Addendum to my post "Addiction and Decision Making" published on October 27, 2014

This may come across as defensive, but it is an attempt to set the record straight on some flat out lies that were spread by the Oakland County Sheriff and reported by the media.
I never "pretended" to be my ex's attorney. I had been recognized by the court as his attorney of record, both in court before he was incarcerated and subsequently by an official filing of an Appearance. The Oakland County Sheriff and media consistently portrayed me as a liar and fraud in this regard. Further, I wasn't simply his attorney to bring him drugs; that was secondary to my official representation of him. I was working tirelessly to handle his case and his release from jail on work release. That "misrepresentation" (lie) has always devastated me. I had done enough to feed the need to bash me; why the overreaching to assassinate my character further? It was unnecessary.
Additionally, I was portrayed as a drug kingpin, maintaining a residence that was a drug hotbed. My home was raided by the Narcotic Enforcement Team of Oakland County; they had been conducting surveillance on me the day they arrived at least ten deep with personnel and  all the equipment and two vans screeching into my parking lot to raid and arrest me.
My ex possessed, legally, a medical marijuana license, and was attempting to grow marijuana for his own use; he never did grow one single bud. His "grow room" was in a locked area, per legal requirements, and before his incarceration, I had nothing to do with it. Subsequent to his jailing, I went in the room to pour water on burning, dead plants. Should I have unplugged the equipment? Yes, I should have. But for law enforcement to portray this failed attempt at growing marijuana as a "grow operation" (I think that was the term they used?) was laughable at best. In the end they confiscated a quarter of an ounce of useable marijuana; his card allowed him to possess two ounces.
Lastly, I would like to address one of my felony charges that I have never understood. Yes, I had furnished contraband to an inmate, a clear breaking of the law. But I was also charged with delivery of a controlled substance. That charge had NOTHING to do with the fact that I supplied him with drugs in jail; it is the typical charge for a drug dealer. I had a prescription to possess Xanax, and he had a prescription to possess Xanax. I ask readers: have you ever handed someone a controlled substance such as pain killers, for which they had a prescription? And if you really dig deep, have you ever shared a prescription with someone? Perhaps a Valium when they were upset, or a sleeping prescription pill to offer them relief during a period of insomnia? If you have, you too are a drug dealer. You too deserve, according the Prosecutor of Oakland County, to be charged with delivery of a controlled substance.
Is this post defensive? Yes. But it is also the truth.

Addiction And Decision Making

It hurts. It hurts almost more than anything I've experienced before. Losing my career, publicly no less, crushed me. The public blasting I received for my crimes that included smuggling drugs into the Oakland County Jail and the aftermath, the consequences, caused me to consider suicide for quite sometime. The month after it all went down was a suicidal blur. I had been arrested for three felonies, and while awaiting arraignment, in the Oakland County Jail no less, the story broke on the news, horrendous mug shot and all.
I was told repeatedly how fucking stupid I was and laughed at and ridiculed, all while the deputies took...pleasure? in mentally torturing me. There was at least one news reporter (Fox 2 News Detroit) camped outside of the jail, publicly berating me and making jokes and snide remarks about what I'd done. I watched this on t.v. every night in jail while being surrounded by inmates who snickered and reminded me that I was an idiot. (There was zero consideration of the role addiction played.)
When I was released, the barrage of public opinions continued. Shortly after my release, I found out that I was being evicted. (Completely understandable.) I would lie on my couch day after day, knowing I should be packing, but could do nothing but stare out at my patio contemplating ways to off myself. I knew I'd lost my career, that I was on the brink of losing my freedom, that I'd embarrassed my family, let down friends (yet again), and that I was a complete addict in every way. I felt helpless and hopeless. I couldn't imagine there was a way to bounce back from this. Death was a welcomed option. But for some reason, I just could not do it. I tried with drugs and alcohol, but they would not take me.
What amazed me was the pleasure that people, strangers and acquaintances, took from this time of my life, both then and even today. My attorney at the time, who represented me pro bono because of his innate compassion and who was my lifeline, warned me not to look at the news articles on the internet, to not read the comments. I couldn't help it. Boy, was I sorry. People are without a doubt entitled to their opinions, but I only wish the opinions had been based on the whole story.
I did what I did and I accept complete responsibility for my actions. However, I do have a side to my story for the commission of these crimes, not an excuse or a justification, but certainly an explanation of where I was at mentally and my reasoning, however misguided and irrational, behind my actions. Mainly I was an active addict (heroin, Xanax, and other pills) who was sleep deprived and vacillating between being high and having withdrawals; I'm not sure rational decision making was possible. I had irrational beliefs about my now ex-fiance's health and well-being, mainly that he was going to die from Xanax withdrawal, as he had ingested 60 milligrams within less than 24 hours. And what I observed about his treatment in jail confirmed that those deputies did not give a flying fuck about whether he lived or died. So yes, I smuggled in his properly prescribed Xanax (yet ridiculous dosage) with the mistaken belief that it was going to save his life. I didn't bring him street drugs, I didn't take drug orders from other inmates, and I didn't do this for shits and giggles, to pull one over on the jail.
In fact, given the same situation, the same misguided beliefs, I would do it all over again for someone I love. I begged those deputies to provide him with medical attention; my documented requests were ignored. I believed I had no other options, as additionally, the jail would not dispense Xanax to him. And moreover, right or wrong, I was the only one possessing the knowledge of his recent mass ingestion of the drugs; I didn't want to tell the deputies, as he had only had access to that amount of Xanax because he had smuggled it into the jail. I thought I was doing my best by repeatedly asking for medical attention, and I thought that would be enough. I know now that I should have "ratted him out," but I didn't consider that.
I know this post went off on a tangent, one not having to do with the traumatic and devastating, albeit self-inflicted, loss of my career, but soon enough I will re-visit those still existing feelings. They hurt though, they hurt a lot, and I continue to carry with them an overwhelming shame. A shame that I don't know how to permanently shake.