Record 3

Disclaimer: This post contains real details about a real sexual assault case that was filed in Vaughan, Ontario earlier this summer. The sexual assault case is my own. The person I named in my case is named in this blog post as a warning to anyone who knows him. I do not condone you reach out to this person in any way, shape, or form, as I suspect he is dangerous.

Today’s record feat is a track off of Relient K‘s 2004 “Mmhmm” record. The song I’m gonna focus on is “Who I Am Hates Who I’ve Been” but I really want to recommend the entire record. I assume this is sort of implied with my previous 2 record feature posts, but, in case it wasn’t, you should listen to those records, too.

Relient K – Mmhmm (2004)

Okay, let’s hop over to the track.

“Who I Am Hates Who I’ve Been” – Relient K

Here are the lyrics for this one, written by Matthew Thiessen.

I watched the proverbial sunrise
Coming up over the Pacific and
You might think I’m losing my mind
But I will shy away from the specifics’

Cause I don’t want you to know, where I am
‘Cause then you’ll see my heart
In the saddest state it’s ever been
This is no place to try and live my life

Stop right there, that’s exactly where I lost it
See that line, well I never should have crossed it
Stop right there, well I never should have said
That it’s the very moment that I wish that I could take back

I’m sorry for the person I became
I’m sorry that it took so long for me to change
I’m ready to try and never become that way again
‘Cause who I am hates who I’ve been
Who I am hates who I’ve been

I talk to absolutely no one
Couldn’t keep to myself enough
And the things bottled inside have finally begun
To create so much pressure that I’ll soon blow up and
I heard the reverberating footsteps
Sinking up to the beating of my heart
And I was positive that unless I got myself together
I would watch me fall apart
And I can’t let that happen again
‘Cause then you’ll see my heart
In the saddest state it’s ever been
This is no place to try and live my life

Stop right there, that’s exactly where I lost it
See that line, well I never should have crossed it
Stop right there, well I never should have said
That it’s the very moment that I wish that I could take back
I’m sorry for the person I became
I’m sorry that it took so long for me to change
I’m ready to try and never become that way again
‘Cause who I am hates who I’ve been
Who I am hates who I’ve been
Who I am hates who I’ve been

And who I am will take the second chance you gave me
Who I am hates who I’ve been
‘Cause who I’ve been only ever made me
So sorry for the person I became
So sorry that it took so long for me to change
I’m ready to be sure to become that way again
‘Cause who I am hates who I’ve been
Who I am hates who I’ve been

Who I Am Hates Who I’ve Been – Relient K

Lyrically this record when I first heard it, and right now I mean the entire album here, it really connected with me. And actually, when I was first getting into this band I kind of tried not to like it. And the reason I say that is because although melodically it fits entirely within the scope of a lot of the other stuff I was listening too, I felt like this band was almost a little too “preachy”, a little too “religious” in the way they spoke about life. (As an example, listen to High of 75).

Which is funny in retrospect because although I heard this song back when I was 14/15 years old, loved it and tried not to, as a now 31-year old, it still very much feels like it understands me in a special way; I still feel connected to these lyrics, and on many days, who I am still hates who I’ve been.

See that line, where I never should have crossed it.

When I was a teenager my sole motivation for a lot of what I did was to escape my life and circumstances, and when I felt so hopeless in that, how could I, a teenager, make a life for myself in any sort of meaningful way without help, I fell into bad habits like alcohol which led quickly to addiction.

I had no idea of course when I was first handed my first of several shots of tequila when I was 12 years old that one day I’d grow to hate all liquor.

I’ll remind everyone I’m the youngest of 4, so being around older people was common for me. I was also that youngest sister that always wanted to hang out with their siblings when their friends were over even though I knew my siblings didn’t really care for that.

What can I say, I’ve always liked people and learning about them, talking to them.

Back when I was 12, my eldest sibling was 21.

Here in Canada the legal drinking age is 19, or 18 if you’re in Alberta/Quebec.

At this time my sister, who had always thrown lots of big parties at our place, had started a weekly get-together where she’d invite many friends over on Thursday nights; Tequila Thursday.

They generally preferred the Tequila Rose (which is awful, I super don’t recommend it at any stage of your drinking careers), but of course there were other tequila’s available, too, and other liquors and beers.

