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Just my damn luck

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I don’t know how many of you out there are superstitious or not but in a way I most certainly am!! If anything could go wrong for anyone I know it’s gonna be me outta everybody else. That’s for damn sure.

I don’t know if I wrote and posted about Sam and I being pulled over on her way to bring me back home from her place one evening at the end of last month. It was by a state trooper, and I must admit he was very nice (extremely nice). And by saying that I mean it literally. Sam had a bench warrant out for ‘failure to appear’ since she missed her court date for misdemeanor theft charge, and I know it popped up when he ran her name through the system. But he let her go the specific night.

As for me, I ended up catching a felony drug charge. It was merely a possession charge, but it was what I was in possession of that was the problem. I had two (2) pieces of paraphenalia used to do meth with (a bowl for smoking and a straight shooter for hot rails). Along with a possession of marijuana charge. The last one is a simple misdemeanor in which I’m not really worried about. A fine at most is all it’ll be. But along with those two (2) possession charges I also copped a possession of methamphetamine charge.

No!

I didn’t have any actual meth on me. As in, the drug itself. It was only the residue of whatever was in the two (2) pieces I had (the bowl or the straight shooter) on how I caught that charge. When he asked me how many felony drug charges I had I answered in response with a question of my own, knowing the answer as soon as i asked it and quickly feeling dumb as hell. I asked the man if possession of marijuana counted and he waved his hand through the air like waving away the simplest of gnats. Basically telling me that those didn’t count. When it comes to marijuana possession charges they’re all usually misdemeanors unless your caught with over 8 oz or it’s bagged for individual sale, which would be trafficking. Since I have none of those charges on my record i knew immediately what he was telling me.

My first felony drug charge was back in 2007. Possession of cocaine. Again I was never caught in possession of actual drug. Just an empty baggy on my nightstand in the bedroom. I know with everything in me that even with a field test it wouldn’t have tested positive for shit. So, how they got away with charging me as being in possession, is as good a guess on my part as it is your’s.

This would be only my 2nd felony drug charge in my entire 40 years alive and walking on this insane planet we live upon. After hearing it would only be my 2nd, he again waved his hand through the air (swatting at that annoying fucking gnat again I presume) dismissing the charge he was writing me up for in that moment. He told me I’d be alright and at the most the amount of time they’d offer me is a year (or possibly rehab).

Rehab????

I’m not good when it comes to rehab. I’ve been kicked out of every single one I’ve been sent to.

Why?

Because I got complacent, getting comfortable very quickly. So much so I decided it wouldn’t be nothing to bring in a few nurontins here and there, or numerous other choices poorly made on my behalf which led to demise every single fucking time!!

I told him as much also. Even while telling him that he was understanding beyond any other officer I’ve ever been arressted by in my life. I told him doing time was the only thing that taught me my lesson, all in the end. By confiding in him with that, I was being honest beyond all measure. He nodded his understanding while still reading from his computer screen in his squad car.

He told Sam and I that he had a brother that was in recovery and that addicts didn’t deserve to go to jail. We deserve all the help we could get. Here in the fucking “Common Wealth State” of Kentucky the majority of the county jails are drug addicts simply booked on possession charges. With the second majority of inmates being non-violent offenders.

He writes me a citation that night releasing me to go home to my wonderful, grumpy and now oscar the groucho husband. Don’t get me wrong, I was thankful in more ways than one. I had a court date assigned for the 9th of the up-coming month of September. Well, I thought it was on the 9th anyways.

I woke up Friday morning and showed up at our local county court house for my appointed day and time only to be seriously let down. Not only was the docket all afternoon court times, but my name was nowhere on the damn thing.

Come to find out I missed showing up by almost 72 hours. My correct date was the 6th at 9am. Not 9/9 at 9am. I took care of all of it before leaving the premises though. Thankful to my husband and the good Lord above that he’s a saver not a spender. My bond was $2,500 cash. When I called him to inform him of my sudden situation neither of us were expecting he was not very happy with it nor me for that matter. In my head I could only think, “Oh Lord! Here we go again”!

