Well this is my first blog post in a while. This one is the story of how a seemingly good relationship ended up with me behind bars and having to "pick up the pieces" once again.
So, it all started with me meeting a classmate in my Master of Social Work Program. She and I met while having a smoke break. She seemed like a nice girl and we shared many of the same opinions. Over time, we got closer, eventually becoming very close friends. However, at this time, it was starting to become a bit evident that she liked to indulge in the spirits on a nightly basis. Ignoring this red flag, I started a romantic relationship with her and stayed at her apartment on weekends. Eventually, I moved in with her. Things were wonderful at first, except they slowly started to go downhill. Her drinking was absolutely out of control. She would drink a 26 ounce bottle of rum plus 1/2-1 bottle of wine a night every night. When she drank heavily, she would become extremely emotionally unstable and I would have to go into crisis intervention mode for hours on end. Her instability when drunk was to the point that if she were to be brought to an ER for a psych assessment, she would likely be admitted to the inpatient psych department.
Because I work in addictions, I did what I could to try and get her help. She didn't want help. She didn't see herself as having a problem. After a week long alcohol fueled crisis, she agreed to stop drinking hard liquor. Instead, she'd drink two magnums or three bottles of wine a night every night. She would actually go through withdraws if she didn't drink. She never had money to go 50-50 on groceries with me, but always had money to go to the liquor store on a daily basis. At this point, the relationship turned into my personal hell. There were many incidents that occurred, such as her stealing my temazepam and drinking heavily (resulting in a very messy blackout- I'll spare the details for those with weak stomachs) and me having to call EMS because she was choking on her own vomit. There was constant drama. It was nonstop.
Now as a sidebar, I've always been a firearms enthusiast. I've served in the military, and I had a Restricted permit, meaning I could own handguns. Now because we lived in a really rough area, I figured that it would be sensible to have some self-defense weapons handy. I had an ASP Lever-Loc Baton, OC Spray and at first, a Taurus PT100 in .40 S&W loaded with 180 grain Ranger SXT (aka. the infamous "Black Talons"). Eventually, I made the really stupid mistake of bringing more of my guns to the apartment, so in total there were 6 pistols in the apartment. Mind you, I only had ammo for the Taurus and my Smith and Wesson 686 .357 Magnum, but still, it was a dumb move.
After a benign day of me going out to appointments and my ex sulking about the apartment drinking, I took note of the fact that she was speaking to her mother on the phone. This struck me as odd, as they would often go months at end without speaking. Her mother is an evil, bitter woman with an extreme case of alcoholism (i.e. a 60 ounce bottle of rum a day). I also noticed that if I stepped in the room, my ex would go to the balcony, and if I went out to the balcony for a smoke when my ex was there, she would scurry inside. This was another red flag. Anyways, I was sitting at my computer when she comes up to me and accuses me of hiding her cigarettes as a "practical joke". This struck me as odd, as she always kept her cigarettes in the exact same place and would go nuts if she didn't have smokes. So, she left. I figured that she was going to the store for cigarettes and decided to turn in for the night. I was out on the balcony having a smoke when I heard my full name being called. I looked down off the balcony to see if it was a buddy hollering up to me. Then I heard the words "This is the Windsor Police, turn around slowly". I turn around to see Emergency Services Unit (SWAT) officers holding me at gunpoint. My body was covered with laser dots and I complied with their orders. I knew that if I flinched, they'd light me up. At the same time, I had no idea what was going on. After the situation had defused, the police told me that my ex's mother had called down from another city to our local 911 and my ex had been talking to the police and saying that I pointed a gun at her, which isn't the case.