I didn’t often hang out for these (I’m sure, at some point, my parents made it known that this type of gathering was adult-only, as opposed to the many pool parties we’d otherwise have over the summers) but I remember 2 distinct occasions where I did.

On the first, the party was in my parents basement. I don’t remember everyone who was there but there was a guy named Adam. He was Polish, as well, and he worked at The Brick with my sister back then (I had spent some time milling about The Brick, including for school-mandated “career days” – The Brick is boring as hell, FYI).

I had my friend Sydney over to hang out that same night, but at some point, the reckless little hell raiser that 12-year-old-me was, I told her I was going to go down to the basement to see what was going on.

Sydney stayed upstairs where we were otherwise playing around on the internet (kid safe stuff; ebaumsworld and Homestar Runner and so on, the original meme websites for you young-ins).

Me, writing at the basement bar, thinking about what has led me here.

Down at the bar, pictured above, 12 year old me approached Adam who I was already somewhat familiar with. Adam offered me a shot of tequila; I took it.

I went back upstairs, told Sydney who, as she always did when I did silly things like this, shook her head at me.

Sydney: Are you drunk?

Me: No. I don’t think it did anything.

It hadn’t hit.

I went back downstairs a short while later.

Adam: You’re back! Another?

Me: Yeah!

I went back upstairs. I still didn’t feel anything. Sydney and I carried on.

I went back downstairs.

Me: Another, please, barkeep!

I took one more.

I don’t remember if I had any others.

I don’t at any point remember feeling “drunk” of course, I also had no idea what that meant and I was naturally a little hyperactive at times.

But I remember distinctly telling Sydney I was, and beginning to act more foolish. But I remember it as me doing it on purpose; thinking back now, I was probably pretty drunk.

Adam was at our parents house recently. I avoided him. He does water maintenance now and was fitting my parents yard with new smart sprinklers which he programmed incorrectly.

I don’t think of Adam as a bad person but I question how he ever thought that interaction was acceptable. I can say that I don’t at all believe these were full shots; tequila is disgusting, the smell alone can make me feel queasy as an adult.

But it led to something.

I recall distinctly the second time I had tequila.

My sister was having a party at our family’s cottage in Muskoka.

Some of her friends were sitting on the deck drinking Tequila Rose as I walked up from the fire downstairs to go inside; Inside, my sisters friends were messing around, drunkenly wrestling or doing other things like trying to do handstands. Drunk.

When I stopped to talk to whoever it was on the deck (I genuinely don’t remember) I was offered another shot. I may have even told them I’d had tequila before. They gave me at least 1.

I think I went to bed not long after because I don’t recall the rest of the night. I don’t recall getting drunk that night, just that interaction, and knowing that Tequila Rose is disgusting; far grosser than normal tequila.

The point of sharing this mini story is to tell you, it is super easy to get adults to give young girls alcohol. Like, too easy.

After this, my preferred alcoholic beverage as a 13 year old was beer. Molson Canadian.

Beer was my favourite alcohol for almost all of my “drinking career”. But I could take back whiskey pretty well, too. And I enjoyed vodka if it was a good Polish brand like Wyborowa (most of the other stuff is awful, don’t buy Smironoff, or Polar Ice, or Skyy, they all suck at vodka). And the key with Vodka is you don’t drink a lot of it. A shot or two, chilled in the freezer for hours first, is more than enough.

I’m sorry that it took so long for me to change.

I had tried to quit drinking many times over the course of my 20’s.

Quitting drinking is hard as hell.

It’s harder when everyone in your family is a drinker, and all your friends, too.

For a long time, I thought all I’d need to do is tone-down. Because I was responsible much of the time through my teens and early 20’s; because I worked so often while I was attending high-school, I didn’t usually give myself much time for drinking.

But every time I took time off or attended a party I’d often go overboard, so I knew pretty early on I didn’t have a great sense of “when to stop” when it came to liquor specifically. And I used to mix beer and liquor all the time, which nobody recommends.

When I’d stick to beer only I’d feel in control the whole time, so that was usually what I did. So at the cottage for example where I’d drink beer with friends, I really had no issues. Same for when I threw my own parties at my family’s house; beer was safe for me.

