How it Works

You can't win with these people. It all started with Pancho not wanting to be found out for being a woman beater. He went to the Captain for help. A female that was the most corrupt, and like many of the people involved in this liked the same sex. They came up with the idea that I was a stalker. I was arrested numerous times on that case and in 2004, December 17, to be exact I went to prison. It was really hard on me. The longest I had spent in jail was two weeks. Now, they have put me in too deep. I didn't sit around and cry all day, however, I had anger issues and beat the heck out bunkies that wanted me to "cooperate". Pancho in the Captain, each had their own reasons to turn me out, but I had my own reason not to be. I'm not gay! No matter what you say or do to me, it will never change that fact. So, I took all the games and tricks played on me. When I got tired, I just went upside their head with my fist. I did some kicking and some hair pulling, too. It was a nuisance to the officers, because they kept putting in a room with the biggest dykes on the yard, and it always ended the same; a fight and segregation. I think I moved 18 times, before they decided I wasn't going to give in. I went to live in the RTP unit. That's where all the crazy people live. That's also where I became bi-polar and schizophrenic. It was hard at first. I had to go to Acute first. They lock you in your room at ten o'clock and you can't get out to use the bathroom. The woman, too insan to go to the step-down unit, RTP, steal from you. I lost lotion. deodorant and soap. Billingsley, the "master" theif, would pretend to bump into the cart, and spill all of our toiletries on the floor. When she went to pick them up, she always had more stuff in her box than she did before she bumped into the cart. Don't try and get your stuff back, she could yell as loud as any of us. There was only one person who could get her stuff back, Nadine. She was six feet tall. with red hair and freckles and weighed at least 300 pounds. She made the officers flinch. She was my friend, because I shared my food. You learn quickly how to make people like Nadine happy. We had to keep our toiletries on a cart, because the women in the Acute unit might eat them. It was a horrible rule. That rules left me with some disturbing memories. not just Billingsley hollering when she got caught stealing, and people trying to get their soap back. Another woman, when she thought no one was looking, would stick another person's deodorant under her shirt and smear it under her arms. It was nuts, and I was on so many drugs, I couldn't fight. I woul just call my mother and ask for a little more money. Billingsley didn't have anyone to call. We had our own rooms, though. We couldn't keep our snacks either, pretty much for the same reasons. We could eat all of our snacks and not have any. That could cause more trouble than it's worth, too.

I arrived at Acute in September, 2005, I left in May of 2006. I got on a van back to RTP. I was so relieved, because that situation in Acute was stressful. I peed my pants twice trying to get the officer to open my door at night. Everyone told me that this unit would be better. I still had my own room, I was so happy, no bunky! I could keep my food in my room. I had my toiletries in my room, and I could leave my room in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. My medications were changed and I had gained 50 pounds. I was told to go outside and take a walk and take the skin off my chicken. I was funny to me, how they never tell us what the medecine does to you. They just tell you to take it. While at Acute, I got caught "cheeking" my pill. I was taken aside by our Jamaican nurse who told me in her broken English, "You can either take the medicine, or not take it and back out there!" She pointed out the window to the place I had left, general population. After that evening, I took my medication evert day. It was a jungle out there! I guess those are the things Pancho needed me to experience to make me a weak person, who uses drugs, because they hate the are. I have to say for all of my troubles there were always long periods of peace. In RTP, I met some of the most interesting women. They were all my friends. In our portion of RTP we got along. Our biggest issue was rather or not to watch "Friday Night Lights". We built the kind of comradery I was happy. As happy as someone could be who was locked up for something she didn't do. Even when I got kicked out of my Assaultive Offenders group. A group I needed to get my parole, because I wasn't going to admit I had done anything to anyone. A woman cried to me, that she wasn't supposed to be "here" either. I tried to explain that I was only supposed to serve 90-days max, and received 18-months to 5-years. That's what I mean by "I'm not supposed to be here." I should have stopped there, but my common sense got the best of me. I laid my hand to my chest and continued, "You killed somebody! How do you think you're not supposed to be here? This is where you go when you kill someone!" I threw my hands in thr air and finish it, "I wrote a man seven letters over seven months, I've never been in his house, on his property, had sex with him or boiled his bunny!" That sent her into hysterics. That's when this old-head stood up and gave the greatest performance of her life. She raised her hands, lowered her hands and spoke directly to me. "Noy everyone that's been to prison deserves to be thrown away. She went on about her friend and her accomplishment, since leaving prison. People nodded in agreement, and I just sat there with my mouth open. I didn't know where it was all coming from. I had not mentioned anything about ex-cons. I was truly out done. The next day I was called into the facilitators office and told I was not allowed back to the group. She said my attitude made people uncomfortable, and allowing me to stay would disrupt the group. I went back to the unit and told the women I lived with and the lifted me up. They were all such good friends. The nrxt year, I got my parole decision. My psychologist had it. I didn't have see "The Boars" Without completing that class, I didn't qualify for parole. I was denied. until the next year. I wasn't upset, I didn't cry, because I had my girls. I love thoe women, today.

