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She Ate a Poppy Seed Salad Just Before Giving Birth. Then They Took Her Baby Away.
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this post was submitted on 14 Sep 2024
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I was arrested for possession of marijuana back around 2000. Being a poor, I had to take what I was given which was 12 months probation, fines, etc etc. I too like poppyseed muffins and bagels. I’ve always like them.
I actually stayed sober for the probation. Eight or 9 months in, I had amy one and only failed UA. Positive for opiates. Because of my fondness for poppyseed stuff. I had my probation revoked, and ended up spending nine months in jail while waiting for a court date. I only had 3 months left. And spent nine more in the farmer's tank doing manual labor like changing oil on cop cars or mowing grass at public parks. I lost my job. I lost my car due to repossession, I lost my apartment. I lost a girlfriend whom I was absolutely head over heels with (she thought I was secretly using opiates and not being honest w her. She was a former user and me using, real or perceived was a dealbreaker).
All for fucking poppyseed muffins and bagels. This is even more horrible than what happened to me. There is something seriously wrong when a mother has a child taken away when they eat food. There is no discretion. I’m not smart enough to figure out how to fix it but I’m like at least 5% sure this ain’t it.
jfc I'm so sorry all that shit happened to you. The war on drugs is so fucking vicious and cruel.
If it wasn’t for my mother and father letting me move back home afterwards at the age of 25, I’d have been homeless and I’m not sure I’d have gotten back on my feet. I was in a city away from home and nobody could get to my apartment to get my stuff. Eventually I got evicted and they tossed my shit on the side of the road there. I lost everything. Everything. Clothes, CDs, photos of friends and family and once in a lifetime experiences I was just blindly lucky to take part in. I left jail with 25-ish dollars in leftover commissary money, the clothes I got booked in wearing, and my ‘hard time’ cup. My hard time cup was a cheap plastic mug that I had taken a pocket calendar and glued to the cup. I marked my days with it. I stared at that cup a lot. They lost my wallet somehow so I couldn’t cash the check for 25 bucks to get food. Slept at the greyhound station while I was waiting for someone to pick me up and take me back to my folks to start over.
The original arrest was an overzealous Tx State Trooper who threatened me w mace to make me exit the car to begin with. He found a dime bags worth of Mexican brick weed in my sock because that’s where I tried stashing it when I panicked.
I’ve been homeless. I’ve squatted in the fifth ward in New Orleans. I’ve ridden trains. I’ve dumpster dived to eat more times than I can recall. But leaving jail with nothing, nobody, no way, and nowhere to go was more demeaning than being ignored for being homeless and dirty.
The war on drugs is a disgusting excuse to keep poor folks poor, to break apart families, to permanently disrupt lives and make slaves of those caught up in its trappings. Richard Nixon grave needs a fresh sprinkling of piss.