And since, for years, I didn’t have access to a car to drive, I never had any worries about drinking and driving either. Even when I’d get into Woodbridge bars underage, I was always walking home.

You can decide amongst yourself which is safer, driving a car the 3 minute trip home, or walking home late at night as a solo young woman.

When I’d start to feel myself getting out of control in my mid-20’s, I’d take on new projects or tasks; new jobs, take up running (half-marathon anyone?), get a dog (Hi Dakota!).

Throwback to my Davisville apartment.

It was clear to me in my mid-20’s that most of my friends were okay with the whole party-lifestyle, but I was quickly growing tired of it. I’d been tired of it for years frankly, but couldn’t get my head straight enough to get out of it.

And working in the music industry, when you’re “networking” you’re also drinking. Everyone drinks in the music industry, and you don’t really fit in if you’re part of the crowd that doesn’t.

But once I was getting married, and spending more time really thinking about where my life was headed, I tried harder to quit drinking. A lot harder.

But it wasn’t until I decided to get divorced that I’d be able to really kick the habit.

Again, it’s really, really had to quit drinking when everyone around you is always drinking.

I distinctly remember another conversation I had after I had quit drinking last year. It was when I was starting to feel uneasy and anxious and would soon have that rash/Covid-19 scare I mentioned in another post. Sometime early summer last year my mom had come over (by my request) because I was feeling so “off”.

In that for some reason she or I had brought up drinking, I think it was her. And she said something to the effect of: You know you don’t have to completely quit drinking. You can still have some here and there.

And I replied: I don’t think its served me well.

My mom doesn’t know all of the situations that drinking has put me in, or rather, that I put myself in after or while drinking.

She responded: Oh, then don’t then.

I had already made up my mind of course. I had been sober at this point for a few months and was feeling really good about this decision; again I don’t recall why she even brought this up at all.

I replied to her during this conversation: I have heard that for some people they reach a point where they realize they can’t even have just 1, and I think I’m at that point.

I was talking about people like Jim Adkins, Benjamin Gibbard, and Joe Walsh, and other musicians who I had started paying much closer attention to when they spoke about sobriety, even when it was in a small way.

Somewhere along the way in my quest to quit drinking and get my life together, realizing that all the examples around me were for lack of a better word, piss-poor, I’d turn almost exclusively to musicians to help guide me through my life.

This is also why I sometimes obsessively listen to the same records over and over and over again, wondering what they were thinking about when they wrote it or how I can better apply it to myself.

When I think back to when I started drinking, I also recall the first time I tried beer.

My dad was in his bedroom and had a frosted mug with him while he watched TV. He saw me looking at the mug, and said I could try it, but just a tiny bit off the top.

It was all foam.

Me, internally in that moment: beer is awful.

It would be years later than I tried beer for real; not so awful the second go-around. Also, not offered by my dad.

This is no place to try and live my life.

After separating from my husband and returning to my childhood home, I recognized that for all that changed, so much had stayed the same.

Everyone in my family still drinks, but my dad who had never been a huge drinker to begin with had toned down considerably more than the others after his heart-attack.

The rest of my family I often worry about because they don’t seem to learn how to manage themselves a lot of the time, and for me, as a sober person now going through “a lot”, its been increasingly hard to watch and listen to.

And when I get upset with them, they turn it back onto me, like I’m the one with the problem.

Telling me I’m suicidal. Telling me I need to learn how to communicate. Telling me I’m wrong, when I know I’m right.

And at many times, saying things that seem to be intentionally to set me off.

And I’m a patient person but there’s only so much of this type of behaviour someone can take.

I’ve already reached out to extended family that I’m hoping I can trust; two of them have offered me a place to stay if I need it.

I’ve already made up my mind that I’m leaving and I’ve said this, although I haven’t been clear about when or why and I’m more or less vague depending on who I’m talking to and who else can overhear it.

And I don’t really have any money so thinking about this move is stressful, but I’ve been offered a loan through the bank and I think I’ll have to take it.

And I know once I leave I won’t ever come back here. Not for a very long time at least, not after everything.

I tried to reach out to a couple “friends” in recent weeks, to try and talk to them before I go, explain what’s been happening in my life, but mostly to say goodbye before I go.