I got home, November 25, 2008. After spending four years in prison. I came home different. I was 60 pounds heavier than I had been, with a bag of drugs that made sure I stayed that way, until one day I was cooking in the kitchen with my mother. She stopped what she was doing, turned and looked at me and said, "Who are you?" After that day, I never took those pills again. Later, I would be forced to take medication, again, but at this point, I was done. I was on parole at the time, and one of my conditions was to take this medicine. I lost track of all the times I needed to get refills. The woman at CNS had to call me to make sure I had my pills. By the summer, she had given up and called me into her office. She sat me down and asked me, "you're not taking the medication, are you? I knew I hadn't called her for MEDS in months. I just replied with the truth, "No". She looked at my case manager and the agreed that they both knew. The weren't going to tell my parole officer and I just needed to stay out of trouble. That was easier said than done. I finished parole, but not after getting into a fight with my sister and spending three months in prison. When I got out I maxed out on parole. I go to stop wearing the GPS tether that is mandatory for all those convicted of stalking. Some newscater or something was being harSo much shame from doing nothing to no one. It was the best part of going back to prison. I didn't have to wear that clunky, heavy and intrusive tether on my ankle. I was finally free! Except, Panch felt that it wasn't enough. I wasn't gay. I wasn't so damaged that I turned to drugs. He still kept trying to ruin my life. He tried to make people feel that I was a low-form of human life. In other words everything he is. I went back to school, and found out that I already had a degree, and needed three more classes to get another. I finished those classes in 2010. I graduated with honor's in both degrees. I was excited when I applied to Oakland University and was accepted. By the time it was time for me to move into the apartment on campus, Panch had struck, again. Somehow, my reservation was taken and I could not live on campus. Glenn McIntosh, Dean of Students, told me that he could take it all back. The campus housing and my admission to the school. I gave up after our fourth meeting. I was told that my mental state had him change his mind about my housing, and that the police on campus didn't like me, because my crime was against a fellow law enforcement agent. I asked him in all of our meetings, where did he get all this information. Finally, he lied and said my mother and sister told him. My sister, maybe. My mother, never! I was having problems with them both, I will admit. It was that sister I bet up to go back to prison. My sister is dead now. She was morbidly obese and had health issues. The perfect storm for the perfect murder. I know she knew too much, and I also she was two-faced. We weren't getting along when she died, or hardly ever, I miss my sister dearly.

