Buy me Some McDonald’s

A Day Late...

This morning, I was up and out to go to the bank and pay my rent. Last month, they paid me on the third. That was two days late. I phoned my landlord and informed her that I would be late with the rent. She was good with it. I paid her and we went on with my business. Now, it’s this morning, the first, and I’m going to the bank to deposit $700 in her account. We both have the same bank and they allow me to deposit the rent into her account. I transfer the money into my USAA account and they tell me that I put it in the external account and it’s going to take three to five days until I will have access to my money. I have never had to wait for money to transfer from any kind of account. An Oakland County Sheriff deputy comes in the bank, the girl waiting on me takes a long time. She’s waiting on him to get there. He comes in with an envelope and does something; I never look at him. When I’m done with that, I go out to my SUV, and he’s still out there sitting talking USAA. The deputy is still sitting next to me, and people are coming in and out and he’s still waiting. Finally, he leaves. I finally left and head back to the house.

Michael Bouchard was on with Simon last night. I hope he doesn’t think that being a few days late on my rent would cause me to become a prostitute. My landlady says things are just fine. I told her all about how the OCSD try to give me a hard time and make me sell myself for them. I’m truly astonished at how easily they believe I will change everything I believe to start turning tricks to support myself. Are all women so easy? To wait five days for my rent does not mean that I will lower my standards and sell my body, because I can just wait. I love me and would never stoop to that level.

They got Kelly back yesterday, what they need me for?

One Woman in a Double Cell: Doing time, inside and out

I think I’m being trolled by a homosexual. He believes that I’m in some way scared of him and “The Boys”, all the people just walk into our city and think they will steal us out of house and home. I just think it’s sad to have to put up with this mess for now, anyway. I mean they are everywhere thinking their games are not showing. I think they were all in elementary school, when this all started. Coleman Yoakum has spent 42 million on Webster, alledgedly. Pontiac, can you tell? Nope, a splash of paint and some new light fixtures and a sign. They come here looking for a pay day and will leave in handcuffs. He thinks that if he could just get between me and my job, he could run this entire city. He got Mike in his pocket and that is almost enough, but this town is tricky. These people take their EBT to the Fish Market and buy King Crabs from the fisherman. We aren’t into the simple life and when somebody does something like Coleman did with that Micah 6 organization, we need to have a feast after the harvest for our children. I met my man at Webster in 1978. That place holds a sincere spot in our lives and our hearts, and we would like to see it and those children attending flourish. I hear, however, you’ve spent all the money.

These buildings that are being bought and sold by “friends” in this city, men and man or women and woman. I did know our city had turned into Sodom and Gomorrah. In between sexual partners and orgies, they are smoking dope, sniffing coke or shooting heroin between your toes, this is my home. My father was raised on Luther and Howland, my grandmother ran the Baulking Building, where the men coming from the South could rent a room, have a drink or gamble in my uncle’s juke joint in the basement. We all came here from another place, but not to be shamed by a hand full of young men who think we are fools, or the few tokens who plan to pick up the coins they leave behind. We can never forget them, God forbid! Like the Tou-Bab that helped them steal our people from our land, whose only job was to move close to the main house, “stepping and fetching” so to say.

Like those who helped the Toubab in capturing our people, leaving our land and villages ravished and desolate, for the capture of our people. Some were even captured themselves to take part in the riches they got for selling their own people. Who are these people you may ask? People who we expect to help us every day, but who only gather all their riches and hoard them for their pleasure, men and women who are also confused about their origin, but don’t know a soul to protect or care for. Statesmen, Countrymen and Scholars or those who don’t have titles or educations at all. You are not my enemy, but you can be, if you want to be. For me, my future is right here. I won’t be swayed to be a bully or an adversary, but we can be friends. Please, try not to judge my clean habits or my love of the Lord, and I won’t judge you.