These “friends” have not been at all receptive to this, which makes all of this a little easier and a lot harder at the same time.

I thought some of these people were good friends of mine for years. And even though I’d cut out so many people from my life when I quit drinking and got separated, these same “good friends” have shown me I was wrong about them, too.

That’s been a hard pill to swallow, because if I’ve been so wrong about these people, what else am I so wrong about?

It really makes you doubt yourself.

I don’t want you to know where I am.

When I leave, I know it’ll be swift. I’m not going to tell them all where I am. This isn’t like “me” but it’s time for a new “me”.

I’ve already changed my number but I intend to change it once more.

I have nothing to hide but I don’t really know where to go from here.

I never thought I’d be in this position.

I can’t let that happen again.

For all the things I know I’ve done wrong in my life at various stages, I know there are a couple things I’ve done right.

I quit drinking. I’m still sober.

I quit smoking weed. I’m still sober.

I quit my job at OsgoodePD. I’ll tell ya about that later.

I gave everyone I cared about a chance to talk to me. They declined.

I told a police officer I’d been raped. I can’t let it happen again to someone else.

He said he believed me, but the case had to be closed. There wasn’t enough evidence. I knew this; this sexual assault happened when I was 23. I reported it only last month or so, when I sent my e-mail about the child abuse I suspected in Barrie.

The person I named in my case found my personal Instagram after I reported it.

I hadn’t spoken to him in years and I’ve never had this person on Facebook or Instagram. He followed me on Instagram.

After all these years. After I reported it.

I freaked out so bad when this happened; I saw the notification at like 3AM and immediately sent a long e-mail to my detective telling him this. I was terrified.

I know I’m wrong about some things but I know I’m right about this one.

I don’t know if he still lives in Maple, Ontario, but I know why I reported this: it wasn’t to go after him, to prosecute him, or necessarily to land him in jail. The detective on my case knows this. It was to put a record of it on paper in the York Region system, in case he does it again, or in case any other women have reported it but gotten nowhere with it like me because of the lack of evidence. Because of the way it happened.

Because the reality is when this happened, I had blacked out after 2 shots of liquor. Something out of character for me.

And I woke up so groggy, so confused as to where all my personal items were, which I found scattered around the house.

And my former “friend” Ryan H told me he had dressed me and put me to sleep on the couch. I didn’t understand why or when I’d been undressed.

I know so few details about this night, but the following day I sent a text message to Andrew Evans Geronimo, or “Andrew McCloud” on Facebook.

Me: I need to know what happened last night.

My ass hurt something awful when I had used the bathroom in my parents house after I got home.

Him: You gave me a blowjob and then told me I could finish inside you.

I would never consent to anal sex. I would never consent to sex period with this person; I hated this guy from just about the moment I met him.

But I don’t remember anything after 2 shots of liquor.

I’m nervous writing this post right now, because like I said, he did find me and follow me on Instagram. I think he was trying to intimidate me.

I refuse to be intimidated.

And sometimes when I walk around my neighbourhood now, I’m followed by unmarked cars.

I refuse to be intimidated. I go for walks every day.

But I know I need to leave.

The assault happened at the Glass Ampp band-house near McNaughton road in Maple, Ontario.

This is a short throw from my families home.

Some of you might be wondering why I say all of this stuff so publicly, “if I’m so afraid“.

I do it on purpose. If something ever happens to me, you all know who I am and where I’ve been.

And I can’t do anything about what’s happened to me in the past, but I can make better choices going forward.

And I know I’d be devastated if something ever happened to another girl hanging out with that band, with that guy, Andrew.

His instagram handle is G_bone_ there. Ironic, right?

I restricted his account instead of blocking it. I didn’t report because what would that do? I chose to restrict so that he didn’t necessarily know if I had seen it.

If you know him, or that band, I’d caution you to stop speaking to any of them, or hanging out with them.

And to never accept drinks from strangers, especially if you’re a woman.

And one last piece of advice, because I didn’t know this before I was in the police station telling my story.

You can report a rape and not have it go to trial. You’re allowed to just tell the story.

My detective explained this to me and it made me feel a lot better.

When you file your story, they ask you if you want to proceed with it further (although of course they still do their own due diligence).

I told them I would, if they thought we had “enough” evidence. But I know that they can’t make that decision for me.

