CNS I

In March of 2012, I was released from the Oakland County Jail (OCJ) for a hiatus. I was truly a mental and emotional wreck. I had previously been in jail for seven months, starting in January. I had been committed to the Forensic Center for four months and had gone home for a week after, and went back to jail in November. There was a stipulation on my bail that I would have to wear a GPS tether on top of the $1,000 my mother had already paid. My mother paid for two weeks of the tether and I went home. In December, when she couldn't pay another week , Martha Anderson sent me back to jail. While in jail, I had recieved the okay to plead "Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity". I hadn't done anything wrong, and refused to take the plea. Judge Anderson had badgered me from the bench to take it, but I still refused. I was given another pretrial date and spent another 45 days in jail.

 On March 5, 2012, I had a court date. My then attorney, Howard Arnkoff, God rest his soul, made Kelly Collins admit on the record that she had no idea where he was the last 15 months, while I was in jail. He had claimed that for the last year, to Chabot and to Anderson when she revoke my bond in December. Now, she was admitting that she had no victim. While I sat in jail being torture, by OCJ deputies. Anderson, the woman that had badgered me from the bench to take a plea, set me free. I agreed not to blog and she let me go. I stood there rocking and silently crying in disbelief, I acted as if I didn't hear what she had said. Her reporter looked at me and said, "Did you hear her? You're free to go." I didn't budge. Anderson looked at Arnkoff, who had fought for me and swore that I was sane, and nodded affirmation. "See," her nod implied, "she is unstable". He didn't look my way, he simply said, "Sit down." I did.

I stipulation of my bond, because I had been declared incompetent to stand trial was to be involve with an out-patient psychiatric program. I had been involved with Community Network Service, when I got out of prison. I went back to them, because they were familiar. All summer long, I came in once a month and spoke to a psychiatrist there nicknamed, Dr. Z. I sat and talked to him and answered his question. I had a trial date set for early September. My attorney and I wasn't getting along, because she wasn't doing her job. I text her earlier that morning, before court and asked her if I needed anything from Dr. Z. She told me that I wouldn't. I got on the bus and went to court. I got to court to an entirely different scenario. Patrice Waterman was there, sitting next to my victim. She told a story about my having emailed her. The judge had told me that I couldn't use the Internet to email, but especially not to blog. I could only use it for school, which I had only started the week before.

After Patrice Waterman backed down from her statement, I thought I would be free to begin my trial. Nope, Judge Anderson asked if I had been seeing my psychiatrist. I told her that I had and everything was going well. She said that she wanted to give him a call. She put him and speaker phone and he began to lie on me. He told the judge that I still had problems with facing reality and that I refused to take the medication if he prescribed it. None of those things had ever been discussed. We talked about school and my future, and he never brought up medication. Besides, I wouldn't even have to tell him I wasn't taking the medication. If he prescribed it, all I had to do is get the script filled and not take it. They can't force you to take medication. If you don't take it, you have to live with the consequences of your unstable behavior. I knew that, and would never deny medication prescribed for me.

Since the email fiasco didn't work, Dr. Z, gave her the ammunition to send me back to jail. She looked at me and stated, "You knew I wanted you to take medication". First, I didn't know she wanted me to take medication. I knew she wanted me to be insane, but she knew that I knew I wasn't insane. Second, how could I take medication that wasn't prescribed for me? He just told her that he never prescribe any medication for me. The lie was that I told him I wouldn't take it, if I was given it. I asked my attorney, who was so pissed at me, because she had yet to secure the phone records that would prove my case. She turned her nose up at me, and said, "I don't know". As if to say, "Look bitch, you've been giving me a hard time. Now, it's my turn. You ready to beg me yet?" She and Judge Anderson are friends, good friends, and they had this in the works before that day had even began.

With my uncanny way of pissing people off, I went to sit in the jury box on my way back to the Oakland County Jail. Patrice Waterman, because of her recant was not present at my trial, when she was a key witness had watch as I was taken away. Jeff Buchmann, the derelict detective, who should have brought the phone records to court months before, watched too. My attorney walked towards me, looking mean with disgust. She thought that I would cuss her out the way I had the week, before, so the judge would understand why she had snaked me. My victim, stood there with his hands in his pocket with a look that I asked, "How in hell did it get this far?" I plopped my ass down in the chair, clasped my hands together on my lap, and told my lawyer. "I'll go wherever you want me to go, just get those phone records. Then I waited for the deputies to come get me,and I went back to hell, where I fought for my life. ...And boy, did I fight, and I fight, today...