Unbelievably True Adventures

I’ve spent the last (almost) month since the first post talking to every applicable type of expert and “authority figure” imaginable. I forgot in the process that I am my own authority figure. This is my truth. And I’m going to continue to tell it. Loudly. Here’s the song I’m listening to while writing this … maestro … Thank you to everyone for the continued support. It’s physically strengthening my voice to police and police-like officials. This is part two of a series of posts. Click here to read part one. I walked into the police station borderline hysterical in physical fear of my every ounce and being. … and if you’ve ever seen me cry before, I don’t do the “pretty person cry” … I’m a baby sea lion at best, a potential missing link at my worst. I said to the officer “I’m being stalked, but it’s by a group of people – not just one single person.” The officer looked down, and said, “so people are out to get you?” Picking up the paranoia title that was just placed in front of me, I said, “no. It’s one, or maybe multiple people running the operation. It’s a group of people. They’re a series of proxies that just show up EVERYWHERE I go.” “How do you know they are there for you?” “Body language,” I admitted. “I recognize it well – it’s a skill.” I was calming down at that point switching from hysteria to pride that I even recognized “it.” Remember, the “it” is still in question. “I have a license plate of one of the people,” I admitted as I told him the pattern I spotted. “He then took me mildly seriously as he looked up the plate.” Remember in the last post my father said to make note of what I was seeing? I took that literally. “What information do you want me to give you? It wouldn’t be abnormal for this person to be in that area.” I then thanked him for his time, as I quickly, and unfortunately realized there was nothing the police could do. My experience at the police station was almost identical to this man’s story starting at eight minutes in. <tangent> This is what’s interesting about having the life experience of not only being stalked but also surviving taking a brick to my head. When I got hit in the head, not only was I helped by countless bystanders but taken to the hospital where I received treatment. (Still eternally grateful to you all Shane Powers, Jenn Hoffman, and Julie Reynard.) While there, I was never once asked by the police “why I was hit in the head with the brick.” They could visibly see I had a gash in my skull. I then received four staples to my head, watched a man get sentenced to 19 years in jail, got a ride home from the DA, and now annually have to write a letter to keep him where