So for now it’s just on paper, just in case.

It’s important to keep record of things like this.

In retrospect, as awful as the experience would have been, I should have gone for a rape kit. But I didn’t because I knew I had had a couple drinks and couldn’t remember, and who would believe someone like me anyways?

I think a lot of women and girls feel this way.

And I’ll believe every last one of them until there’s enough evidence to suggest otherwise.

I prefer the term “Survivor” to “Victim” but I understand why they do it this way.

Another thing I want to mention here is that something else happened after I reported this assault.

When you give a statement like this to police you also receive a phone call from Victim Services. This is a department separate from the police which offers you things like resources for counselling if you think you require it.

This department is a large part of the reason I changed my phone number.

When I first receieved a call from this department, it was from an unknown number.

For years I have been someone who screens every call that I don’t know who’s on the other end of it. And then when I then got a voicemail from “Victim Services” I was still confused.

Neither the detective nor the other office who witnessed part of my statement that day explained this part of the procedure. I had no idea who Victim Services was or why they were calling, I assumed instead if there were any follow-up questions for me about my statement, the same detective listed on the above card (which for obvious reasons I’m not sharing, I hope it’s obvious anyway), he would be the person to do so; and this card has his number and his e-mail, so I knew where to expect it from.

So I reached out to the detective first, after I received a second call from a now caller-ID listed number which said specifically “Victim Services York – Newmarket, Ontario“.

That wasn’t enough for me so I asked the detective who this company was.

He explained what they do and that they are required to call me anytime he wants to check-in on my well-being.

So why would I change my number?

I explained to the detective before I left the station that day that I would be going out of town for a couple days, but that I was more than willing to come back for more questions. He didn’t ask what days I’d be gone, and I didn’t offer it up outright.

After speaking to the detective and learning who Victim Services are, I called them back, requesting to speak to 1 of the 2 women’s names that were left on my voicemail, who I’ll call here “Dusk” and “Merry”.

My phone call with Victim Services was brief, but they explained that they were calling to offer me counselling.

I explained to them that the sexual assault I reported happened years prior and I had already worked “through the issue” with my own registered therapist (a half-truth, we talked around it, but nonetheless). I was adamant then just as I am adamant now, I do not need counselling for an assault that happened 7 going on 8 years ago now. I asked Victim Services if the counselling was free of charge, given that I had recently been forced to quit my job at OsgoodePD and no longer have my own insurance to cover the costs, and therapy is expensive. They said in some sort of way that, yeah, they offer stuff for free.

I thanked them and left that call thinking I wouldn’t hear from Victim Services again; after all I have their number, and if I need counselling at some point, I know how to use a phone. (I also expressed this to them on that call).

Since that call I received something like 10-12 phone calls from Victim Services, to the point of harassment. Often times, these calls come from unknown numbers so I don’t answer. Which meant they were also clogging up my very limited voicemail space.

And the kicker? It got worse!

When I went to Chicago, Victim Services tried to call me; I happened to be using a porta-potty at the time but I missed the first call. But then they called back, and I tried to answer on the second ring. They hung up.

I was busy trying to enjoy what was left of my already shitty Chicago trip so I didn’t worry much about it; after all, I had tried to answer the call and they very clearly ended it.

When I got back from Chicago I was exhausted but already trying to work on all my other things I had going on, including piecing together my thoughts for the Barrieland blog series.

So I hadn’t checked my voicemail yet.

And then my dad came to my door one day, scaring the shit out of me while I worked (I just wasn’t paying attention), and told me two cops were here to see me.

This is terrifying to someone in my position having just left a very scary Barrie experience where I was being actively threatened and having been followed by the person who I named in a sexual assault just a week or so prior.

As I descended the steps I noted the officers were both wearing masks.

Me: Should I get a mask?

Woman cop: Please. (But firmly in a sort of dickish way frankly).

I slowly ascended the steps, got a mask chose one provided to me by Air Canada (thanks Air Canada, that was a nice touch), and went back down.

The male cop sort of quickly told me that they were here to check in on me, and that the woman with him was from Victim Services.

I turned to the woman: Oh, that’s you?

I already had my personal thoughts about the way this place operates.

She said she was.

