March 2012 - Preping for trip to Overgrow - Manifesting

In preparation for a trip to Overgrow the Government on April 20th, 2012, I conspired with my ex-husband (with whom I ran a glass etching business with before we divorced) to take as many cannabis jars from the collective garden that I frequented in Washington as we could, and have them etched with a design I decided would symbolize the journey. I had previously taken a green sharpie in 2011 and drawn the symbol of peace and love on my inner wrist. I had marked a few sitting by me in 2011, and thought it would be fun to spread the symbol a bit further, to those who I visited on my way to the protest.

The plans were made to find a car (somehow, manifesting, but I didn't know how at the time) and I would travel and pick those up who wanted to join the protest with an uncertainty as to what would happen after April 20th. Many of my friends indicated they were interested, but most backed out before I arrived to pick them up.

April 2012 - On the way to DC by Probe

The car I ended up manifesting was a Ford Probe, and I acquired it in Idaho after staying in Spokane with a Facebook friend where I met a distant cousin who was a friend of hers. A friend of a friend was selling this car, not knowing if it had many miles left on it. I paid about 2/3 of my April paycheck for it and set out to see how many miles we could squeeze out of it.

At this point, I had convinced myself I just needed to get back to Florida to retrieve my BMW, and it took me several months to come to the realization I would never see my beloved 525 again.

April-May 2012: Driving the Probe

I picked up my friend, Bryan, in Illinois, and he served as my assistant and friend throughout a trip that brought us across to DC, down to Florida and back up to his home in Illinois before the end of May.

A Quiet Protest - Overgrow the Government April 20, 2012

When Athena and Bryan and I finally got to DC, we dropped off magazines from my friend Jason Lauve, who had generously provided copies of his magazine to be distributed throughout our trip, but primarily at the protest anniversary where he and I had met the year before. Jason had won his medical cannabis case in Colorado courts and had his cannabis returned to him, then began teaching his fellow humans about the plant. I felt privileged to help him, but sad I didn't have an opportunity to write for the magazine while it was still in publication. Jason went on to focus many of his advocacy efforts in hemp, helping to write the hemp bill in Colorado.

Bryan and Athena and I headed down to Florida in the Probe after the April 20th celebrations were finished, but after weeks trying to get information or the BMW back, the Probe's engine had died and we were left to head back to our homes.

Back to the Northwest

Our trip to Washington D.C., then to Florida, was the first time Athena was called on to perform in public. I had been attempting to train her to be my service dog, but I was thankful for the bit she was able to pick up before we were forced to travel by bus, then train, and by public subway in D.C., Athena did her best to behave. The services she performs are usually in the privacy of my home now, but when we didn't have a home, all of her behaviors (and mine) were public.

We arrived in the northwest and were taken in for a week to recuperate from our adventure out near the coast. We joined my friend to visit a cannabis farmer's market, where I was interviewed by T.L. Weed for his podcast about Overgrow the Government.

When I retrieved my purse and phone which had been secured while I was interviewed, I found I had missed calls from my mother and my ex-husband. It was an ominous combination.

June: Waiting for a Funeral at an Ex's

When I returned my mother and my ex-husband, Bruce's phone calls, I discovered that it was an ominous sign indeed. My eighteen-year-old nephew had been found with a gunshot to his head.

The Rochester, Washington area was quick to call it "just another indigenous suicide", devastating our family, while questions remain to this day. The gun was found near the "wrong hand." Things like that. To our family, Machalah's (Maco's) death will always be a murder and the law enforcement agencies who failed to investigate it as such have only added to the torment of our family.

I stayed with my ex-husband, Bruce, while we waited to hear news of when the service for my nephew would be. Bruce and I had been married over 20 years, and he had not wanted the divorce. I was thankful that the house we had picked out together years before had a guest room. During those few weeks, I wished the bed I chose for the guest bedroom had been a bit bigger.

When the funeral was over, I moved in with my other nephew who had just lost his little brother. Athena and I stayed with Jay for a month, helping out where we could, before moving on once again.

A Room with a View

I met a fellow cannabis activist who happened to live in a town where my family has grown generations. Rob had a room that he rented out to help make ends meet and it was available. After Maco's death and the subsequent death of my former mother-in-law, I needed a time-out from living on people's couches. No longer with a vehicle of my own, I was dependant upon others for rides everywhere. Rob had a BMW and was also an enthusiast. Rob and I spent hours talking about my time on the road, he remains a great friend.

Cannabis Farmer's Markets - Medical Cannabis Before I-502

Together, Rob and I visited cannabis farmer's markets in Shelton and Olympia as well as a few protests against the coming initiative for the legalization of cannabis for recreational purposes.

Rob was an excellent muse for my writing hobby. I had started a blog in 2010 when I first realized that this homelessness thing was going to be a journey. If it was a journey, I could not only define it, but I could document it. This photo-essay is part of the result of that decision. Another part will be the books sourced from my journals that I have been keeping throughout this last decade.