Except not again, because this go round Tina knows what ‘NOT’ to do. I was honest and straight forward from the time of that trooper pulling us over and I’m gonna continue being honest all the way through this entire ordeal. I’ve been a patient of an out-patient rehab for almost 3 years now and they wrote me a very distinguishing letter to bring with me to show the judge that I’m attempting seeking help now, and have been for the past couple of years.

It’s not something I started seeking after catching these current charges. Something to make me look good in the eyes of the judge before appearing in front of him in his court room. Honestly, I think if people seek help only ‘after’ catching a charge, it makes them look cowardly. Like they’re rying to get outta doing the time for their crime, and prefer rehab instead.

Please don’t mistake what I’m trying to say with what I’m not saying. Sometimes people only seek help after catching a charge because it’s a wake up call for them that they’re at the end of their rope and have been needing help for quite a while. And them getting into trouble was the only thing that gave them that nudge in the right direction they needed to begin with.

No, I’m not talking about those people. I’m talking about the people that know they aren’t finished using yet and are doing the rehab routine like a horse and pony show to make them look good in front of the judge and hell if they can get out of doing jail time by going into treatment then that’s what they’ll try their damnedest to do.

It’s usually the ones who think they’re to good to go to jail, or have never been and just don’t want to find out.

In all honesty though. . .

I think it’s those exact people that NEED to do a little jail time.

Knock their ass down a few pegs by showing them they’re no different than any other Tom, Dick, or Harry. It’s what’s always happened to me so why hold back on anyone else. One thing I’ve noticed is that things always seem to go lightly for those that have been pampered throughout their entire lives. It’s those people, the pampered ones, that need a big ol’ bite, and a good chunk at that, taken outta their ass. Teach them a lesson they’ll soon never forget.

I know me serving those 3 years aren’t gonna leave my mind any time soon and I’ve been out and back home since October of 2018. I can’t stress enough how alone I was regardless of the hundreds of other females I was incarcerated with. I kicked my own ass, in my head, every single day I opened my eyes in that godforsaken place. How I was gonna live when I got home and what I was or wasn’t gonna do anymore. It was the never ending ground hogs day.

Yes. A reference to the infamous movie, where the same day repeats itself over and over again until Bill Murray got it right. Doing whatever it was he was supposed to do in order for time to pass. That’s exactly how I would describe being locked down 24-7 everyday for how ever long you’re sentenced to serve being locked down.

In the county jail you are told what to do everyday. When you leave the cell no matter what it’s for you’re told to walk with your hands behind your back and not to speak to male inmates that will more than likely be lingering in the halls any and everywhere inside and out the jail. The men have way more priviledges than the women, and probably always will.

After being shipped to prison there’s no worry about seeing any male inamtes as you’ll only be locked up with either men or women. Still though you have to do as you’re told by any CO or staff on duty. You’ll be put on punishment if not. We called it Seg, as in segregation. All alone in one room locked down 24-7, and you even have your very own toilet in there with you. I’m not 100% about the showers though. I think they took you out of your cell to shower daily. I was never put in SEG while in prison though thank goodness. I kept my nose on my face where it belonged. It’s best not to get mixed up in the drama that is that life. It’s worse than soap operas. I swear!!! One day these two females are together then before you even know what happened they done broke up and are seeing each other’s ex’s. Yeah!! That crazy!!

Anyway’s it’s always been said that God doesn’t put more on our shoulders than we can bear, and I guess he knows I’m strong in this field. My story has power in it to these women. I guess that’s why when I published it on my website and saw that it didn’t have very many views or hell even likes for that matter, I was puzzled ass hell.

I need to learn how to direct traffic to my site. If just half of Paducah, Ky. new about it I’d have mad clicks and shares and views and likes. Hell, it’s such a tremendous story totally unremarkable even to me and I’m the one that went through it. Well, me and my parents and my niece and her brother. Jacob survived the fire and escaped death that night. It wasn’t his turn to go. He still has a whole life to live laid out before him. Now he’s a father himself and a fireman to boot. Saving other innocent victim’s from the torture’s of fires. I know he lost his momma (my sister) but I know she’s beaming proud of him up there looking down on him while both her and his older brother Jesse, who is up there with her watch over him.

