Well, I was trying to avoid writing this one, in part because of wanting some privacy over certain matters, but also because in doing so it might put me at risk with certain people who love scolding me over absolutely nothing. Let's talk about when I was arrested (twice) back in 2008.
So, yesterday I mentioned a certain individual that I have a complex with due to old accusations of wanting an affair when I was trying to level with him about something that went wrong at grad. In my poor psychological state, while in withdrawal from Clopixol CTO injections, down to 98 lbs, with a stalker following me around, I was in crisis, and I knew that this accuser lived around the corner. My desperate situation led me to reach out with a series of notes at his doorstop, asking for help. Among these notes were odd musings about spirituality, concerns about dark forces, and advice on performing weird backyard rituals for protection, but no literal threats to anyone in that household. I was so overwhelmed, I couldn't bear to use my telephone, being quite paranoid. Ungrounded as I was, I didn't get that reaching out to him was a terrible idea.
At one point, a police officer and a nurse came to my property while I was in the backyard, which I assume was because I had been screaming a lot at the time, that somebody had complained about the noise. Frightened, assuming it was related to a noise complaint, I went back inside with the intention to be quiet, and they left. Reflecting on this, they might have been sent because of the notes, but I will never know for sure at this point.
My father, checking voicemail messages for me, told me there was one from the police, demanding that the notes come to an end, reminding me that this silly man wants nothing to do with having any discussions, and I should leave it because he clearly has a problem with me. So, the notes stopped. Days later, I was arrested anyway on accusations of criminal harassment... over asking for help.
I was put through court diversion, where extremely outrageous crowns laid into me about how horrible this all was, that my behaviour was atrocious, and that I should be ashamed of myself. Ordered into hospital, I was shortly thereafter discharged, after being moved to the 1001 Queen St West CAMH site and feeling very freaked out by it.
Things escalated with the stalker, I was having horrible nightmares where he was going to murder me. Overwhelmed by what I was going through psychologically, including the effects of the tone in court over the criminal harassment accusation (I had to show up often in court as part of the diversion process, where they would chew me up and spit me out), I screwed up. Out of fear, the stalker was injured slightly by me, then I was arrested for assault. Thank God he wasn't seriously hurt, it was no worse than perhaps the results of a bar fight. But because of circumstances, they really threw the book at me. That's why I went away for a year.
I emailed one of my former besties and told her the details of what happened. Unfortunately, the tone of the email was odd, I guess she mixed up the details of what transpired, because I later heard there was gossip going around that I had assaulted the man that I had reached out to with the notes (she knows him too), which was not true. She ghosted me, and I've never talked to her since, not even now that I'm well and living a stable, grounded life. Some people were like this with me, while others simply needed distance for a while so I could sort myself out, which I understand entirely. I was pretty wild, and people do need to feel safe.
As I reflect on the events of that year, I totally understand and am at peace with why the second arrest happened. It makes sense that it should, I had clearly crossed a line at that point, and wasn't safe. But the first arrest still feels absurd to me. This man has accused me of being a stalker throughout the years because I had periodically reached out to demand answers after I became unwell with the complex, and it came down to this in a crisis. Just another reason why I go around saying that Toronto hearts are as cold as Winnipeg winters when the going gets tough. What he needs to understand is that he has nothing to worry about, I will never attempt to solve this with him ever again, because I know the kind of tone I will get from a man like him.
In my first graphic novel, "Asylum Squad Side Story: The Psychosis Diaries", there was a certain character who was loosely based on this person who had accused me of things. Unfortunately, under the influence of my psychological state, as well as law and mental health putting ideas in my head about my intentions, details in that comic were not what I would write about now. The narrative was heavily influenced by services desiring that I see myself as bizarre and personally responsible for circumstances. That book became extremely painful literature for me to read, because it was not what I wanted to say, and that is one reason I will never republish it.
So why am I talking about this? I am in a process of reflecting on everything now that I have really sorted myself out, having made it off Latuda and away from psychiatry's abusive hand in my life. It's a very ugly story, and still extremely painful to think about. The fact that several won't talk to me even now speaks volumes about who my real friends are, and is a reminder and a call to be as refined as possible so that none of this shit ever haunts me again.
I leave it up to those who don't wish to speak to me to change their minds, the ball is in their court. I will continue to work on myself, seeking higher levels of refinement, proving to the world who I really am.
-Saraƒin
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