Cannabis Activism and Festivals

In 2012, as well as delving into activism, I also got involved in a relationship with a writer who was an activist. For months we corresponded and he invited me to his home for a weekend.

A few months later, he republished one of my blogs and offered to share more, if I would write for him. I was hesitant at the idea of becoming a "cannabis writer," feeling like I had more stories to tell than just about my medicine.

We fought about many things, yet our relationship persisted. I decided to put my notice in with Rob, tentatively moving out in December, but first, we had an election to fight. It was an uphill battle.

Voting Against Recreational Side-Effects Taking Over Medical Cannabis

Voting against the pseudo-legalization of cannabis was one of the most defining moments of 2012 for me. I had created a legal residence for myself, in spite of being technically homeless since 2010, I was paying rent for a room for the first time since leaving my husband. Although I had shared expenses with whomever I was sharing space within previous months, I had not had a formal agreement until Rob. That allowed me to feel secure enough to update my voting privileges just in time to vote against the exploitation of my medication's side-effects.

Initiative 502 unjustly penalizes our youngest patients. It unjustly penalizes our young adults period. Driving is a privilege, yes. I-502 can deny an 18-year-old cancer patient that privilege just because she smoked a joint yesterday to ease the misery of vomiting after chemo.

Before I-502, I couldn't imagine standing at the door of my local cannabis outlet with a legal patient under the age of 21 and being told he can not pick out his own medication. But it happened last year in Washington State. It is the law. We no longer have "medical cannabis" in Washington. The votes of myself, Rob and all the other cannabis activists who were attempting to educate, were unsuccessful.

Washington is now a state that flaunts it's "recreational cannabis" while spitting in the face of the cannabis patients who have died to enact cannabis legalization legislation. Being a cannabis patient in Washington state is a contradiction at best.

Inviting Family into a Den of Inequity

Feeling frustrated at the results of the vote, yet happy for my friends that we had least passed the right for people to marry who they wished, I set out to move up to Kingston with my boyfriend.

On Christmas Eve, he pushed me down for the first time. I decided then to start reaching out and look for a different living situation.

There was no Christmas that year. We sat in silence the entire day. I took Athena for a walk behind the apartment complex in the woods and dreamed of putting up a tent and never going back. But I didn't have a tent any longer. I was trapped.

Security Shattered with a Broken Door and Bloody Ear

The next few weeks were tense at best. I never thought it possible to sit next to someone and smoke no less than 13 joints and feel nothing., No euphoria, no high, no emotions, nothing. The words that he spat out of his mouth when he addressed me echoed in my head, homeless c#nt, his favorite nickname, day and night.

While he sat in the spare bedroom turned office, pounding on his keyboard a self-imposed schedule of blog posts, telling himself daily he was working, I did my best to avoid him and make connections with friends who had vehicles and a place for me to go. It took me too long.

On January 14, 2013, the world exploded. I had stayed in bed, not wanting to deal with his raging or bullying, and he was not happy. I wasn't allowed to stay in bed. I posted something on Facebook about "moving on down the road," and forgot to hide it from him, and he flew into a rage.

He came into the bedroom, grabbed my phone from my hands. I got up, and he shoved me backwards back onto the bed. He took my phone into his office.

At this point, I made a decision based purely on the PTSD I was experiencing, the fight or flight, not thinking about the laws I was enacting when I made the call.

I went into the living room, feeling powerless due to my phone being taken from me, not knowing what he was going to do next, I called 911 home phone. He grabbed the phone from my hands and hung it up.

They called back, of course.

While he was handling the callback, I got my phone from where he had laid it when he followed me into the living room and went into the bedroom, locking the door behind me.

Then I redialed 911.

Everything that came next was caught on tape.

He busted open the bedroom door; I dropped the phone onto the bed. He pushed me onto the bed, and while on top of me with all his weight and his lips on my ear began yelling directly into my right ear. My right ear still bleeds occasionally to this day, six years later.

My phone laying beside me caught the entire incident.

Waiting to Leave

The police came and arrested my now-ex-boyfriend and left me alone with my dog and his disabled cat. It was going to be my penance for the next few days to wipe the ass of his cat, Pookie, while he was in jail and his fans threatened me on social media.

As I waited for a ride and a place to go, the ex's visited the apartment with a police escort to harvest a cannabis plant, collect clothes, his cannabis, and his cat.

His cannabis. You see, I didn't smoke his cannabis either. I had bought my own medical supply during our entire cohabitation. In fact, the only thing we shared was food. He liked the food I bought with my food benefit on SNAP.

It took more days than I would like, but on the fifth day after his second assault, I had a ride and a place to go to.

Reuniting with A Family of Friends

I had maintained friendships with Rick's family as well as Rick himself after we broke up. One of his sisters who had already taken in Athena's father, Ruger, also drove up and took us in.

We paid to rent a room for a month in February, after being rescued in January, but our personalities were not compatible, and before the month was over, I was looking for a new spot for Athena and myself.