When I was in the Oakland County Jail (OCJ) there was a Trustee that would never leave me a dinner tray. She dared not leave my food slot empty during breakfast or lunch. At that time there was a female that was doing everything, but supervise dinner trays, everything that she was supposed to be doing before the trays got to us. There was no reason for this girl not to leave me a tray. At least as far as I knew, but one evening the deputy called me a liar and I didn’t eat for 12 hours. The next time she tried to do it, the Head-Trustee caught her right outside the door on my left side and whispered, “You can’t not be giving her a tray!" The young woman looked at her hurt. “Why does she get to live in there by herself. I didn’t want to be in a cell with a girl either!” She looked at the Head-Trustee with a little hurt and a lot of anger. I guessed they were forced into a homosexual encounter. I had fought a couple of times and had nearly fought quite a few times. They knew what was coming every time. She was puny and wouldn’t have held up as well as I did. The deputies are in on it, too, sometimes they just walked past you when they are doing their rounds. That’s when they become something other than their name. I thank God for my mother’s tall build and God helping me fight my battle to continue to let me be who I was in there and out here. God bless that Trustee, because I got my dinner. Twelve hours is a long time---

Matthew 5:9 - "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God."

Angels versus Demons: The End

"So tired, but still ready to fight!"

I’ve been putting this on hold, but these people are really pissing me off. It has honestly been 48 years, going on forever. When I say until my eyes close forever, I mean it. The idea that there are people that feel that I am worthless hurts my feelings and makes me want to spit at the same time. I would go to the gym and there would be a prostitute walking around in leggings and a sleeveless shirt parading around the gym, like she is worth so much and she is worthless. I live on Huron across from Pontiac Central High School, and they ride up and down the street with loud cars with bad mufflers, and horrible exhaust. At first, I just ignored it, because it is a busy street. Then came the 18 wheelers riding on the far lane of the sidewalk. The truck is moving so fast and is so heavy it shakes the building. My neighbor lives close to the street, and her bedroom is three feet from the actual street. She feels way more than I do, and the first responders, EMS and Fire, just come up and down the street with their lights and siren blaring. I was thinking of writing the day and time the come through here. The cameras in my house make it easy for them to know when to kick up the noise to prevent me from sleeping. I swear I pray. I lay myself down and ask God for help. It’s been since 2009. Our house was on a corner, and we had a front porch. Underneath the porch was dirt. A dog dug under there once and had a litter of puppies. She left one, and I named him “peanut butter”.

Well, it was Pontiac Police then and they have this thing they did to people. They still do it. Skunks, they let skunks lose in your neighborhood, Like Ahmad Taylor the little drug dealers in gangs help them with this. They used fake fobs and go in my car. Crushing my wiper fluid, and turning my overhead light on to wear down my battery. They would throw food and raw meat in the yard. Then they would get a skunk from Animal Control and beat the cage so it sprays all over and will stink up every place they went that night. They go looking for the food, the food they’ve thrown in the yard. You wake up like a skunk had slept on your face all night. They’ve dug a hole beneath my apartment where I live now. I see cats and where you see cats there are usually skunks. They dug right beneath my bedroom. I wake up to the smell of a wet dog. I know that they know what's was coming, because in 2010, I had no idea what was coming, but the skunks came, anyway.. I was under the impression that you actually had to commit a crime. I had set my mind to do good, good the demons of Oakland County feared the Godliness of Jesus and because they had turned out so many had dare not give in to a nigger. I used to lie in bed and wonder why they had chosen me that made it 100 times worse for me. Even if they do like us their preference is for themselves.