They explained that because they hadn’t been able to get a hold of me, that’s why they were here.

I told them I had just gotten back from a trip and I hadn’t had time to check my voicemail.

Victim Services: Do you need anything? Counselling?

Me: No.

Victim Services: We’re here to provide you help.

Me: I don’t need anything, and I already spoke to you and told you this.

I was respectful but firm, I have no fucking idea how these people think it is in any way acceptable to do what they do and speak to a victim the way they do. I’d later comment about this on twitter because I believe this “Dusk” and “Merry” frankly should lose their jobs for harassing me, a victim.

Victim Services woman who stood before me had a chip on her shoulder and the male cop remained quiet and avoided eye-contact.

Victim Services: We’re here because of all the e-mails you keep sending.

Me, now confused: I haven’t been sending e-mails.

Victim Services, not believing me: It’s historical.

Me, internally: Who the fuck talks like this? Again, to me, a victim?

Me, now backing up to explain myself to this clear idiot: I haven’t sent any e-mail since the last time I spoke to Mr. *Detective Name.

Victim Services, a second time: It’s historical.

Can someone explain to me what the fuck this means?

I was aware I had sent a couple e-mails, but I was in no way sending repeated e-mails like she was implying.

They asked me again if I needed help to which I replied I didn’t, and finally, they left.

Again, I ask you readers to put yourself in my shoes here.

What would you have done? What would you have done if this was the treatment you received and the sexual assault you reported was far more recent? If you hadn’t already been in scattered years of counselling? Do you think you’d handle it well? What if you were a young girl? Younger than me? What if you were ten years old? What if the person you named as your rapist didn’t just follow you on social media, but in your own neighbourhood?

I am fucking horrified if this is how Victim Services Newmarket takes care of sexual assault victims.

And… a couple days later.

A knock at my door while trying to take a nap and then this outside.

I was genuinely down for a nap when I heard someone come to our door.

I was home alone, and got changed.

As I looked out my window I could see two cruisers in the court: York Region’s best dressed is back.

This was literally like only 2 days after my in-person interaction with Victim Services, so I was very confused and at this point very concerned, because a lot of what I had to say in the Barrieland case named my former friend, who is a former York Region Police Officer who had implied several times to me that he still had cop friends.

As I was snapping some photos of the cruisers for my own record-keeping (it’s historical, indeed), my sisters car pulled into the driveway. So I waited.

My sister came in shortly after to tell me there were 2 cops here to see me.

This felt familiar.

I was already aggitated.

Me to my sister: I don’t understand why they’re here again. I just spoke to them.

Sister: It’s nothing, they just want to talk to you.

Or something like that anyway.

I went outside with my mask on, these 2 officers stayed outside on my driveway, didn’t try to impose themselves on my person space had been my other interaction.

There was a blonde cop and a male cop with black hair; both younger looking.

I’m not sure if it was me that spoke first or them but I explained that I was down for a nap so it took me a minute to get changed and come down; I didn’t want them to think I had actively avoided them, although I had.

The blonde cop told me the reason they were here was because somebody called the police on my house, saying we were having a party and there was someone at this party who was supposed to be in quarantine.

Oddly specific.

I was annoyed. Whoever called this in obviously knew I’d been on a trip.

Me: Clearly there is no party here, and yes, I am in quarantine technically, since I just returned from a trip. (Although, for the record, I am fully vaccinated and exempt from the Quarantine rules).

Blonde Cop: Yeah, clearly there is no party here.

It was a very quiet day on our street.

They kept talking, and I’m not sure how the conversation fully turned to it from there but at some point in my frustration I said to both cops: I don’t even talk to anyone, clearly there is no party. You know it’s weird how after I filed a sexual assault complaint I now get all of these calls and visits from you guys. You know, I took a picture of your cruisers to send to the detective on my case.

I know there is a lot I don’t understand about law enforcement but fuck if I’m going to let them harass me like this.

The blonde cop tried to calm me down but wasn’t doing a great job.

She turned to the male cop and confirmed the name of the detective on my case, and then the male cop turned my attention to the wasps nest on my family’s porch.

Male cop: Hey, do those things work?

Me, calming down almost instantly: Oh, yeah, they’re pretty good. You can get them for like $2 at Dollarama.