It’s always been said a story is only as good as the story teller. That’s not entirely true my friend. The miracles witnessed by me and me alone that I shared in my story are amazing just hearing them be spoke about. Knowing that having your parayers answered really does happen is awesome. Witnessing them is even more awesome. But living throught them and having firsthand knowledge of experiencing them is on a whole new level man. I cry sometimes talking about it because of what all God helped me through during the grieving stages that stuck with me all throughout the years since.

March 29, 2003 R.I.P. (2-year old) Jesse Duane Roberts 2nd & (26-year old) Jennifer Marie Roberts

I hated going through all that tramatic shit but I guess it had to happen to someone that could verify there’s definetely a higher power greater than ourselves in the world. You can damn sure bet on that. I choose to call mine God. Things happened in such a way that it all came together in the very end. I’m still working kinks out in myself as I go along. Hell I’m barely 40-years old and I’m still very much learning how to live in this life I have without fucking it up worse than I already have. I tell my kids (mainly my son) that all the time. How I still fuck up and I am grown, and that no one is perfect.

Alright, now I’m just ranting on about anything that pops into this exhausted head space of mine. I worked until 2pm today and I can count on one hand how many of those I’ve been scheduled in the past few months!!! I’m lucky if I bring home over $300 every 2 wks.

Keep me in your prayers please and thank you. Time to do a friend check.