I have a friend from school that used to call me for a ride, and I would pick him up to do his laundry and go to Kroger. He wasn’t comfortable, the cashier gave him funny looks, while I asked for his Kroger card. He’s a White man who has had trouble with the law, drugs and stuff. I had to tote him around; he didn’t have driver’s license. I had dropped him off a White female deputy drove by me. She looked at me nodded and smiled. She was telling me that was the kind of White man I deserve. Not a good decent one. Somebody had told her that I was less than I am, because I had been to prison. I had never done one thing to anyone. I refused to prostitute in jail. So, they dragged me back in and found a woman with the last name “Stalker” and put her in the cell next to me, and called her name all day, “STALKER!” All day that’s what I heard. She sat next to me and told me that she didn’t know why they called her that, she hadn’t used that name for 15 years.

They are relentless. They went through the files and found a woman named “Stalker” and picked her up, put her in a cell next to me and called out to her every five minutes. I know who I am, and I know who I will always be. That is not a stalker! The woman who took down a bunch of rapist, child molesters, murderers and pimps. I don’t care what you do. I will lie down with skunks if it means the Oakland County Child Killer is put away. I’m not the women you’ve killed to cover your crimes. My life is worth more than you can ever understand. Black women are worthless to you. Just something to use and throw away. I see myself as so much more. Telling me that I have a felony on my record and will have to “pay for my stay” is useless. I have $64k in student loans, two associate’s degrees, a bachelor’s and a master’s degree, an MBA. That means nothing to you, because I’m not seen as a human. I’m just biologically set up to make you money. No matter what I’ve done, where I’ve been I’m nothing to you. Demons are funny that way, but I come from God and in the long run, I’m going to defeat you by the love of Jesus. I just sit and listen to commercials and see ads on my feed and say the devil is surely busy, but God is the creator and destroyer and your time has truly come.

Amen

A woman named Krystal Clark: MDOC Healthcare

I left Huron Valley Correctional Facility on November 25, 2008. It seemed like yesterday, but that was a long time ago. I’ve witnessed some of the most cruel and traumatizing events when I was there. Outbreaks, neglect and abuse. I was there from December of 2004, until November 2008. I’ve been gone for almost 18 years and it’s getting worse, and the women aren’t only treated different, they are outnumbered, the women are 1,000 to 100,000 men, and the men are serious, especially the LIFERS. They have nothing more to do but write grievances and keep up mess. That’s just what they do, then they help their fellow inmates when they are being slighted or mistreated. My brother is a “jailhouse lawyer” that helps his friends now that he is out of prison. He is very smart and he gets action, too. The Michigan Department of Corrections (MDOC) is a business that cuts its losses when it’s necessary. My brother sued them and won! It was only six thousand dollars, but he got there on his own.

I’ve always said that people don’t want their tax-money to go to inmates. They would gut the prison budget if they could and use the money for headstart programs and free lunch for students. Not to say that we don’t need headstart programs, or free lunch for kids, but prisoners are human. They lowered our daily meal calories for women to 1200, when I was there. Gave us one piece of bread and took away our coffee for breakfast. If you couldn’t “eat out your locker”, you didn’t eat well. That means if your family couldn’t afford to send you money so you could get commissary, you had to survive off-prison meals. Plus, commissary was always at least a week late. So, even if you could afford food, it was like you were broke, because your food never came on time. Even the most frugal and scarce people like me would be down to noodles and popcorn. I used to have to give my last to people who were hungry, because they didn’t like a meal. I worked in the kitchen when I was at WHV, and they had their nerves to throw food away. My friend from Chicago, got trouble while visiting her cousin in Michigan, would beg the food supervisor to keep the polish sausage, until the next day for us to have in the kitchen. Nope, they all went into a big black garbage bag and thrown in the dumpster. I threw trash so I know how heavy those bags were of food that was thrown away, either because it was nasty or they sent too much. The men made our food, and they sent our food. You could tell they would eat mostly anything and lots of it!

