As a result of mental illness and a toxic relationship that ramped up to epic levels, I am now living as the most marginalized and hated demographic in the United States. My constitutional rights are impugned, with no recourse. I am extorted to providing my personal information under penalty of a new felony. Not for committing a crime, mind you. I can get a new felony for simply not reporting a vehicle, job, school, or residence within three days and all of my online material every six months. I must pay this mob-style extortion fee of two hundred dollars twice a year. As a result of my socially accepted marginalization, I cannot get any jobs outside of back-breaking labor or rent anywhere. I am in my forties and living in my parents’ basement. I cannot find social outlets where children or adults congregate. The adult venues are due to a blanket parole stipulation with alcohol (which had nothing to do with my crime), which they justify because I am on psych meds. I plead guilty but was mentally ill, which increases my problems and length of punishment rather than mitigating them. The child stipulation has nothing to do with my conviction either. It is due to the admittance of Romeo and Juliet situations in my early 20s in the mandated therapy in prison.
John Walsh and the worst-case scenarios in Florida and New Jersey already assisted in destroying my constitutionally protected rights with no sympathy or recourse from politicians or the media.
Woke and #metoo have further vilified me to the nth degree, so any hope of restorative justice is null and void. I will never be able to travel again. I will have to register for the rest of my life because it was a first-degree felony. I have no other criminal record, yet I am treated like Jeffrey Daumer, the night stalker, or Ted Bundy for a mentally ill vengeance-based action in my twenties.
I live in immense dread every time I have to deal with my P.O. I’ve already wasted a decade and a half in prison, and now have no chance at upward mobility or normalcy again. It severely affects my relationship with my girlfriend. To make matters worse, I have bipolar disorder (of which hyper-sexuality is a portion), so any impulse to use pornography (which is legal and readily accessible to every other adult in the country), is a factor that could send me back for a minimum of three years when I am already in my forties. There is no give or leeway. A drug offender can have double-digit legitimately illegal violations and not be sent back. I need only one that is not even considered a crime outside of parole for only my demographic set. I came out of prison optimistic and desirous to recompense and put my life back together. I started attending online college. I quickly learned that I will only ever be able to get blue-collar jobs that pay little. Outside of starting my own business, this is my only option. As soon as I start that business, some busybody will bring it to the media’s attention and I will be socially blacklisted again, destroying my livelihood. It makes it not worth living.
In the country’s inception, you paid your debt through a finite prison term, and it was done. Now, persons forced to register are punished in perpetuity. They are marginalized locally and globally and will never have a normal life again. No other demographic has suffered this since the black community during Jim Crow legislation. I wish I’d been executed. My life just gets worse and harder. Every circumstance in my life is a setup for failure. If I had even the remotest chance of getting political asylum from another country, I would do it. I am a loving, forgiving, often naive, open-minded person who truly believes in some utopia where we can all live in peace with equal opportunities. The experience of the last four years on parole has made me immensely misanthropic. Every new movie or tv show is a Woke warrior anthem where the villain is always a white male who is destroyed by violence. It’s not even worth living or trying anymore. Some people with our crime thrive in isolation. I am not that person.
Even those who I thought would still be on my side and knew how toxic and calculating Esther was, have turned on me. I am a social person. I am an artistic and extroverted person. I cannot happily live life isolated to a basement, only allowed the most homogenized media for connection and entertainment. This is wrong. This is not okay. You can’t ruin someone’s entire life for one incident. You can’t impugn any American citizen’s constitutional rights for a knee-jerk, mob-mentality response. I am not religious, but I’m sure you understand this sentiment. I pray every day that I die somehow, especially before they find some petty reason to throw me back into that warzone of depravity I barely made it out of last time.