It is 4:45 a.m. and I awaken to the feeling of panic that has become my life.  I walk outside in my underwear to smoke a cigarette and gather my bearings.  I think deeply about the crazy dreams I just had, usually concerning this huge hotel with all sorts of weird people from my life experiences staying there.  I try to breath deeply to calm myself, as I wander back to the couch that has become my bed.

I begin watching the morning news cycle hoping that while I slept for a few hours the world has somehow changed for the better.  I am still an optimist, but for how long?  Maybe I am becoming pessimistic and apathetic about life, as I sit here in limbo.  If I am lucky I can drift off slowly to the sound of CNN and catch another half hour of sleep before my oldest son wakes up, but normally I just check the web for further updates about the world, cannabis, and my life.

I make a pot of coffee normally and take my medications to start the journey of my day.  I take a mixture of anti-depressants, tranquilizers, and Marinol to quell the pain, depression, and anxiety that is often overwhelming.  I now take three prescribed synthetic medications to help suffice where cannabis is no longer an option.  I supplement those with an array of over-the-counter pain relievers to also help ease the many pains my body now feels.  I am sure my liver and kidneys are happy.

It is 8 a.m. and the creditors begin the barrage of calls hoping that this will be the day I answer.  It is not that I do not want to answer the calls, but I am so down right now, that my depression turns to anger and I find myself on the phone screaming and preaching about medical cannabis two some over-zealous phone jockey in India who is just trying to do his job.  It usually makes me far worse for the wear and I no longer have the energy to deal with it, so I just turn off my ringer and ignore the dozens of calls that I receive daily.

I have a number of projects I am working on to stay busy, but normally have difficulty finishing tasks the way I used to. My moods can fluctuate greatly and often I am stuck inside of my head trying to decipher a plan of escape. I press on with the day's duties.  I find myself not achieving goals, yet doing enough to complete the tasks at hand.  No more, no less.

It is just over a month until I will be sentenced and I am in a constant state of fear about what that day will bring.  The anticipation leading up to this half-hour of my life that will change my course forever is often too much to comprehend.  I go over in my head the points I want to make in my sentencing and compile words and phrases in different orders and implement abstract ideas to represent myself, my family, and the community in honorable fashion.  I walk the fine line between needing to be humble for my "crimes" and the inherent need to express my feelings of injustice and waste.  I must find a way to express that I am sorry for my "crimes," while somehow making clear that I do not believe I am a criminal.  This is the dialogue that my head has with my heart all day, every day.

I engage with my children regularly and do my best to not let them see the vast emotion and distress that I feel inside.  I do my best to spend time with my family, but am often useless, as my anxieties leave me agitated and uncomfortable. I often withdraw, as I am unsure of myself and suddenly doubt myself in many ways.  This is foreign to me.  My once confident and outgoing personality is disappearing, being replaced by a regiment of medications, counseling therapies, and relaxation techniques that have all become coping mechanisms for my newfound angst.    

My days move quickly.  Much too quickly often, and before I know it, it is mid-afternoon and I have once again failed to complete the lofty ambitions I had for my day, as I envisioned it the night before.  I normally get the things that need to get finished completed, but fail to make progress in places I need to, and a sense of panic that I am not doing enough overcomes me. I feel paralyzed by my situation.  I have worked so hard on the process of it all.  The lawyers, the pre-trial services officers, the probation officer reports, the house visits, the lawyers again, the DEA returning my property,  the gathering of letters of support, the outreach to the community, the court dates, the media, the blog, the paperwork, the strange encounters, the medical and scientific research, the protests, the fundraising, the public relations, the bake sales, the events, the telling of my story over and over to whoever is interested, the crying, the anger, the senselessness of it all; and now I am exhausted.  Yet, I still feel as if I have not done enough.

I am still searching for the one point. or contact, or study that will free me from the clutches of the justice system and allow me to get back to life.  I need to find a more reliable and consistent job, but it is difficult knowing that your picture will most likely be in the paper and on the news all over town in just a short month.  It is defeating to say the least.

I await my sentencing, knowing that anything can happen in that courtroom and understanding the vast implications that decision is to have on the world as I know it.  It is this moment in history that has my entire life put on pause and shakes the foundation of my being.  The wondering, the guilt, and the depression leave very little room for normality.  I am in a state of holding, waiting, and anticipating the future.  It is not healthy,

I normally do not eat much during the day.  I often will ingest nothing but coffee until dinner time and I am normally famished by then.  I try to enjoy dinner and the process of sitting down with my wife and kids for a moment of normality in my often hectic life.  I have come to enjoy the time and try to take in as much of the ritual as my mind will allow.  I take another round of meds.