It’s the same with healthcare. Men get better healthcare, because most healthcare is performed by women. The men flirt and get better treatment. At least that’s what I’ve heard. When women arrive at healthcare it’s business as usual. Save money at all costs. Sure, there are some women that can get some creams or ointments, but mostly they tell you to get off commissary. Commissary that is late, and you’ve already put your order in for this cycle. You’re waiting for the next cycle and it’s going to be late, too. So, you’re waiting almost two months for an aspirin. They might give you a couple, but if you need more, you either pay for another sick-call or wait for commissary. There may be someone who bought some off commissary that would give you two or four, or who has a little ointment to give you, but pretty much you are out of luck. Healthcare costs and they are not willing to spend.

There was a woman named Angela Gibson, she lived with me in the Residential Treatment Center, (RTP). She used a colostomy bag every day. Something that happened when she was free, not in prison, that she had to use these bags. They didn’t want to buy her bags for everyday use, 365 days for as long as she was there. I think she was doing 15 years for arson. She had set her sister’s house on fire. She didn’t have her sister to rely on; she had tried to burn her house down. She had a son, but he was incarcerated, too. She had no one on the outside to advocate for her. Women in our unit were trying to help her write grievances, but it did nothing for her, really. The best they gave her was one bag a week and she had to clean it out every day. They didn’t give her no bleach or alcohol to clean it out with, just soap and water. Eventually, she got an infection in the place she hooked the bag to the tube in her stomach. It became very painful and she kept having to go to healthcare for the pain. We know what she needed was antibiotics to clear up the infection, and a new colostomy bag every day. At least some bleach to clean out the one she got every week. Bleach is not that expensive. Instead, her infection wasn't cleared up, and she kept making trips to the clinic.

She wasn’t a very large woman. But she was chunky. WHV has a hill that separates Calhoun from the other buildings on top of the hill. At the time, RTP was in Calhoun. To get her to healthcare, you had to push her up the hill. On this day, no one was volunteering to push her up the hill, and the officer called for me. “Take Gibson up to healthcare. At first, I looked at her like she was crazy, but gave in. They called for her and I got the unit’s wheelchair. I took that trek up the hill and dropped her off at the clinic. Later that evening, the officer who sent me called me to the desk, “Gibson died.” I looked at her shocked, because she didn’t seem on the verge of death. She was a little uncomfortable but not dying! I thought to myself, “They killed her, because they didn’t want to buy those bags,” because I have a friend that swears the State killed her sister. She had gotten hit by a car and was a vegetable. My friend, this young woman’s sister, worked around the clock to keep her alive. Her son would help her. But the State kept making up reasons to take her out of her home and she fought for her sister to stay with her. Sadly, she lost the battle. Whereas her sister lived for years with her, she only spent months in the States system. I can only imagine the State found her quality of life was so low that it wasn’t worth them spending all the money to keep her alive. They did the same calculation with Gibson, and she never had a chance. She was an inmate, all her trouble happened in a few months, and not years.

Karen Stribling was in prison for LIFE, because she killed her brother about some chicken wings. Well, that was the rumor. She was one of the casualties of smoking while in prison. They banned cigarettes because they didn’t want to pay the cost of people getting emphysema, COPD and cancer. Stribling had lung cancer. We couldn’t smoke in the buildings and had a little yard outside that they smoked in and when they went out on big yard. Where everybody could gather and smoke. You could also smoke on the walk to the “Chow Hall”. That’s when we all realized “Strib” as we called her had a serious lung issue. While we stood waiting for “Chow” to be called, Sissy, a woman from Battle Creek would ask to smoke with Strib on the walk. Strib always said “yeah” and Sissy would take her place beside her so she could pass her the cigarette. As soon as we stepped outside the door, Strib would stop and light her cigarette. Making whoever is behind her almost run into her and Sissy, because Sissy stopped with her to smoke. As soon as Strib took one puff of her cigarette she would start coughing and wouldn’t stop! Sometimes she couldn’t stop coughing to eat. It might be slow as we walked back to the unit, but it was bad. Sissy got the best of the deal, because she got to smoke the entire cigarette. She even had her nerve to ask if she was going to smoke on the way back to the unit. If she was still coughing, Strib would shake her head, “No.” Sometimes she'd give her the second cigarette she'd rolled for the walk back.