After being tired of trying to find a parking spot, I challenged McIntosh for denying me housing due to my mental illness. that's illgal and violates my Civil Rights. When I went in to have a meeting with he Diversity and Inclusion dean, I was humiliated. I was called out of Spanish class one afternoon. I was marched through the grounds with a police escort. I was told by McIntosh that I would have to get a mental evaluation by a University Psychologist. I spoke to this man four awhile, and all I talked about was Pancho. How he was trying to stop me from telling people in law enforcement about how he beat her back to Detroit. How he was the lead detective in my stalking case and how he was still bothering me and was more than likely the reason Dean McIntosh is targeting me and marching me around campus with a police escort. Then I asked him. "Am I crazy?" He said to give him time to over it all and he'd give the information to the dean. I left and went home. I thought that all went well. I did do most of the talking, but he did want to know about me, and I had a lot to say. The next day, he called me to his office to tell me I was suspended, and the only way I could get back into school was to have a complete forensic mental exam. I had no idea how I was going to do that. I had one when I was being railroaded by Colleen O'Brien and Oakland County judicial system. How I would get one noe was beyond my scope of understanding. I went home and forgot about Oakland University forever. Pancho always wanted to attend OU. He would lie to Patricia about going to the library to study for the civil service exam to be a cop. What he was really doing was going out with other women. Again, he's not worthy, and how dare I be worthy. He has an unrealistic idea of what his standing is in society. I know who I am and remain humble. It was in that year that the Facebook Murder occured in Pontiac. Pancho followed behind a woman chasing another down the streets of Pontiac. One young woman was killed. One is mamed for life. The instigator Tori Emery got 25 years in prison. I begged her to have a jury trial. She was only guilty of manslaulter, involuntary manslaughter. The young woman, God rest her soul, entered the intersection on her own. Panch tried to lie and say she pushed them into the intersection. He followed behind them with no lights, no sirens, he didn't even honk his horn to get their attention. I'm sure Emery would have stopped knowing the police were behind her, and the young woman she was chasing would have calmed down and made better choices. Instead, he allowed the chase to continue. While at a red lightm Emery could leave her car and come to theirs. The young woman, frightened, took a chance and tried to beat traffic. Sadly, she didn't make and was hit by an ice truck. How does this happen with a cop two cars behind you? Again, no lights and no sirens.I believe it was staged. Pancho set the entire thing up to appear to be a hero. I had reached out to my City Council person not a week before. I told her about his history of beating women. Patricia wasn't the first, and how he sent me to prison we he wasn't even supposed to be on my case. Although he was never home, I was close to his kids and Patricia told me all about him.

Pancho has a long history of trying to ruin women's lives. All because he hates his mother. I feel sorry for all three of those wome, because they are all victims of Pancho's narcissistic ways. I'm a victim, too, but I got people. I'm strong. I don't believe that he is powerful. He got 'em all fooled in the streets, but not me. Since being demoted from investigator to a deputy, he's out on the street trying to turn as many young women out into prostitution that he can , to try and make as much money as he can. These young women are manipulated into thinking the are some kind of superstars. When really all they are is drug addicts who sell their bodies for money. They've never had love or attention at home. They need someone to guide them into who they can be. Sadly, like Little Red Riding Hood, they meet the wolf along the way. Some of these women hate me. I don't know what he says to them, but the hate me, but that's all they know from life. These are the women he looks for. Some of these young women are happy I'm alive. They know they could die if they tell me anything or talk to me. They are so tired. I could cry about the looks they give me. They have no idea how to get out, hell, they don't know how they got in it. They want me to save them, but I don't have that power. In obedience, I must wait, and they have to wait. I know you think that I could just call and tell somebody, and get some help. I have done that a whole bunch of times. I wrote this same story in blogs 11-years ago. There is no use, the "blue wall" has come up on Pancho. He's protected by his fello cops. Plus, he knows their secrets. When I went to tell the Chief of Police about him, I went to jail for stalking him. I don't know if the were trying to lock me up, again. Make me a dyke or make me a prostitute. What I did, no matter what their intentions was survive. In 2021, I wrote a book all about my experiences in jail. It's titled "JELL: A true story". It was on Amazon, but people were afraid to buy it. They have ways to know who is buying it. Nobody wants to change places with me. I'm just biding my time. Somethings got to give...