The Justice Ledger Entry 04; THE SHORT CIRCUIT, THE TRAP, THE CRASH

In this post, I’m going to fast-forward 25 years from when everything started. I’m going to share a story from March 2015 to June 2015.

In March 2015, my former common-law spouse Kylie said she was leaving. We agreed to 50/50 for our daughter Paige, and she said she wouldn’t stop me from seeing the older two children.

On April 1st, my daughter Paige’s 8th birthday, Kylie and I were talking. I didn’t want her to go, but she said she was going. Our discussion became heated as we were sitting at the dining room table. Eventually, she went upstairs and I followed her.

Since the accident I was in back in 1989, I have struggled very hard to control my emotions. Things can and do get out of hand very quickly when the wrong mixture is put in the blender. Matters of the heart are the worst—they cause misfires and short circuits all over the place and can often lead to a very good chance of me getting arrested.

A lot of it is that I can’t process smart or rude comments. My brain just doesn’t know what to do with them once I get worked up. It’s very hard to explain. On top of that, I can’t handle rejection. I cannot process how someone can say they love you, then just walk away and have no life with you anymore. Honestly, I think if you are able to do that, then you clearly didn’t love that person. The wires that control how a normal person reacts to rejection—or to realizing someone you believed loved you actually didn’t—well, they broke many years ago. I struggle to this day to contain myself when dealing with rejection.

I know there was a time when I could keep myself glued together and just move forward, but that part of my programming is corrupted. So what I do now is disappear. I don’t allow others to see anything. I don’t freak out or chase—I just go silent and out of sight.

I have come a long way from where I was in 1989/90, and even from where I was a year ago. My brain still tells me to freak out and chase, and it’s very hard to fight. But now I know and am aware of why I did the things I did in the past in these situations, and I stop myself.

Unfortunately, on April 1, 2015, I still didn’t fully understand what was going on in my head—not that I fully understand now either, but I’m much further ahead than I was. On April 1, 2015, I was aware that the head injury in 1989 was the source of basically everything that had gone wrong. But I wasn’t aware of how to control it or aware that I needed to stop myself, and once the misfiring started, it made a big mess.

In 2011 or 2012, I finally got my first diagnosis for the head injury in 1989. It was only a partial diagnosis and didn’t give me much insight, but it did give me a prescription that was a godsend. I had not felt that normal and good—with clear thoughts and everything working properly—since I was 15. It was amazing.

Unfortunately, in 2015, when the problems escalated between me and Kylie, those meds weren’t working the way they once had, and as my depression deepened, the medication worked less.

Kylie and I were arguing on the stairs, and I said to her that I should kill her, but I can’t because I care too much. I was extremely upset and having a hell of a time trying to control myself. But to make matters worse, I was dealing with someone who does not in any way believe mental health issues are real. She told me many times that there is no such thing as mental health issues—it’s all a bunch of bull. And what is really disturbing about her position on mental health is that she works as a PSW in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s patients, if you can believe that.

Despite the battle going on in my head while I was arguing with her, and despite all the crazy things going through my mind, I had a few seconds of clarity and was able to get myself away from the situation.

I turned and went down the stairs, but as I passed the dining room table, I stuck a knife in it. I had to release some of that energy—I had to do something to let it out.

I kept going and went straight to the basement, where I stayed for an hour or two. Eventually, I decided I needed to go out, so I went upstairs to grab some clothes, and Kylie was still awake.

I said to her, “I am going out. I may or may not be back tonight,” and she said OK. I then returned to the basement, where I stayed for at least another hour or so. The argument had now been over for more than three hours.

I changed my clothes and left. I went across the street and filled my van with gas, which took another 10 minutes or so, and then I left and began heading southbound on Highway 6.

I didn’t realize it, but Kylie was watching me through the bedroom window, and she had been on the phone with her brother making a plan. As soon as I started heading south on Highway 6 from Arthur, she got off the phone with her brother and he set their plan in motion.

At the time, her brother was a firefighter in Rockwood, and because of that he knew most of the cops. When they got off the phone, he called the OPP and reported that I was drunk and driving—which wasn’t possible due to the interlock in my van. He also reported that I had a weapon and was suicidal. The OPP tied up eight cruisers and nine cops looking for me.