One day on our way to chow, she started coughing and brown stuff came out. It looked like thick cough syrup, brown and disgusting. Some people fell back to see if she was alright. The officer walking us that day told us to continue to the chow hall while she and another inmate stayed to see if she was okay. She never came to chow, and they walked her back to the unit and when we got back from chow, she was in the “small rec” room for an ambulance. We weren’t allowed in and the next time we saw Strib it was two weeks later. I wasn’t surprised, neither were most of us. People who smoked in prison, most of them couldn’t afford filtered cigarettes. They had brands like Kools and Newport’s, that had filters, but like cost close to ten dollars. People got those for a special occasion, or when they had got extra money or if somebody was paying them for goods or services. As a norm, however, people didn’t buy filtered cigarettes. What they bought were this brand called “Tops”. You rolled Tops like a joint, and Tops have no filter. They came with a book of rolling paper in the pouch. You get the full effect of the tobacco. That’s what kills you, and that’s what killed Strib, and that’s why they no longer allow smoking in the MDOC.

Not because smoking was killing people, but because of the high price of caring for sick inmates, like Stribling. When she got better, they called us into the day room to tell us that she was back, and the doctor came in and told us she had lung cancer. We were asked us to be accommodating, because she was in fact dying and wouldn’t be with us long. An inmate looked taken aback and said, “Should she be living here with us? She’s dying!” the doctor told us that it is what the MDOC was doing and we all had to deal with it the best way we can. He didn’t like it either, but he didn’t have anything to say. When the meeting was over, and Sissy was finished crying over Strib, we all rushed Ms. Wilson. We were frantic, we all loved Strib, and did not want to watch her die! Ms. Wilson, the sweet woman she was said, “I know and I’m going to work on it.” In her sweet gentle way. We disperse as Nancy walked up to say she’d take care of her while she’s in the unit. An inmate, one of Strib’s friends said out loud, “No inmate should be taking care of another inmate.” Strib rolled out on her walker and sat down to play spades. That’s how I’ll remember her. Sitting at the table play spades, because Ms. Wilson did as she promised and worked on it. She left our unit in about four days and went to hospice care. Ms. Wilson cited the mental health of the women in the unit and our having to deal with our friend dying in our presence and stuff like that. She’s a psychologist who ran the RTP unit and her thoughts weighed heavy on getting her out the unit. Nancy took care of her those four days, washed her up, combed her hair and sat with her to eat and help her. She died in hospice in about two weeks. When we heard, we just sat around and talked about, what if she would have died with us in our unit. That was fast! Rest easy Strib, I love you. We loved you…

Mercer is a highly contagious skin infection. It was brought into the prison by staff. Prisoners live in a controlled environment. Outbreaks like mercer in 2008, colds, flu and such are brought in by staff at WHV. They didn’t have a plan for it, either. Our unit was separated from the other units, but several of the women caught it. Mostly the White women who went out on yard. When they got diagnosed with it they put them in an observation, which is like our own little segregation room in RTP. The nurses would then give them their medicine through the food slot, meals, too. There was a woman named Penny, she was told not to touch her mercer sore. It had crusted over and was no longer leaking fluids. They let her out with the rest of us. Immediately, she began touching the top of her head. That’s where she had become exposed to the disease. She sat with us picking it every day, until it began to leak and she got mercer all down the front of her face, like a waterfall. So, they put her back into observation, again to heal. When they let her out for the second time, she started picking on her sore, again. My best friend couldn’t take it anymore. She went to the Officer’s Station and asked why’d they let her out, before the wound cleared up? They know she’s crazy and won’t stop picking with it!