I watch the evening news cycle, or try to enjoy a baseball game on the television. I try to escape from my head again into the television and watch the news to give perspective to my situation in realizing there are much worse situations out there than mine.  Although, comforting as that may be, it often leaves me worse for the wear and given my own experiences, I know for a fact the amount of sensationalism that goes into journalism these days.  I flip back to the game.  I do not care who is winning these days, but like to stare blankly at the screen and absorb anything that does not have to do with my personal situation.

My night wanders by as quickly as my days, and it is once again dark. the sun has set on another day of my freedom and I have less than I need but more than I want in the day's activities.  I am confused and disoriented. How had I let another day escape me without accomplishing something meaningful?  Why had I not spent more time with my family, or gotten more done?  Where has my drive and my courage gone?  How did I get here?  All very good questions, but meaningless without answers.  

It has become midnight, the start of another exciting day.  I am sure that this day will be different.  I am sure this will be the day I wake up calm.  My family will be happy.  I will accomplish some goals.  Yes, this will be that day...I hope.

 

It is a strange concept to think how the DEA raid of my home and business has changed my outlook on the world. Everything about my daily routine and life is changing at no request of my own. The way I look at life is different and the way I live my life is effected by the scarlet letter this unfair persecution has left me with. I wake up to the pitter patter of my kids feet. I am sleeping on the couch of course with a flashlight, as I am on edge of federal agents invading my privacy, and more-so my garbage cans. I awake slower and with less energy, as the everyday worries and anxiety of facing a federal indictment and spending time in jail seems to suck every last ounce of energy from my soul. I feed my son some cheerios, with no blueberries of course because those have gotten very expensive since the costs of this situation have began to take their toll on my finances. I check my email. in hopes by some miracle the justice system has changed the federal ban on medical cannabis and my immanent worries are suddenly over. It has yet to happen, but it could I keep telling myself. I drag myself to a shower after a cup of coffee, and grudgingly vow to carry on with my day and try to be productive. I am not allowed to use cannabis, as a condition of my bail, so I have resorted to more conventional over the counter painkillers, as I rotate between Aleve, Tylenol, and Motrin in hopes of tricking my liver into not collapsing. I would use my Marinol but it is twenty plus dollars a pill and I choose to use it only when in serious pain or overwhelmed by anxiety. I must remember to call the 'Code-A-Phone" 800 number line that tells me if my number has come up on the lucky "Will-I-Be-Piss-Tested-Today" lottery. I then try and focus on still making a living to support my family. I have a party rental company that needs tending to, but I always seem to get bound down trying to contact lawyers, talking to the folks at ASA, or going over possible scenarios for my future. I also attempt to look for additional work to help put some food on the table while the party rental business is slow. Craigslist, Monster, ABy Area Help Wanted. I try to focus, but often I am overcome by the magnitude of the road ahead. I often drive around putting out flyers for the business and resumes at businesses that interest me, but I am often so distracted that I am incapable of making the progress I hope for. I often either have to meet with a lawyer, counselor, pre-trial services agent, possible employer, IRS Counselors, Insurance Companies, and many other advisors throughout my journey. I try to stay positive, but I must admit that many days I get down and let the world get the better of me. It is somewhat refreshing that the holidays are over, as I can hope to move on professionally and look for a new start at a year that is hopefully less complicated. I return home to recharge with some time with the kids before dinner and I often am often dragged away by a phone call or need to get work done and I allow the pressures of the situation dictate my time and energy. It has become so imperative to get things done in these times that I am often obsessed and overwhelmed. I usually have so much on my plate that I cannot even imagine where to begin, so I sit there...head in the hands...hoping the ball of anxiety in my stomach will go away. It never does.I eat if I am lucky enough to not be in the middle of something, and try to help get the kids ready for bed, when I am not overwhelmed by the task at hand. If I am lucky the day has an event that I work or an odd job I can do for a friend. Not just because I am able to make a couple of bucks, but because it allows me divert my focus to something other than the case and my family's future. It allows me to breath. I try to escape with a television show or movie, but never make it. I either cannot sit still long enough or I am so tired I fall immediately asleep. Depends on the day. I get the strangest phone calls these days. If it is not the IRS, a lawyer, or an agent of some sort, it is a long lost friend that saw me on the news and picked up a flyer and decided to give me a call. Or it is another computer generated bill-collector asking why I cannot make my payment again. I swear I often think of throwing my phone in a lake and just letting the chips fall where they may, but it is just not realistic with everything happening. I try to sleep at night, but am constantly awakened by noises outside of my house or just plain nightmares of what my life could become. I wake up at one, three and five like clockwork now. walk outside and have a cigarette, check the perimeter, and go back in to watch CNN, just hoping I am not on it again. I hopefully doze off again, but often I just watch the sunrise on the east coast and wait for it to rise over my house so I can make some coffee and get on with whatever the next day has to offer.