed in the attire I continued to wear for the next 7 months.
  Black and white striped shirt and pants, orange crocks, and all I could keep
  was my underwear and my socks. He informed me that the hygiene pack I was going to be given was three dollars, and going thru my personals, there was three
dollars in the pocket, so he was going to go ahead and take it for that. (This
didn’t mean much to me now, but it would later) Printed, pictured, and
processed, they handed my tote with blankets and sheets, and led me to my cell.
Cell block 2, room 1, he let me in, then shut the door. A man I later come to
know as Andy woke up and shook my hand. He introduced himself, and I did the
same. Before he rolled over to return to sleep, he said “well… welcome to
jail…”


I set up my sheet and blanket. Put my tote in its spot, and
climbed up to my bunk. Small 7x9 cell, one toilet, one sink, two bunks, a small
shelf, and a cell mate called Andy. I lay back, stared at the little dim light
bulb lighting the white, steel walled cell. Unsure of the time it took for me to
  fall asleep again; I continued my prayer until I did



“God is my Rock, God is my Peace, God is my Rock, God is my Peace….”


 This is the end of Part II… part III coming soon.

    Roger Ebert, one of the many people I took advice from, a great man in film critic history, and one of the most humble of the celebrities died yesterday at 70 years old. The cause from what I can tell is from the cancer he has been fighting for a while. The cancer had already claimed his voice box, but it couldn’t come close to claiming his voice. Through the power of the internet and social media, he continued to do what many people strive to do today, which is speaking their mind. I remember as a child watching the show, “Siskle and Ebert” and becoming intrigued in the arguments, debates, and different views of these two men. Thumbs up, thumbs down, sometimes both, the show added on to an already fast building curiosity I had about movies. I always wanted to know how movies were made, the meaning behind the stories, the politics of it, and of course how it was seen in the
  public eye. Ebert was the people critic. Not a faceless newspaper article, or a
  voice in the air of advertising, he was a fan. He was with you, right there in
  the theatre seat watching the movie with you. After it was finished, he spoke
  his mind, compelled you to speak yours, and then strengthened his foot hold in
  his opinion, and defended it, then implored you to defend yours. Opinion is
  what makes art unique, different, and is what brings the raw material out of
  the shadows of the minds of young people, like myself, and creates a brand new
  world of art that may have never existed hadn’t not been for your personal
  opinion, and what you feel the way art should be.


I rummaged thru the stings of the World Wide Web and couldn’t find the quote that I had read in an MSN article by Ebert. Forgive my paraphrasing, but he spoke of movies as the new art form of the times. And many people look at movies as mere entertainment tools. They may be that, but to some, like myself, it is a way of life. It is a painting in motion, it is a look into the mind of a writer, and it is the look
into the soul of a person with a story to tell. Film is truly the modern day of
art, and Ebert treated it that way. If he had seen a film that metaphorically
looked like the roof of the Sistine Chapel, he praised it, and spread the word
to others so that they may gaze at its cinematic wonderment. If he saw a film
that was a quick, rushed, cheap piece of refrigerator art, he called it out for
what it was, and defended himself for it. What I believe made Ebert so unique
was that he didn’t just look at the Sistine’s or Fridge arts of the top film
  competitors, he often looked to the bottom of the pile of cinematographers, and
  saw their potential for what it was. Often helping them crawl their way to the
  top of the pile where they may have had no chance of doing so.



A man truly after my own
heart, Robert Ebert lived, breathed, and ate criticism. Every film trailer we
see and deem “thumbs up, or down”, every game we play and judge cool or not,
every sports team, writer, singer, or person of leadership, we will forever
critique what they do. So in a sense, we all have a little bit of Roger Ebert in
us.


Rest in peace Mr. Ebert,
thank you for your words of wisdom, your unique way of seeing the world, and
most importantly, your opinion.