When they found me, it was a shit show. I had an interlock in my vehicle, but they insisted I blow into one of their units. I didn’t care because I wasn’t drinking, but here’s the thing: with interlock devices, you have to hum when you blow. With their devices, if you hum, it screws it up. I had been driving with that device for almost three years and had blown into it thousands of times. So when I blew into their device, I kept humming and it kept failing. This cop, Cst. Jodie Bigger, was screaming at me, telling me that if I didn’t blow it right, he was charging me with fail to blow.

I ended up blowing zero. They found no weapon, and I wasn’t suicidal, but I did get arrested and charged for stabbing my own table. They took this so seriously that I was held for four or five hours in the cells at the police station, and they impounded my van.

While I was still on the side of the road, handcuffed in the cruiser, the interlock alarm started going off in my van because it was still running. The system wanted me to blow into the machine.

With interlock devices, when it says you must blow, then you must. It’s a big ordeal that costs more money and time if you don’t. I asked the officers if they could let me blow it—they ignored me. I asked if one of them could blow it. I told them where the brand-new sealed mouthpieces were. They refused.

Because of this, the system registered a recall, which meant I had to take it to the service provider early, costing double the money and two trips to Kitchener that month—all because they wouldn’t let me blow while I was locked in a cop car in handcuffs for attempted murder of my table.

The damage to the table was very minor, and on top of that, I owned the table—but they charged me anyway. No charges for Kylie or her brother, though. It’s not like they made a phony police report or anything that tied up nine cops and eight cruisers.

While I was locked in the cells, they brought Kylie to the station to give a statement. I have the transcript. While she was giving her statement, they cautioned her 11 times about lying. Eleven times—and they still charged me, and no charges for her.

It didn’t register with me that day, or even that week, but the reason the cops were acting the way they were was because her brother knew them, and so did she. Kylie works as a PSW, and I never would have thought this, but the police are called to old folks’ homes a lot because the residents fight, so she got to know the local cops.

I was finally released around 5 or 6 a.m. on April 2, 2015, on the condition that I have no contact with Kylie and that I couldn’t return home until she left and confirmed with the OPP that she had a new residence. I was allowed to return once with police to grab a few things, and then I had to wait until she was gone.

I’m not sure what I missed there, but I’m pretty sure the dining table was the victim, not Kylie.

Kylie told the OPP that she had paid for half the dining room table, so I was charged with domestic mischief. This was the beginning of many—hundreds and hundreds—of lies she would tell over the coming years, and the OPP was just as bad.

She made sure to play the victim and get a no-contact order and an order that I couldn’t go near her residence.

Kylie moved to her new residence four or five days later. She notified the OPP, and I was allowed to return home.

Here’s the thing: she played this big victim and made it so I couldn’t go near her place, but she started showing up at my place when she knew I wasn’t supposed to have contact with her. And she wasn’t just coming when I was home—she was coming when I wasn’t there too. Almost right away after I went home, as soon as I would leave for work in the morning, my security system was alerting me that she was in the house. She didn’t live there anymore; she wanted to move somewhere else. It is irrelevant that she still owned half the house—it wasn’t her residence anymore, so she shouldn’t have been going in without my permission.

In addition to going into the house when I was or wasn’t there, she was still messaging me all the time—and she was the one who wanted the no-contact order. The entire shit show that happened the night of my daughter’s birthday was a total setup to give her the upper hand. She had played this game before; I never had. I admit it took a while before I stopped getting my ass handed to me, but eventually I stopped it.

When she first left, I wanted to fix the situation. I wanted my family back. It really was the first time in my life I had experienced a real family. Kylie has a huge family who I thought I got along well with, and I thought everything was good. But it’s funny how pretty much all of them removed me from social media and acted like I didn’t exist anymore after we broke up. You don’t truly know people—you really don’t. All but a couple of people in her family I have never seen or talked to again.

Anyway, I wanted to fix things. She made it sound like if I just left Arthur for a while and gave her some space, things might improve. So I took up an offer from some friends to stay at their place in Grand Valley and rented my place to some other friends.

Kylie and Paige helped me pack up so my friends could move in. There was a bunkie and a large shed at my house, so everything was moved in there. I had already told my friends I would rent them the house, but the bunkie, shed, and a spot in the driveway for one of my vans weren’t included. They were fine with that.

Paige didn’t remember ever living anywhere other than that house, and she was a little upset about leaving—and she knew I was upset. I don’t know when she did it without me noticing, but she wrote me a note a few pages into my notebook so I wouldn’t see it right away.