About Post Author

BooBoo

I'd rather read a good book, VS watching the movie made from it on TV. Most thoughts on that are 'why'. Well, my answer for that is that there aren't any limitations to your imagination. Therefore, when I'm reading an action packed thriller that I can't put down or stop turning the pages of is because the details are written by the author describing the scene/situation with such clarity, that I think it's far better than what anyone can visibly see on TV. That being my opinion only, I'm sure millions and billions of avid readers out there agree with me 100% on that reason alone. I've always had an active imagination growing up. I'd use the almost empty cans of shaving cream my dad would give me, as the whipped cream on top of the mud pies I made.Of course dad got the first one. After all, he did give me the topping. I was very versatile also. I was the biggest tom boy of a little girl you'd ever see one day. To dividing Barbie clothes between me and my older sister (when I was lucky enough to get her to play with me). I had to play by her rules though. Perks of being the older sibling I guess. I loved playing with the Hot Wheel's cars in the dirt. Making race tracks and underground tunnels I'd dig out for them. Sometimes my dad would be outside with me showing me all kinds of different things I could pretend to do when playing cars. I have one day in particular that stands out among the rest. It was when I learned to do the underground tunnels for the cars to go through. He showed me by taking a simple stick off the ground and using it like a tool to push the dirt out from one side to the other. It wasn't a tunnel without keeping the top part intact. I acted like there was a cave-in, and then accidents, crashing the cars together. No one ever got hurt in my imagination though, just the cars got hurt. Growing up with a sister 6-years older than me taught me lots of things, both good and bad. If I kept her secrets, she kept mine. And the only reason I even had any secrets was because she allowed me to. I got to sneak and smoke in her bedroom at night after our parents went to bed. I had to be very quiet because I got caught most of the time. But I was always caught by our momma. And then all she made me do was get back in bed. I came from a poor family so anything name brand wasn't known to me for a long time. I was bullied and made fun of all throughout my school years. It doesn't matter which year you pick. From the 1st grade, all the way through high school. I know that's terrible to have to admit, but I think it'd be even worse having to admit to being the bully. I swore to myself I'd never treat anyone the way those kids treated me and made me feel. It bothered me so bad I'd dream about standing up for, and actually fighting over other kids getting bullied. I woke up all of a sudden one morning after punching the lights out of a bully in my dream. When I really punched the headboard and made my knuckles bleed. Come on! When a child is taking on the burden of other bullied kids, you know that's a heavy burden to bear. It was also very hard on me. I never talked about it to my parents though. Yeah, they knew. But back then no one really knew what to do about that problem like they do now. Or, well, think they do. I've been in counseling since starting school. I can't remember a day going by without me seeing the school guidance counselor. Shout out to Mrs. Reeves though, at Lone Oak High School. She made the biggest impression on me as far as wanting to help other kids like me. The bullies were actually the kids who came from well-to-do families. Kids who never knew what it was like to experience the disappointment of being told 'No'. Or that there wasn't enough money to buy what they wanted. Kids that figured there wasn't anything better to do except make fun of the less fortunate to get them through their day or to have a conversation piece. The anger and hatred that built up inside of me was, and still is undescribable. The thoughts they caused me to have. Picturing the tables being turned and the bad things said back to them, bad things being done back to them. It only made me feel better on the inside. I've been asked by numerous doctors in my life if I'm suicidal. I've answered no, being completely honest each time. But never have they asked if I've felt homicidal! I know, scary right? The outcome of such thoughts is what triggered the start of mass school shootings. Coming into adulthood was strange territory for me as well, and actually caused me a lot of uncomfortable times, knowing things I knew I could now do but never felt comfortable ever talking about. Even with my sister, the person I was closest to, I couldn't open up and freely talk about anything of the sexual nature. I guess because bad things have happened to me on more than one occasion when I was still very much an innocent child. With me hiding such horrid things from my parents, along with everyone else, I felt I couldn't talk about the good kind of sex either. Man did that ever set me back, keeping me immature of certain things I should've known already but didn't. Because in my mind I was still that child who was hurt in a bad way. They were called 'Red Touches' back then. What we were taught to call them in school anyways. Then just when I was becoming independent and living on my own, learning to stand up for myself in a way that would make my sister proud of me, I lost her. That caused me to go into a deep depression I didn't come out of for many years afterwards. March 29, 2003 changed my life forever. I lost my 2-year old nephew that night to a raging house fire. My sister passed 17 days later in the burn unit in Vanderbilt, Tennessee. However, if you've read 'My Story', a post on my blog. Then you'll know that in order for me to know what I now know, and to be the person that I now am, all of the bad shit had to happen first or else I wouldn't have caught and held onto the message so vital for me to have acquired in my life. Helping the less fortunate. Being someone's somebody they can depend on being there when they need them the most. After receiving confirmation that my nephew didn't suffer, not for one second in that house fire... Was I able to let that burden go, only to let in that oxygen, that life support I desperately needed to save myself from a lifetime of misery. Even though I know my sister, Jennifer, isn't physically here to cheer and root me on. I know without a shadow of a doubt, her and Lil Jesse (my nephew) are both doing so from Heaven today, and everyday that follows. If you're suffering from addiction of any kind and you want or need someone to talk to I'm a damn good listener! My contact information is listed on my contact page. Please call, reach out for support. You're not alone no matter what negative thoughts are telling you that you are. God is always there for you as well. If you'd like to learn more about Jesus and how He died to save us, don't hesitate to ask. I'll share what I know is all good, and positive about God. Whom I choose to call my higher power. If you don't believe in God, then the subject will not be pushed. EVER! If you're battling mental health issues and feel alone like no one knows what you feel like. Then I'm here to tell you there's billions of people out there that will share with you that they too, feel just like you do. Hit me up on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. All of my accounts should be connected to my website. If you're waiting on me to respond and it's been a while since you tried getting in touch with me, then by all means be more persistent and bug the shit out of me. Make me see your messages. I will eventually and I'll always reply when I can. This is the best I think I've written in this 'about me' section. It's the most I've opened up publicly I know that. I'm open minded, I keep it 100 all of the time, even if it's something I don't like myself, or for others, I still have to keep it 100 with myself in order for me to keep it that way with everyone else. I hope this told everyone a little bit about me, maybe more than I originally intended. But it's all accurate and up to date with where I'm at in my life right now. Thank you all and God Bless
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