“See you at the movies…” 
       

Well… Where to begin…


Let’s start with when I met my friends. It was 2009; I had just
got over a bad relationship, had a fight with my mother, and was kicked out into
the street. The first place I went to was Bill and Mindy’s house. I had only
known then for about a month or so, they had taken me to a motorcycle rally
called Hogrock, and our friend ship built up quickly on the things we shared in
common. It wasn’t long before we considered each other family. They, without
question, took me in. Our friendship built stronger and stronger until the trust
was built up enough for them to trust me to stay home and babysit their
children. I didn’t have a problem with it at all, having raised my brother and
sister practically from birth; I had tons of experience with children. The kids
were 7 and 5 years old, so they was old enough to take care of themselves, all I
needed to do was make sure chores was done, feed them, and send them to bed when it was time.
 Of course discipline was granted to me if the children needed it,
and trust me, quite often they did. I could never go as far as hitting them or
spanking them, I couldn’t do that to my little brother or sister, so their kids
were no different. I’m a pretty big guy, always have been, so I try to be as
gentle as I can around kids because I’m always afraid I and going to hurt them.
I have always been a “timeout” kind of guardian. The youngest, the 5 year old,
had a problem sneaking around and doing things she knew she wasn’t supposed to
do; eat candy, sneak snacks, poop in her pants, draw on random crap. The older
one, she has a serious anger problem. She was violent with her sister, with her
step-father, with herself. In a honest to God, hand on a bible, conversation I
had with her, she told me that sometimes she needed to hit people, that it made
her feel better. One day, the 5 year old, came in and reported that the 7 year
old had hit her. I asked the 7 year if she did that, she replied with, “yea” in
an almost monotone, emotionless way. Then I asked why, she responded, “I felt
like it”. She had an impulse to rid herself of some aggression, and took it out
on the 5 year old. No provocation, no reason other than, “I felt like it”. This
7 year old little girl is the cause of my life problem right now. Her anger and
grudge held life style was constantly getting her in trouble. There was not a
day that went by that her and her step-father didn’t get in an argument or a
plain out fist fight, AT 7 YEARS OLD FOR GOD SAKES!



Well, as life went on, this was the daily routine. From house to
house, year to year, as I lived with them this was life. They took me in, and in
return I would do whatever it was asked of me. Often it was that they wanted to
go to the bar, and needed someone to babysit. I don’t drink so I stayed home
with the kids; it wasn’t really any kind of a big deal. Often times they would
be out until 3 am. So for the most part, the kids were almost always in bed. And
because it was my job, I would pause my Xbox game to take a moment and step into the kid’s room to make sure they were ok. I rarely had to go any further into
the room, on occasion when I did, it was because one of them, usually the 5 year
old, had rolled of her bed, or was hanging off of it, and I simply put her back
in. That was the extent to any contact with them after they slept. They were
such a headache when they were awake, it wouldn’t be logical to do anything to
wake them up, so I took steps to make sure that once they fell asleep, they
stayed that way till morning.


Now, I focus so much on my nocturnal routine with the children
  because of the accusation that was made towards me in May of 2012. Something so fucked up, I was probably the most surprised person involved to hear about it.



By now Bill and Mindy had another child, that’s
when my babysitting became a little more difficult, ha-ha, but I wouldn’t take
it back for anything. I love babies. Their minds are so open and observant of
  everything, it’s like having a metaphorical brick of clay that is their mind,
  and it is up to you to shape their knowledge. With both Bill and Mindy working,
  70% of my day was with the baby. Rocking her to sleep, changing her diaper,
  feeding her simulac formula, and the best part, playing with her. Well, I take
  that back that was the second best part, the naps with her on my chest was the
  best. I don’t know if you have had kids, or needed to take care of any, but
  baby naps,  Are. The. BOMB! Deep
sleep in the lightest ways, a single sound or movement would wake you up, but if
it did, you woke up like you just had a full 8. I believe that is a little tweak
God put into caring for a child, because if you ever are taking care of one,
sleep is a precious thing. With those baby naps, it’s almost a cure
all.


I loved that baby with all my heart,  I was like a second father to her, and it kills me to know I will never be able to hold her again, hear her laugh, play “destroy the living room” with her again, or know if anything I taught her mattered.



The relationship with the baby isn’t all I lost. The relationship
  I had with Bill and Mindy was pretty strong as well. Bill and I were like two
halves of one nerd. We both liked the same kind of cartoons, movies, T.V. shows,
and also hated a lot of the same things as well. We could have been brothers, as
if we grew up together and liked all the same things as kids. Mindy and I was
just able to talk. We both were able to speak our minds about anything and knew
  nether one of us would judge the other for it. I was usually the venting point
  for her. I can’t say for sure, but I hope I helped her out just by being an
  ear. She and I also shared some commonality, I was able to pull out my girlish
  side and watch some chick flicks or girly T.V. shows with her. It was because
  of her I know anything about 16 and pregnant, Buffy the vampire slayer, or Teen
  Mom. I don’t know what it is with pregnant chicks and pregnant T.V. shows, but
  there was a lot of it during that time. All three of us were like our own
  little posse. We went everywhere together. If they needed to run 2 hours south
  to drop one of the kids off at their grandmas, they always called me and asked
  if I wanted to go. Road trips were a good time to talk. When I use the term
“family”,I mean I was closer to them than most of my own blood. In 4 years we
developed a strong sense of belonging. I was integrated into their lives almost
seamlessly. And as fast as the friendship developed, it ended.



