Wrote this on Christmas Day 23’
Personal artwork by Clelia Jane Sheppard
I'll never forget when I was tricked into being arrested that fine freezing wintery day in November 2019. I was called into the nondescript creepy federal building in Norfolk, a giant thumb sticking out amidst all the hopping night life, that is no longer hopping due to alcohol no longer being sold after a certain time.
I had to sit in a nondescript office with a buzzing fluorescent light, sign a piece of paper and then suddenly "I'm gonna need your shoe laces"
What, me thinks? What?
Suddenly, I realized just how fucked I was.
Another day, another person in America killed for being mentally unwell/injured
I was then transported to the Walter Hoffman holding cell in hand cuffs, the one attached to the courthouse, and stayed there for 24 hours in an open, but closed, holding cell area to get my picture taken, which happened as it was freezing cold rain. Who knew that at that time, Covid was brewing in China.
My cell mate, the first one, sat in silence before she was escorted to another ominous chamber. The weird cut off white brick walls that were tinged yellow from too much mouth breathing, with shades of pale blue, allowed for brief glimpses on shiny metal warped mirrors above to see who else was in there, which in my case were some "gang" members of Norfolk.
My immediate shared space was a woman, who was a ‘hardened’ heroin dealer who had been part of a large bust in a more rural Newport News area, she wasn't nice, but she wasn't mean either. It was like being in purgatory.
I'll never forget as I Was called to go to the bus, right before the gang guy said "Hey look, it's J. Biebs". At the time, I had really short hair and kind of looked like a chubby Justin Bieber. It really sucked hearing that, and my life has been permanently ruined by this one comment.
I had to have my feet shackled and all of the inmates proceeded, like those cartoon characters in old time cartoons where the jailbirds are dressed in stripes, with our hands and feet in a long procession to a van. The US Marshall who did it was so robotic, you could just see his training emerge as I sobbed like a child at my poor, miserable unfortunate fate. Not one iota of a synapse firing betraying a sign of emotion, a faulty muscle twitch in the form of an eye crinkle-possible reminiscent of an emotion some living beings would denote as humanity.
He did not give a literal rats ass.
I had to sit in a van, with the same men who were "gang members" in the back making really freaky comments but mostly being quiet.
At one point, someone farted so badly, in the cramped space that was separated with metal with each bench, that I was convinced maybe someone had openly defected in the vehicle.
It was a somber experience.
Then waiting another 18 hours in a more tiny cramped cell in Western Tidwater for the "spread your cheeks and cough" transformation into a jumpsuit.
Before being placed into the next tiny cell, after being loaded out of the vehicle like inventory at a supermarket, I saw a room with glass viewing windows that showed where all the men were going....they were lined up on mats, squeezed like sardines. It was quite a sight to see, just how many people of all shapes, colors and sizes jam packed into one room, just waiting to go to the next room.
After being moved from the post pre-waiting room room, we were signaled to move again, in virtually wordless neanderthal grunting.
In this tinier cell, there was a toilet, a tiny white cubicle like room with cinderblocks and no way out. In it were 10 women at one point, sitting shoulder to shoulder. One of them was an older Onyx lady who was so mentally ill it was sad, she kept saying "where's my baby, where's my baby", while occasionally whispering graphic details of bodily fluids and other weird stuff that made me realize she was talking about a past abortion. It was clear she had schizophrenia.
Every second, one of the ten women was trying to find a way to get the attention of the guard to get out, the worst part was the sheer nothingness of just waiting there and wondering if the person next to you was violent or not, or why they were there, and if this was some cruel game because of how not busy the guards looked, and how clearly drawn out this process was, which was probably the point: mental torture.
After the brief and robotic introduction of "here's your clothes, there's a phone"points to one in main room that we'll never see again, goodbye, I was escorted to the cell on the third floor.
There was one tiny knock off “iPad” attached to the wall in this bigger room, but it was an elusive out of reach object for most noobs.
It had an open area, and some of the women walked around freely, at certain allotted times. The "Mask" was playing nonstop, it was like a nightmare. I fucking hate that show.
