As most who know me personally know, repeated attacks to my physical and mental health in the form of predatory and corrupt practices by law enforcement in Ohio, Virginia, and North Carolina has caused me to suffer for many years from PTSD, depression, anxiety, neuropathy, and extreme chronic pain. I, like many, had dealt with the occasional false traffic ticket – fuel for the lawyers, one of the reason Shakespeare had such glowing words for them – and I went to court and faced them, always. Those who know my upbringing (living with a polygraph and a P.S.E in my house, along with the most capable and adept examiner for both instruments on the planet) know I always make the truth my winning answer. I was raised in a military/law enforcement/intelligence household. I was taught to respect the truth and the intent of the law, if not the letter, as the unjust do not deserve respect. In that way, I inherited the mores and ethics of my grandfather. And those that know me, know how pissed I get when I see those institutions fuck over the common man for nothing more than greed or the narcissistic need for control. I was raised to expect a higher standard, and when I see it used against people, including myself, who take time and effort to obey the law and believe in truth made out to be criminals and liars, all for the sake of a buck.
This may have been the reason why I was affected so deeply when I had my life threatened by a Virginia State Police Trooper when I asked if I could have a copy of the witness list after suffering a forward ejection through the sunroof of an SUV. I had suffered injuries that, had it not been for the timely intervention of the EMT’s, could have left me paralyzed had the Trooper been allowed to carry out his intent. I became a hermit for seven years after this event, four of which were spent learning to walk without screaming. I still cannot see flashing lights on the highway without suffering an extreme panic attack. The mere sight of police cars can do the same, and having to deal with courtrooms in any capacity affects me for days before and after.
Later, I moved to Ohio as a result of a relationship with my future ex-wife (another story entirely) and that move proved to be the start of a chain reaction of encounters that further traumatized me. Three days after the birth of my third daughter, a TRAP syndrome birth that cost us her twin, I returned home from the hospital (an hour and half drive through freezing roads and black ice) to find I had taken the wrong bag home with me, and had to return my wife’s meds. So back I go, knowing I have to do another round trip in these conditions, when in Rising Sun, Ohio, I see a police car approaching from the opposite direction. Seeing an approaching change in the speed limit, I see the car turn around behind me, despite me doing the speed limit, and as I change my speed in time with the sign, I get pulled over. I get searched, and despite my being truthful about the meds, I get charged with possession, thrown into the back of a police car, re-injuring my back, and I get to listen as this ass and his buddy talk with glee about how many charges they can hit me with. In court, they dropped the charges when I told them every person who transports meds for terminal and/or handicapped people would like to know about my experience. I was thrown in jail after I slipped a disc in my back while on a walk with my child for 37 days – 7 days beyond the limit of their ridiculous charge – because I was swearing at an umbrella stroller’s inability to traverse the crappy sidewalks of Fostoria, Ohio, and laid in jail passing in and out of consciousness for 3 days before I even got looked at by medical, and humiliated by double-digit IQ goons the entire time.
For cursing at a stroller.
Having enough of this shit, I moved to North Carolina. I wanted to eventually move us closer to the Outer Banks. There, I encountered pretty much the same treatment.
One day, while driving to the store about two week after moving, my toddler daughter started to choke in the back seat. We were stuck in slow moving traffic in a school zone, and there was not room for me to pull over in order to help her. Her mother decided to unbuckle her seat belt in order to help her as I spotted two motorcycle cops in the median. I tell her to hurry, because we are going to be pulled over. When asked if I’m speeding, I tell her no (I wasn’t), but we had an out of state license plate, and that was pretty much a free meal ticket to them. Sure enough, we are pulled over, and not allowed to tend to our choking daughter as the cop explains how easy it will be to pay the ticket. Not only that, this goon says I was doing 40 mph, which was mathematically impossible, as I would have to be doing a minimum of 14 feet/second more than any car around me. At the hearing, the prosecutor laughed in my face when I said I would be pleading not guilty, had a cop who couldn’t remember what vehicle he was driving that day, had my daughter and now ex insulted in the court room, and was still found guilty.
And this is typical of my experiences over the last almost 20 years. Without fail.
Driving at all became an exercise in anxiety. I’m hyper-vigilant behind the wheel. I never speed. Have never driven intoxicated. For that reason, I’m never in a hurry when I drive. I always wear my seat belt, etc, etc.
And it still isn’t enough, because you can get pulled over and accused of something you have taken the time and effort to do right, and one way or the other, you’re going to have money yanked out of you.
Case in point:
After my ex revealed the extent of her narcissistic abuse, I once again became a hermit, as those dealings with the system did nothing but exacerbate and heighten all my symptoms, both physical and psychological. For several years, I would only drive when absolutely necessary, never driving more than 20 miles or so away from my home.
This changed in September, 2020. I had met a friend online through a support group, and continued to chat with her online as she battled colon cancer. She would be going into hospice, and I promised to visit her in person, as she had had few visitors in the recent weeks. From my previous experiences, I knew it would be a risk, but all I could do was drive the speed limit, and hope for the best.
And, wouldn’t you know it, despite all the above, I still get pulled over, and told I’m doing some ridiculous speed that I would never do on an unfamiliar curving country road.
Not only that, but the courts decide to mail out the notice of the trial the day after it occurs, effectively denying me any chance to appear in court.
And people wonder why I’m a hermit.
Now you know.