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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.
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