The shower room was basically a string that let a giant cascade of either scalding hot water or really freezing water out, and it was not private and you could not go there whenever you wanted, obviously.
I believe I saw the woman, Antonella Barba, from a singing reality tv show. She was pacing her cell in underwear. It was unnerving to see someone I had seen in magazines, caged like a lion.
My cellmate was, again, like most people, not outgoing (who would be, it's jail, who would be happy) but not mean. The night was freezing, but her lights that she had in there made it less depressing, as did her collection of family photos and stacks of books-she was there for at least two years for something related to stealing.
I am thankful she was my cell mate, and not someone horrible, like some of the women sitting together who had a collection of plastic jam packs…eyeing me in a very sinister/territorial way.
Psychiatry - An Industry of Death
At 3 am the lights went on and many women went to get Rx meds, to take at 3 am, because you know, diurnal cycles matter in prison/jail/locked facilities, what with the lights and all, and clearly "brain health" and "rehabilitation" are of the utmost priority with all the nothingness, boredom and constant exposure to lighting.
Really "head injury" friendly, let alone "schizophrenic" friendly.
One girl, who had major schizophrenia caused a lockdown. She was taken to a cell where she was restrained naked, for suicide threats.
As a survivor of an early childhood adverse experience, being treated like this for something that happened the way it did, was incredibly traumatizing. This creepy artwork represents how people with mental health issues are treated in prisons, lined up against a wall, exposed. graphic, raw, and disturbing. just like my experience.
The prison system targeting the vulnerable and mentally ill, tying them up like cattle, naked & afraid. This is reminiscent of hushed stories of centuries past, where wealthy elite would hunt trafficked victims and treat them like animals for sport, like at The Biltmore (no direct evidence of this allegation). Child abuse, abuse of the impoverished, abuse of the abused, abuse of victims of domestic violence, abuse of the mentally ill. That is what our country turns a blind eye to every single day. Akin to The Island of Doctor Moreau…
The breakfast was slimy baloney with holes that had brown edges to it that looked straight out of a movie, like maggots could be in it, a hard biscuit that was like crumbly concrete dust, a packet of peanut butter that had oil separation, no taste and looked like old glue.
A catheter bag of grape juice was the daily drink option, but it was more like just....chemical facsimile of grape that was so warm it felt like they had placed it in an oven before, despite the metal bed frame and outdoor weather conditions making the entire place freezing.
The prosecutor of the day, Billy Jackson, made sure to forget about me for a while so I would linger, pre-trial. Before I was goaded into admitting guilt for fear of an entire year of imprisonment in the same facility. With my luck, I would be dead under those circumstances.
In the time I was there, trying to get the attention of the main guard to ask for the status of my release was really cumbersome, to put it mildly, virtually impossible. Like talking to a wall.
Sometimes I have nightmares that I am being tossed like a ball down these hallways and turned into a cartoon cubicle roly poly and then squeezed like human play doh into a series of gears and levers after being attacked/killed by “gang” members.
I'm one of the lucky ones, since some people in Hampton Roads have stayed in this jail for a long time before their trial without being able to get out. Achieve freedom. Liberation. Healing.
My charge?