So I take a trip downtown, where I'm booked on several serious charges, specifically: Point Firearm, Assault with Weapon (when you're charged with Point Firearm in Canada, you're also automatically charged with Assault with Weapon), Careless Use of Firearm, Possession of Firearm Dangerous to Public Peace and the biggie of them all, Forcible Confinement. This happened on a long weekend and the WASH (Weekends and Statutory Holidays) court decided to remand me. So I spent the next week in Windsor Jail (aka County, "the bucket"). Windsor Jail is notorious for its overcrowding and especially for its violence. It's a filthy, decrepit place where violence is the norm. I arrived on my range (cell block) and the "heavies" (shotcallers) for that range almost immediately ask me what my charges are. I tell them. Then all of a sudden, guys from all over the range are giving me their juices and milks. My celly said to me "The heavies like you". I later found out that they liked me because I was in for firearms offenses. So for the next while I lived the jail life. Aside from the boredom and the fact that I didn't get my bupe or any of my other meds for about a week, it wasn't too bad. In fact, the guys on my range would give me their juices because they knew that I was dopesick and needed sweets to curb it. I had great guys on my range, all in there for different crimes, since Windsor Jail in an integrated facility. I got to see a few new guys get beaten down and bounced from the range and got to watch more than a few good fights. I saw firsthand what happens to "goofs" and "hounds" when they're stupid enough to try and go GP instead of going into PC (to anyone that's been in the Canadian penal system, you know what a goof is and what a hound is and you know what happens to them if they try and go into GP). Needless to say, the goofs and hounds quickly "checked in" and all ended up going to PC after receiving a savage beating. I laid low and stayed out of any drama. One of the few good things about jail was that it relies on a barter and trade economy, which worked to my advantage, since I love bartering and trading. So eventually, my first bail hearing came up. I was denied bail and remanded again because the Crown (the prosecutor) was considering adding more charges. I figured that it is what it is, and the damage to my future is potentially already done. I have a really good lawyer that's extremely well known in this area and is a partner in a nationally renowned law firm and I didn't say a word to the police. The detective tried his hardest to get me to talk, but like a broken record I said "This matter will only be discussed in the presence of my legal counsel, can we finish this interview already?". A day after my bail hearing, I was released. I didn't have to pay any bail, and my surety didn't have to pay either. If I breached my conditions ("stips"), I'd have to pay $1500 and my surety $2000.
So fast forward to now. School is on hold for at least a year, but I'm thinking about going to law school instead. My lawyer, and many other lawyers and judges and justices that I know all insist that I should be a lawyer. I've spent thousands on my defense, but at this point, the most that I'm looking at is a Conditional Discharge, which is where there's no conviction, but I still have to meet conditions (as if I was on probation). Considering that I'm innocent, it's still a more than a little unfair. At this point, we're going to get a Diversion and have everything stricken from the record and all charges dropped. The only evidence in this case of my alleged crimes is an extremely biased statement written by a drunken lunatic.
Regardless, I'm doing really well, and I've learned a lot from this experience. I just hope that this girl gets help, because she's well on the road to drinking herself to death.
So, it all started with me meeting a classmate in my Master of Social Work Program. She and I met while having a smoke break. She seemed like a nice girl and we shared many of the same opinions. Over time, we got closer, eventually becoming very close friends. However, at this time, it was starting to become a bit evident that she liked to indulge in the spirits on a nightly basis. Ignoring this red flag, I started a romantic relationship with her and stayed at her apartment on weekends. Eventually, I moved in with her. Things were wonderful at first, except they slowly started to go downhill. Her drinking was absolutely out of control. She would drink a 26 ounce bottle of rum plus 1/2-1 bottle of wine a night every night. When she drank heavily, she would become extremely emotionally unstable and I would have to go into crisis intervention mode for hours on end. Her instability when drunk was to the point that if she were to be brought to an ER for a psych assessment, she would likely be admitted to the inpatient psych department.
Because I work in addictions, I did what I could to try and get her help. She didn't want help. She didn't see herself as having a problem. After a week long alcohol fueled crisis, she agreed to stop drinking hard liquor. Instead, she'd drink two magnums or three bottles of wine a night every night. She would actually go through withdraws if she didn't drink. She never had money to go 50-50 on groceries with me, but always had money to go to the liquor store on a daily basis. At this point, the relationship turned into my personal hell. There were many incidents that occurred, such as her stealing my temazepam and drinking heavily (resulting in a very messy blackout- I'll spare the details for those with weak stomachs) and me having to call EMS because she was choking on her own vomit. There was constant drama. It was nonstop.
Now as a sidebar, I've always been a firearms enthusiast. I've served in the military, and I had a Restricted permit, meaning I could own handguns. Now because we lived in a really rough area, I figured that it would be sensible to have some self-defense weapons handy. I had an ASP Lever-Loc Baton, OC Spray and at first, a Taurus PT100 in .40 S&W loaded with 180 grain Ranger SXT (aka. the infamous "Black Talons"). Eventually, I made the really stupid mistake of bringing more of my guns to the apartment, so in total there were 6 pistols in the apartment. Mind you, I only had ammo for the Taurus and my Smith and Wesson 686 .357 Magnum, but still, it was a dumb move.