The woman patted her head and told my friend to shut up, because she wasn’t dying, but she was. The officer told her that she was there to make sure we were safe, and not to make medical decisions. That was up to our medical staff, who were available 7am-4:30pm. They were off on weekends. We were in a unit for the insane, and it would be difficult to stop her from picking with her mercer scab. My friend ordered her to stay away from her and went to sit far away from Penny. Penny never died and with a little harassment from my friend, she let her sore heal. No one from the medical side ever did a thing.

The times at WHV were tough. It was a matter of luck and catching commissary at the right time. Living in RTP was a blessing. We could ask the nurse for painkillers, laxatives and stuff and if they were in a good mood they’ll give it to you with your next MEDS. If not, I waited for Nurse Kasibo to come. The head nurse and the sweetest nurse. She’ll give you what you need. That’s what prison is like. All these different people, personalities and attitudes. You become a different person, by just learning to deal with it all. The women you live with, and the officers Who are the worst. I read they would sit and talk about Crystal. They would say she’s faking and there is nothing wrong with her. It’s like high school where the teachers and principals are the troublemakers. I want to know what inmate helped her put that mold in her ear. Jennier Wallace died of sepsis in the custody of the MDOC.

A man just sued and was awarded 300-some million dollars on a colostomy bag case. So, their stance on those bags hasn’t changed in 16 years. They look at these cases through hedonistic eyes. Crystal is one woman. If they let her die, it’s one person dead. If there was more of her, she might be treated. I went to her OTIS profile yesterday and she’s scheduled to be released May 2027. That’s the year from now. They are willing to take the chance on her living until then. She’s level one, and that’s where she should be about a year from release. She has done 16 years. There is no reason she shouldn’t be set free. Taxpayers don’t like inmates and if Whitmer plans to run for something else political, she might be seen as soft on inmates, but she has released drug offenders. If you put them in prison for what ever time, you must care for them or let them go! This woman has mold growing out her ears. Have mercy...!

Agoraphobia: When OCSD Won't Leave you Alone

Theirs is this lady whose apartment is in my building. It is apartments hooked together. I don’t talk to people. Due to the problems, I have with the OCSD, I rarely leave my house. The last time I left my house, I went to the dollar store at Oakland Pointe, around the corner from my apartment. The manager was sitting outside, with a distraught look on her face staring out at the parking lot. I understand why, I went down the aisle to get my snacks and there were like ten young girls coming down the aisle towards me. I must admit it was intimidating, they were young, but some of them were the size of full-grown women. There was only one cash register open, but I knew the manager had come from outside, because I saw her. All these teenaged girls stood at the cashier talking and looking at me. I called out irritated at the harassment, “Is there another register open?” The cashier called out, “the manager is open on four, she is waiting for it to get backed up!” I turned my cart towards four and said, “It’s backed up!” The manager called me over and she began ringing my groceries. The “lady” the girls were with called out something in a disrespectful tone. I finished loading my stuff on the belt and loudly said, “Mind your business,” one of the teenagers said, “Ooh, she just told Miss… to mind her business!” The “woman” to save face with the children walked over to the register I was at to explain to me that she just saying, but then at the end said, “SISTER” with emphasis. Making inference to my man being White, like I don’t know I’m Black. She’s not sister, but I answered her, “I was just saying mind your business”. In a lower tone, because she is closer now. I paid for my stuff, and she walked back to the group of teenagers