My friend—the one whose place I went to stay at—worked long hours and was hardly ever home. His girlfriend had said, “Just come stay with us, you don’t have to pay us anything,” and she said, “I’ll take care of you.” It sounded like a good idea, so I did it—and that was one of my first major mistakes.

I had been there maybe two or three days. I came home from work one day, grabbed a quick shower (one of the only showers I ever had there), and then was leaving to go back to Guelph. I was going to see a girl. When my friend’s girlfriend asked me where I was going, I told her I was going to get me some—and from that moment on, everything changed and it became a shit show.

A couple of days later, I came home and they had some friends over. I was sitting out front with them. Everything was fine at first, but then I started sensing hostility from one of the girls they had over.

My spidey senses were bang on, because it wasn’t long before she started giving me attitude. Then she piped up and said, “Why is it you think you don’t need to pay rent?” I said, “I don’t think that at all.” She said, “Then why are you freeloading?” I said, “I’m not freeloading anything. They invited me to come stay to help me out and said I don’t need to pay them anything.” The girl looked at my friend’s girlfriend and said, “Is that true?” She said, “I didn’t say it like that.” I said, “That is exactly what you said.” Then I said, “If you wanted money, why didn’t you just say so?”

Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of the trouble, and I had just gotten there. The next day, I had another shower there, and my friend’s girlfriend started complaining about the propane for the hot water. I had maybe a five-minute shower, but I said, “Okay, whatever,” and started showering at work instead, since I had a shower in my office. But that didn’t stop her from telling everyone that I cost them hundreds of dollars in propane from all these long showers I was supposedly taking.

Then she got mad at my daughter for waking up too early and for drinking a juice box. There was a huge stink over this. It made my daughter extremely upset. She was accused of drinking all the juice boxes and yelled at. At this point, Kylie was being normal with the 50/50, but I didn’t want Paige coming to this place and having to deal with this crap, so I left her with her mother and would go see her every day after work so we could do our reading together. I told her it was just temporary until I found somewhere else to go, because I couldn’t just go back home now as I had rented my house to friends.

During this time, Kylie—who played the victim of the table attack and was not only not in the same room when it happened, but wasn’t even on the same floor—invited me in for dinner a few times when I was out reading in my van with Paige. Well, I shouldn’t say she invited me in. For whatever reason, I wasn’t allowed in her house, so I had to stay on the deck.

I didn’t think she wanted to make dinner with me every day, so I stayed away on purpose for a couple of days. She clearly was pissed about this, saying something like, “Well, if you don’t want to be here for dinner, then you don’t need to be here for…”—I can’t remember the rest.

My neighbour’s son—his name was Rob—was a very friendly, very positive guy, always upbeat and never a bad word to say about anyone. Him and his wife broke up at the same time Kylie and I did. After I had moved to stay with my friends, I ran into Rob at the gas station across the street from my house. Usually, he would’ve been shaking my hand and talking my ear off, but that morning he barely looked at me and only said hi. He was not himself. A week or so later, Rob hung himself in his parents’ garage.

On the morning of his funeral, I couldn’t find proper clothes to wear. Kylie and I had planned to go to the funeral together. I put on a nice sweater and jeans. Kylie had a problem with this, and we got into a bit of an argument about it. Rob would not have cared what I was wearing—he would’ve been happy that we came. That’s the kind of guy he was. Kylie later said that she knew we were done after this day. Honestly, it was a really lame excuse to throw away our family because she didn’t like what I was wearing.

Prior to that night on April 1, 2015, I had been on a pretty good run. I got out of jail the last time on May 29, 2008, after serving a sentence of 28 months—fortunately I only served 14 months.

From May 29, 2008 to April 1, 2015, I had only two negative interactions with the OPP. I got a seatbelt ticket in 2008, and I was charged with driving under suspension in 2012. Other than that, I had been on the best run I ever had since before 1989.

After being released from prison in 2008 (that is another story), I did very well for myself and managed to give both me and my family a pretty good life.

It’s funny—after Kylie left in 2015, right up to the present day, I have been charged at least 16 times criminally. I’ve easily been charged 50 times, probably more, for POA offences, and I’ve had well over 300 interactions with the OPP.

But in the seven years prior, only two interactions. How does that work exactly?!

When you look at the bigger picture, it really is clear what was going on then and what is still happening today. 100% crystal-clear targeted police harassment.