Possession of a weapon, first time offense. Didn't matter why I had it, didn't matter that I had never used it, all that mattered was that according to them, me having this weapon was a threat to interstate commerce and my past history of cannabis use/ hospitalizations from eating disorder related issues made me a "mental defective". I bought this from someone I met at ammo something something .com, which was a legal buy and trade sell site. This purchase was in 2018, prior to Ralph Northam's laws that went into effect in 2020 that stated buyers needed to admit certain limiting factors to purchase approval, such as substance use and mental health. It was a purchase through a private exchange, with a private receipt, and I still know the person to this day. The legal proceedings painted it as if I knowingly went against the law at the time, and because it was a federal case, due to the elevator clause of "affecting interstate commerce" the nitpicky loopholes/laws cited changed-another favorite tactic by the justice system to confuse, ensnare and trap people into their web. They sure loved making it seem as though this private exchange was akin to a back alley abortion. Funny how, in years prior to this, such as from 2011-2016ish, one could go on FB Marketplace and find a revolver. Somehow, since the shootings in Las Vegas time, owning a gun has now become something that causes people to judge you and think you're part of the problem/a nut. Why would you need a gun? Can’t solve violence with violence? Clearly these are people that are not familiar with the nuance of country living. (https://clelala.substack.com/p/the-real-bio-on-linkedin-part-1)
The media constantly reporting on shootings and making a big deal out of it only adds fuel to the fire and makes the people everyone's afraid of act, because of the attention they know they'll receive in their glory moment-although some are too sick to even think of that in the cold blooded premeditation most people do in these times. I've oversimplified it to the point of pedantic blathering, but I hope the point is conveyed. Has this immense cockblocking of buying weapons actually lowered violence? Certainly not according to the daily reporting of the Virginian- Pilot, if anything, based on more reporting, the shootings have increased.
These stringent and harsh methods for dealing with possession of guns by people who don't fit the bill are draconian, to say the least. The group of people who convinced me to get a gun, boxcar children men from Hallwood area VA, who all drink copious amounts of alcohol but have jobs as divers and N*S* chemists, go shoot on target ranges in their backyard. It's for fun, and a healthy outlet, they say. An older man, a gun rights advocate in that area, also said, "You should not be traveling alone doing photography without a gun" and even taught me some of the rules-he offers a class that gives permits to people. It's so interesting being brought up in a place where gun culture is common, and how that culture is mostly acceptable for just a certain kind of person-and not one who is always sober or "not defective mentally". It's a slippery slope when another human has the power to call someone else "defective".
I could argue that prosecutors are mentally defective from a biblical and spiritual point....what sane person in the eyes of God would spend every second of every day arguing in a charade of characters wearing guns, badges and black robes, while forcing people to swear on a bible as they take them to hell? #pharisees #FalseProphets
An excerpt from one of my favorite Virginian-Pilot reporters, for her fearless reporting….
In many ways, what I went through pales in comparison to others, and was merciful-but I cannot help but think just how far the prosecutors (who went to my Alma Mater, but not as undergrads, just lawyers) went to paint me as a horrible fucked up person, including using references from my sister, who has openly ridiculed my mental health in private while championing it publicly and has played this duplicitous role since my literal actual birth, as character witnesses (Without admitting it), interviewing a "friend of mine" who was a heroin addict with a severe learning disorder/bitter I never slept with him back before I morphed into Justin Bieber by accident, and using pictures I had on Fakebook of a bonfire to "prove" I was an arsonist who sets "kayaks on fire".
This experience changed my life, it has brought out a dryness and cynicism that was not present before, and it is merely because I peered in the gaping abyss of a system that is dehumanizing, probably like how Dr. Golpira feels being a gynecologist & dealing with transgender patients who ask her when their next period will be despite not having a uterus or fallopian tubes.
I'm still in it's grasp today, and I can tell you, the mere presence of this in your life is like a black cloud hovering over you every second.
I have learned that self defense for some will have to come by way of a more ruthless nature (writing), through the words written that will hopefully one day humble the sanctimonious policy/law makers who create conditions that lump people in categories they themselves would not wish upon their worst enemy, but do anyway because somewhere along the line, they were taught they're doing God's work and "upholding" the constitution.
What they often do is further entrench people into depths of an inescapable hell, which is great, because that's what keeps them in business.
Remember, this isn't a justice system, merely a "just us" system (https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/19/us/politics/inside-hunter-biden-plea-deal.html)
Hunter plays the dumbfounded card, stating it was all just a big misunderstanding that he had mental health issues including addiction and lied about them on form 4473. Most people who get caught with a weapon they are prohibited from owning, such as myself, face strict retaliation from the state and federal government.
I had to go to jail, spend a year on house arrest with an ankle monitor and remain on probation for four years with mandatory location monitoring, random home searches with no warning, drug tests and forced updates to a stranger I don't know about detailed personal information such as finances and health including sharing my banking account/routing number. I am now a convicted felon because I was charged for having a weapon that I purchased for self defense after a former "partner" brutally attacked me. My life will never be the same after this experience and the consequences detrimentally impacted the course of my future.