It was a spring day, Mindy had just been accepted into a new job,
and the need to celebrate was in order. So My Step-brother, his girlfriend
  /someone else’s wife, her four daughters, and I joined Bill, Mindy, and the
  kids at their house for a Bar-B-Q. There was games, fun, music, and food,
  everything you would find at a good Bar-B-Q. At the end of the night, as things
  were winding down, My Step-brother decided it was time to go home. I was living
  with him at the time, and with the occupants of his small little Pontiac grand
  prix, there wasn’t any room for me. So to save Bill some gas, I decided to wait
  till morning to head home, for Mindy had to work, and needed to head in that
  direction anyway. This night went as any other night from the past 4 years.
  Bill and I stayed up as everyone else went to sleep. We went into the garage
  and listed to a little bit music, played around with the hacky sack, while he
  smoked, then we went inside and watched late night cartoons. Bill turned in a
  little early, and I stayed up and watched T.V. Later that night, I got up to
  check on the girls, the baby was fine, from what I could see, the now 10 year
  old was sleeping on her mattress, which lied on the floor. Their rooms were to
  be built in the garage, so the room they were in was temporary. The other, now
  7, mattress was on the floor as well, next to the first. As I looked over to
  the 7 year olds bed, I found that there was no one in it. I checked the kitchen
  for her, then the bathroom, then the parent’s room, and couldn’t find her. So
then I went into the room to look to see if she was elsewhere. The light switch
is located behind the door, moving the door would require me moving toys out of
the way, which induced noise, so getting my phone out and using it as a source
of light was not only quieter, but more convenient. I leaned over the 10 year
olds bed and shined a light near her pillow to see if the 7 year old had climbed
up into bed with her, she had not. So I then looked over towards her bed with
the light and the light shining past it lit up the closet, which had her blanket
  leading into it. A closer look revealed that the 7 year old had rolled into the
  closet and was sleeping there. Relieved, I left. I would have put her back into
  her bed, but seeing as it was already on the floor, she would of ended back up
  in the closet anyway. Mindy told me I was fighting a losing battle by trying to
  keep her in bed while it was on the floor, so I stopped trying. I returned to
  the living room, watched some more T.V., and then went to sleep.



The next morning I didn’t even see the girls, they had already gotten up and went off to school, except the baby of course. Mindy woke up sick, I was told we were going to the clinic for her, and then they took me home. Little to my knowledge that would be the last time I was amongst them as a friend. The last thing I said to them was the last thing I usually said when I left, “I’ll see ya when I see ya.” I never really like saying goodbye, if I do end up saying it; I’m more or likely echoing someone. My farewell of choice is usually “later” but the “see ya when I see ya” was
something I did for them. The next few days it went radio silent with Bill and
Mindy.  No calls, texts, or messages were answered. I figured they just had a bunch of people over, they probably would like some quiet for a few days. I would give them some time before I went over to see if all was well.



But….. It wasn’t long before I was met at the door by a police
  officer. It was a few days after the Bar-B-Q, and I was the only one in the
  house at the time. It was storming outside and the power had just surged. So I
was in my step-brothers room checking out his computer to see if any damage had
  been done. The knock or the officer wasn’t a complete surprise. I just assumed
  it was related to the weather. He had asked if I was who I was, I said yea,
  then he told me that he was investigating a claim made by a 10 year old little
  girl that there was sexual harassment made, DCFS was involved and making a
  report, and he needed me to come down to the station with him. I agreed, I
didn’t know at the time that the claim was towards me, I didn’t want to argue
with the guy, I had never been involved in anything before, so I followed him to
his car and he drove me there.



We arrived at the sheriff’s office, and I was put in an interrogation room, and a
representative of DCFS was there, he asked if he could film the interview, I
said yes, and he began his questioning.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I’m going to end Part one here, I will continue writing on it and
will post part 2 when I can…