As I said, I didn’t notice it right away, but when I tell you what went on after April 1st, I’m pretty sure you will not only be like WTF, but you will also be like WTF.

I’m going to share with you what happened during my next encounter with the OPP—just two months and one day after I got arrested for attempted murder of my table.

It was June 3, 2015, and I was very stressed out. I wasn’t sleeping properly, and on this day I hadn’t slept for two days. I was tired. I was also getting in trouble at my job, where prior to all this I had never been in trouble. In fact, by all accounts, I was an exemplary employee at Linamar, where I worked as a manager. But now, with all the stress, and a boss that all of a sudden had developed some issue with me but was not getting any support for whatever it was he was trying to do, as I was very well insulated in that company. Either way, it was a lot of stress, and I had to get to work.

I also suddenly ran into a huge financial issue with Royal Bank, and this one really blows my mind and would cost me dearly. I will talk about this in detail in future posts.

I was driving to work and kept falling asleep. In Fergus, Ontario, at a light, I fell asleep and people were honking at me. I woke up and was going to turn into a parking lot up the street, but I was startled by the honking and felt more awake, so I kept going. It didn’t last long.

A few minutes later, I started falling asleep again, and a few minutes after that I woke up just as my van was falling sideways off a bridge, landing upside down on two large rocks in the cold water below.

It was June 3, and you would think it wouldn’t be too cold, but it was really cold that morning. I was soaked, my phone was destroyed, and nobody would stop.

Eventually, I climbed back up to the road, and probably 10 or 15 minutes went by before someone stopped and called for help.

When the police arrived and realized it was me, they not only didn’t call for medical help, but they forced me to go back into the freezing cold water to fish out debris.

Then, when that was done, they tried to arrest me for not having an interlock in that vehicle.

You see, the night I got arrested for attempted table murder — if you recall, they wouldn’t let me blow to stop the recall on the interlock — well, that recall caused a lockout, so I couldn’t drive that vehicle until I had it towed to an interlock service provider. So I had to drive one of my other vehicles that didn’t have an interlock device installed.

Anyway, long story short, driving without an interlock is not arrestable, and I advised them of this. They checked and saw I was right and didn’t arrest me, but they also didn’t take me for medical help, give me anything to get warm, or even take me home. No — they made me stay there for the next four or five hours until my van had been pulled out of the water. And they weren’t done screwing with me yet.

Once the van was out, they told me I needed to get the insurance for them. They didn’t need this — they were just being assholes. They made me climb into the wreckage of this van. They told me if I didn’t, I would be charged with no insurance.

After I retrieved the insurance documents, they finally drove me home, having never sought any medical attention for me. As you can see from the pictures, it was a very severe accident. What is even more shocking about this incident is it won’t be the last time I tell you a story like this — this happened again.

When I got home I laid down in my bed. I needed to call my work but my phone was destroyed. When this happened I had already moved from my friends place. I only stayed there for three weeks total. I was now living with Kylies uncle, one of the only people from her family that still talked to me. Anyway, he wasn't home and we didn't have a home phone so I needed to wait for him before i could call my work.

I ended up falling a sleep, I slept for over 24 hours. I had hit my head once again pretty hard in this accident and there was more damage done which would come to light a few months later when a doctor from CMHA (Canadian Mental Health Association) ordered an MRI and found new scar tissue on the brain.

In 2015, I still didn’t know the laws very well. But since 2015, I have been forced to learn. I’m not a lawyer, but I certainly catch a lot more crap than any lawyer I ever used ever did. I’m looking back through my record, and there is so much even a B‑grade lawyer should’ve caught, but none of them ever did.

Since I started representing myself, I’ve never been convicted of a criminal code violation, and I get pretty much every POA charge either dropped or reduced significantly. I have had some big POA convictions in the past while — one because I wasn’t there, and the other was an unfair process because I wasn’t represented. However, I am currently appealing them.

I’m going to end this post here and continue this story in my next post. The period after 2015 really is something. The fact that it is still going on 11 years later and the amount of stuff that has happened really is mind-blowing. Honestly, if this hadn’t happened to me, I really wouldn’t have thought it was possible.

There is also a period from 1990 to around 1996 that is mind-blowing as well. Both periods are made up of things that movies are made from. Most people don’t get times like that in their life — I have had multiple, and they haven’t been good times

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