After a benign day of me going out to appointments and my ex sulking about the apartment drinking, I took note of the fact that she was speaking to her mother on the phone. This struck me as odd, as they would often go months at end without speaking. Her mother is an evil, bitter woman with an extreme case of alcoholism (i.e. a 60 ounce bottle of rum a day). I also noticed that if I stepped in the room, my ex would go to the balcony, and if I went out to the balcony for a smoke when my ex was there, she would scurry inside. This was another red flag. Anyways, I was sitting at my computer when she comes up to me and accuses me of hiding her cigarettes as a "practical joke". This struck me as odd, as she always kept her cigarettes in the exact same place and would go nuts if she didn't have smokes. So, she left. I figured that she was going to the store for cigarettes and decided to turn in for the night. I was out on the balcony having a smoke when I heard my full name being called. I looked down off the balcony to see if it was a buddy hollering up to me. Then I heard the words "This is the Windsor Police, turn around slowly". I turn around to see Emergency Services Unit (SWAT) officers holding me at gunpoint. My body was covered with laser dots and I complied with their orders. I knew that if I flinched, they'd light me up. At the same time, I had no idea what was going on. After the situation had defused, the police told me that my ex's mother had called down from another city to our local 911 and my ex had been talking to the police and saying that I pointed a gun at her, which isn't the case.
So I take a trip downtown, where I'm booked on several serious charges, specifically: Point Firearm, Assault with Weapon (when you're charged with Point Firearm in Canada, you're also automatically charged with Assault with Weapon), Careless Use of Firearm, Possession of Firearm Dangerous to Public Peace and the biggie of them all, Forcible Confinement. This happened on a long weekend and the WASH (Weekends and Statutory Holidays) court decided to remand me. So I spent the next week in Windsor Jail (aka County, "the bucket"). Windsor Jail is notorious for its overcrowding and especially for its violence. It's a filthy, decrepit place where violence is the norm. I arrived on my range (cell block) and the "heavies" (shotcallers) for that range almost immediately ask me what my charges are. I tell them. Then all of a sudden, guys from all over the range are giving me their juices and milks. My celly said to me "The heavies like you". I later found out that they liked me because I was in for firearms offenses. So for the next while I lived the jail life. Aside from the boredom and the fact that I didn't get my bupe or any of my other meds for about a week, it wasn't too bad. In fact, the guys on my range would give me their juices because they knew that I was dopesick and needed sweets to curb it. I had great guys on my range, all in there for different crimes, since Windsor Jail in an integrated facility. I got to see a few new guys get beaten down and bounced from the range and got to watch more than a few good fights. I saw firsthand what happens to "goofs" and "hounds" when they're stupid enough to try and go GP instead of going into PC (to anyone that's been in the Canadian penal system, you know what a goof is and what a hound is and you know what happens to them if they try and go into GP). Needless to say, the goofs and hounds quickly "checked in" and all ended up going to PC after receiving a savage beating. I laid low and stayed out of any drama. One of the few good things about jail was that it relies on a barter and trade economy, which worked to my advantage, since I love bartering and trading. So eventually, my first bail hearing came up. I was denied bail and remanded again because the Crown (the prosecutor) was considering adding more charges. I figured that it is what it is, and the damage to my future is potentially already done. I have a really good lawyer that's extremely well known in this area and is a partner in a nationally renowned law firm and I didn't say a word to the police. The detective tried his hardest to get me to talk, but like a broken record I said "This matter will only be discussed in the presence of my legal counsel, can we finish this interview already?". A day after my bail hearing, I was released. I didn't have to pay any bail, and my surety didn't have to pay either. If I breached my conditions ("stips"), I'd have to pay $1500 and my surety $2000.
So fast forward to now. School is on hold for at least a year, but I'm thinking about going to law school instead. My lawyer, and many other lawyers and judges and justices that I know all insist that I should be a lawyer. I've spent thousands on my defense, but at this point, the most that I'm looking at is a Conditional Discharge, which is where there's no conviction, but I still have to meet conditions (as if I was on probation). Considering that I'm innocent, it's still a more than a little unfair. At this point, we're going to get a Diversion and have everything stricken from the record and all charges dropped. The only evidence in this case of my alleged crimes is an extremely biased statement written by a drunken lunatic.
Regardless, I'm doing really well, and I've learned a lot from this experience. I just hope that this girl gets help, because she's well on the road to drinking herself to death.