As I walked out, I had to look for my keys. I stopped in front of the register where they were paying for their things, and they were still there giving the cashier a hard time. I would have been in that store waiting behind those girls, forever, they were already picking up stuff asking, “how much is this?” It’s a Dollar, and twenty-five cent store. So, I knew what it was and walked out to my car and left. They always want to challenge me. God gave me a ministry of Women, not teenaged girls. They tell people I’m gay, I’m not. They tell White women, I’m messing around with a White woman’s husband I’m not! All I’m trying to do is live my life. I’ve done anything to anyone, and I have never committed a crime. When I’m driving down the street, I must have cars driving with me, because they always have white cars pulling out like they’re going to run into me. I can’t go anywhere, without being harassed! Everywhere I go, they follow behind me telling people lies about me. The one that cracked me up the most was, “If I talk to my man that I’m going back to prison”. The people won’t harass me if he is my man, so they either lie or don’t mention him at all. To this day, no one has won against me, and no one will. They think sending me to prison was their plan, but why for two (2) years and six (6) months I lived alone in prison? I had to go insane, but we are all a little insane. I was tired of those bull daggers harassing me and keeping me up all night. I was in prison for something I didn’t even do, why would I change who I am for people who are weak and had succumb to being someone they are not to get along with demons. To harass someone for 11-years, because they can’t win. I mean they have cameras in my house watching every move. I can’t scratch my ass without them knowing. I don’t know how they are allowed to do it, I guess it’s the Patriot Act. I know I’ve never given anyone permission to video my entire life, they even have camera and audio in my car, phones tapped, and the outside perimeter of my house. Most of the time when I pull up another car pulls up, too! I am wanted.

I’m doing this woman a favor and she’s doing them a favor by talking sh*t about schizophrenics who stay in the house all the time and people who keep them locked in the basement. Where their nails grow long and their hair is stringy. She thinks she’s going to infiltrate my life to know all my business to report back to the demons. They have daughters and mothers trailing me everywhere I go. One woman looks at me like “Ah ha, I got my mother and yours is dead.” I hated going to Walmart with my mother! They have no idea. Then I had to go home with her. My brother would call me so frustrated, apologizing about how he doubted my sanity. My mother was something else. More than anyone could know, who didn’t live with her. She was mean. I am not glad my mother is dead by no means, but my brother wanted me to take her back, and I told him, “When you ask God for deliverance and He delivers you. You don’t go back to what he delivered you from.” There is no answer to that. But he kept trying. I kept Godding.

The next day she was not trying to make me leave my house with no bullsh*t story about agoraphobia. She wanted to express how Christians need to let God deal with the people who do them wrong. I used to be that way, but my man is mean. They were going to get him in 2001, but I showed up and saved his life. They thought they were controlling his life. Thought he had forgotten all about me. That he had married a White woman and had White kids. There was one of the receptionist, at this lady’s eye doctor that was set up with all these situations to take jabs at me, I kept laughing at her, and she finally went back behind the desk and sat down. Like I said, my man is mean. He spent 25 years getting those people back. I just laughed, but I got a little revenge for myself as I learned from him. Either way they lose, because they just can’t leave people alone. They can’t seem to stop being obsessed with me. Today, as I drove into the post office there were two Black men standing in the parking lot, old men. Just like there were four old White men at the doctor. They want me to be a whore so bad. I’ve waited 25 years for my man. I love him. I’m never going to have sex with anyone else. Not as long as he lives. Do you want to know why I never leave my house? Those demons won’t leave me alone. They are used to whores, just giving in. I watched this documentary about this man who was killing women who smoked crack in Clevland. It was titled, “Unseen”. Its on Amazon Prime. He raped and killed 85 women! To men like the ones that are harassing me, rapist, they don’t see us. The police in Clevland didn’t see the woman that got away. It took them three weeks to talk to her about the rape and assault. They didn’t press any charges, and said it was her word, against his. He had already spent 15 years in prison for rape! He didn't have a word.The next scene were pictures of her scars, bruises, and lacerations from where he tried to kill her. They see me, I think because I’m innocent but I still don't leave my apartment, much. Anthony Sowell was sentenced to DEATH.The same reason I would never give in to prostitution for them. THAT WOULD BE A DEATH SENTENCE TO ME. TO BE SEPARATED FROM God would kill me! He's the only reason I'm alive! The first newscast Simon did after the blog I wrote about him, and our association was how Epstein’s bank had to pay $309M to the survivors of Epstein’s Island. I am waiting for my share from Oakland County, no WE are waiting our share.

Hi Simon

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” – Romans 8:38-39