As of today, my life as I know it is crumbling beneath me.
I found out via a phone call from my aunt that my father’s step-dad died in a car crash. Fortunately he didn’t take any other lives with him, as he was–of course–driving drunk. I wish I could say it wasn’t expected, but he had been a raging, abusive alcoholic for years, and drove drunk frequently. I remember one night, when I was 12 and I was visiting my grandparents at their home in Sparta, GA, my grandfather was driving the three of us kids and his wife home, and was pulled over and arrested for driving drunk . So, needless to say, he drove himself to his own demise. (Excuse the pun.) My grandmother and her daughter are beside themselves with grief. I cried most of the first day that I found out he had passed, even though we didn’t have a good relationship. After everything that happened to me in California, he provided me with food, shelter, and clothing, and he didn’t have to do any of that. So it’s almost like he was a third parent. I will not miss his alcoholic ways, but I will miss him.
Now, to add on to that, I have legal issues. I don’t recall if I mentioned that I have been both to jail and to prison, but I have been to jail and to prison. I was off my medication and held a knife to my roommate’s throat, who, instead of calling 9-1-1–where I would have been taken to a mental health facility and properly cared for–called the authorities (which I understand because I would have been scared shitless too), who proceeded to arrest me and take me to jail, where I rotted for a whole 14 months. After fighting the DA’s offer tooth and nail, I finally accepted a 10-serve-2 sentence–meaning I had to spend two years behind bars, and I have eight years of probation. That makes a total of ten years. So far, I have served four of that eight.
My probation conditions are very simple–stay away from the victim, comply with any and all recommended mental health services, and be in the house at curfew. My probation initiated in Dublin, GA, so when I got out of the hospital in Savannah, my probation had to transfer to a new city. I left Officer Spann, and was introduced to Officer Tucker–a probation officer trained in the mental health area, but who has no compassion or sympathy of any kind. All of a sudden, probation is a big deal. Tucker comes to see me often, even randomly popping up at the day treatment program to make sure I am in attendance.
The problem is that I missed some days early in the beginning of treatment because I was afraid and depressed (Officer Tucker maintains that depression is not an excuse to miss treatment–and she is supposed to be understanding. Last time I checked Major Depressive Disorder is a disability and can be debilitating), and I just missed a day about two weeks ago because I was sick. Unfortunately, probation got wind of this and my originating county put out a warrant for my arrest for “non-compliance.” Technically, I should be in jail right now, but when my PO came to see me a few days ago she told me that she kind of spoke up for me–telling my county that I attended treatment the next day, and I was doing well in treatment. So I was not arrested (or, rather, I haven’t been yet).
Because of my “non-compliance” my case was returned to its originating county. Back to Dublin, GA. Technically, meaning I am supposed to uproot myself and go back to Laurens county. I am supposed to leave my boyfriend and everything that we have going, leave the Reed House (which I will tell you all about in another entry on another day), leave my home, leave the ACT Team (the people who took me in and found me housing on an outpatient basis when I was released from the hospital), leave my therapist, leave my psychiatrist, leave my friends. Did they once have any interest in my well-being? I have no home, no money, no food. No friends or family in Dublin, GA. What are they expecting me to do–live under a bridge? Eat roadkill? Shower with sewer water? There are NO homeless shelters in Dublin. I would literally be living on the street.
I’m freaking out because I can’t go back to Dublin. I texted my ex PO an “irrational message” and she called me, angrily saying that “she was just doing her job, and that my case had been returned.” Then, frantic for answers, I texted my current PO, begging her to case my case back–that I would go to treatment at the Reed House even if I had Stage 4 brain cancer and I was in excruciating pain. She proceeded to call me, also angrily, and said that I needed to “stop texting me this foolishness before you make me mad.” That she had “saved me from being arrested, and didn’t want to hear any more of that foolishness.” When I argued that my case had been returned, she replied, “I don’t want to talk about that. I will call you when I need you.” Click.
My therapist called me this morning because I called her in hysteria about the fact that I may have to return to Dublin. I told her, as I have told three other people, and now you guys–if I go back to Dublin, I will kill myself, and this time I will be successful.