We ended the conversation and the cops went back to their cruisers.

And then while they were in there, and I watched like the “paranoid unhinged victim” I am, I saw a neighbour of mine approach them.

I have seen this woman a bunch since moving back but I didn’t recognize her; I asked my sister who she was.

Sis said her name was Delores or something. Sure, okay. Just asking.

And then a short while later my sister came back to me: There’s actually something going on at Delores’ house.

Ambulance, Multiple firetrucks, the same 2 police cruisers.

I went out front and it was quite a sight. There were at least 2 firetrucks on the street now, and the police cruisers had pulled up from the court to the side of the streets near the other house. And there was an ambulance.

Me, internally: What the ever loving fuck is going on?

I sat down on the porch and watched.

I don’t watch TV really much so this is as good as it gets for me.

There was no smoke, so presumably no fire.

The neighbour’s had all come out of their house and stood on the driveway, and nobody seemed injured or terribly concerned.

I watched as the firefighters grabbed a bag from their truck and walked calmly up the driveway and wondered to myself: Might’ve been a gas leak. They don’t seem to need any fire-related stuff.

And the other thought I had to myself: If it is a gas leak, that’s really good timing for these cops to have already been on this street.

I watched for a while as neighbours all poured out of their homes to watch the fun live tv program.

I don’t know what happened but since nobody was brought out onto the stretcher I didn’t think anyone had been hurt.

And then I saw the cops and firefighters come back out and speak to the neighbours who owned the house; filing a report, I imagined.

I watched until I saw all the other firefighters started taking off their gear.

Everyone was in a good mood so it seemed to be dealt with. Job well done, crew.

They were fast. I went back inside, I didn’t need to watch them all leave.

And then shortly after all of this, I changed my number.

After everything I’ve been through, I genuinely don’t know who to trust.

Or who would be literally stupid enough to call a house-party in on my house while I stayed home alone. Surely you’d at least try to make the lie believable.

I talk to absolutely no one.

So, back to the point of this post today:

You could say I’ve been through a lot over the last couple months. You could say that I’m wrong about some of these stories I’ve been sharing.

You don’t have to believe a word of it, but it’s all true, to the best of my first-hand experience and recollection.

I doubt myself a lot.

I question and re-question everything I do now and why I’m doing it.

Am I losing it? I don’t think so.

But I know when I’m in over my head and I know when I’m in an unsafe situation.

And right now it’s foggy. I can’t tell if I’m safe staying here in Vaughan after everything that’s happened to me, around me, with people I know, or thought I knew.

But I know when people are lying to me. And I know why I sometimes bend the truth; to protect myself or others.

So I’m working on my escape from this town, these people, even my family.

Because after everything, the only person I truly trust is myself.

But I’m going to continue to share all of my stories until I don’t have a single one left to tell.

This website is not a front or a way to get publicity for my music; this is a cautionary tale.

If it can happen to me, it can happen to you.

And they will lie to you. They’ll try to tell you you’re crazy. They’ll tell you to get a therapist even though you have one.

They’ll close your case for a lack of evidence, but you’ll know the truth.

I know by continuing to share my stories I will put myself into further danger with some of these people, but I refuse to be intimidated while I still live on this planet.

And who I am will take the second chance you gave me.

And I want to try and help people who face these same issues I have but might not know what to do or how to do it.

I don’t know the right procedure for a lot of things, which is also why I always welcome feedback. And I’ll take it even if it’s in the form of hate-mail (hey Twitter trolls, if you’re wondering why I don’t always respond, you’ve probably been restricted, you idiots).

I believe in free press and free speech. And I believe in the power of using art to heal and help others.

And I’ll do a fucking lot of things to prove a point but I would never commit suicide.

A final word.

If you or someone you know needs help, please contact your local police authorities, medical professionals, registered therapists, and so on, to help you; I am none of these things. If you’re not sure where to start, try my Resources page.

If you’re uncomfortable talking to any of those people for the many reasons I laid out so far in my blogs and tweets, I’m always here to lend an ear. I’m best reached by email, but I can’t guarantee I will always respond so don’t put all your eggs in my basket.

Or you can just keep reading and make your own decisions as they suit you.

You can leave this website anytime.

One thought on “Record 3

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