Meanwhile, this man receives no consequence.
PS. I never lied about purchasing this weapon or about my previous cannabis use/mental health because the weapon was purchased through a private deal prior to July 1, 2020.
CONTINUED
As Christmas Day approaches, I am reminded of the two year period in which a strange man I did not know, my PO, was consistently harassing me during my Catholic celebration of Jesus's Birth, with my parents who will not be on this earth for a long time anymore because of their age, and who's last cognizant years were stressed out because one of their many, complicated children was thrown in jail and lambasted publicly as mentally defective. Barely skims the surface.
As I had an ankle monitor on me, I was out of range, like a dog in an electric fence, and received an angry call from him yelling at me because I had gone to their house to wish them Merry Christmas, something I never missed out of principle.
Not only did he call on this day, but other days too. His brusque monotone perpetually annoyed loud voice constantly invading my privacy and asking questions, just part of the job.
Til the day I am an old lady, I will be haunted by all the times I had to accept calls from a NO CALLER ID knowing it was this person telling me how to live my life, right down to the particulate matter in my urine. To my financial bank account information, to random appearances at my doorstep and job sites. For years.
All because of a gun.
Fortunately, the constant contact has ceased to be so persistent as my time of supervision draws to a close.
To this day, I will be haunted knowing what my parents had to witness in their golden years from a life they worked hard to create, as well as their final remembrances of who I am as their life fades.
Lasting memories.
So glad the final years of my twenties, the best decade of life, were consumed giving Menarche-like monthly reports, another painful Mittelschmerz of the soul, and daily feedback with selfie technology, paying BI to wear an ankle monitor, going to a jail cell, and sending pointless emails to salaried government officials.
All because of my need for self defense. Who knew, that when I sat in my friend Andrea Harrington’s living room in Wyoming, now an agent of the matrix herself, watching Orange is the New Black, that what I was watching would unfold as a similar personal reality years later. Careful what you allow into your subconscious mind, including the topics of this blog. Not for the faint of heart. As evidenced by the perpetual silence, a familiar sound for the discarded members of society. Especially after a certain age, and especially if they’re women.
It’s pretty apparent that violence towards women, both systemic and random, does not really unnerve people because it’s glorified in the novels, shows, movies and news headlines they read on the regular. Very deliberate. When a woman who has been victimized later veers from the norm, maybe shows a flash of anger or doesn’t act like a prim and proper lady of the house, she’s vilified, asked if she’s on meds and probably sent to a jail to get fingerprints. What next, a satellite GPS scan of my wandering uterus? With exact coordinates?
A cycle of violence, inner poverty and the feeling of being ostracized. Perpetuated by disinterest, ignorance, lack of bandwidth and, frankly, others just not caring about anything other than themselves. Left to be fed to the wolves, feasting off another number, another ID, another “star” in the tax funded mass gestapo.
Hey guys, did anyone ever check why social media is called media, and not just hyped up HTML?
Did anyone ever figure out why Magazines, Photoshop masterpieces, newspapers, published/printed journals, posters people design (all forms of media) are categorized the same as a platform that just shares these things, that is then called "social" "media" and therefore used as a tool to incriminate, spy and fire people because of freedom of press/speech laws and warped loopholes/language made by teams of greedy lawyers just to fuck people over?
Who decided this was a good approach to life, instead of the old fashioned way, which was actually getting to know people and establishing real connections with them?
Just wondering.
Still can't get over the fact that a once silly app that people used to write Listicles on is actually used as a way to fire them, send them to jail and spy on them through messenger/posts.
There's nothing inherently "social" about social media since it involves mostly sitting somewhere, by yourself, staring at a screen and either watching something, liking it or leaving a comment, that most likely no one will see.
Really miss the days when we killed trees to share messages, instead of just building data centers that give the illusion we're not using as much paper, but have replaced paper with mined earth repositories that upheave communities for "green" electricity.
