First of all, having met a most amazing Presbyterian minister (from another Wilmington congregation -- NOT First Prez) this morning, and having had quite a long and good conversation, I realize it is best at this time to leave Ernie, Pete, and Charlie (the ministers at First Prez) out of my email loops/links for the foreseeable future. I'll just leave it at that for now, although, having a strict policy of not talking behind anyone's back, I WILL send them a copy of this.
In court today, I learned that a "hearing" is actually just like a trial except that the plaintiff and defendant are sworn in and speak from their tables. Others are sworn in speak from the witness box. I thought it was more informal, and had not rehearsed any lines or formulated questions for witnesses or plaintiff -- as I could have, had I understood ahead of time.
I DID get to ask Gerald (not Justin) Austin-Wynn if (when he coached Brenda on the phone the evening before she swore out the commitment papers and told her to "be creative" and admonished her to take some of the pills that he had given her if she got nervous) he was her drug dealer. If I remember correctly, some distraction kept him from answering.
The order was continued, and after only a few minutes' thought, I realized that was the easiest, most expedient thing to do. Clearly Brenda and Gerald had rehearsed and put together a good show. Being naive to how a hearing was held and shocked at the lies delivered, I was like a doe in the headlights, and got no effective traction. The judge appeared to believe everything they said, although in fairness since she made no comment, she might have decided that whether or not I deserved compensation for my troubles, the most important thing is that I stay seperated from them and they from me.
Monday, I'll file similar papers against Gerald -- if I can find out his address through the courts. I am also filing an appeal (which I have to do through offices in Raleigh). I will be homeless and without winter clothes. It is to turn cold and blustery tonight. I'm getting quite sick of this, but also recognize how much better the story is that I will get out of it and sell later. I do meet with the head Public Defender in a few minutes and I still have my new partner in the Walking Tour, which is ready to roll -- once we raise $100.00 for some permit and absolutely necessary marketing costs beforehand.
I expect to solicit the help of an organization protecting the rights of those of us who have mental illness diagnoses (conflicting conclusions from several psych organizations on me the past few years, but those who think I have anything claim I'm bipolar), from those who use that diagnosis to discriminate. Repeatedly, my diagnosis was brought up as an excuse to discredit what I had to say about anything (you can see why I am backing away from expecting empathy or similar from certain people).
In any case, the whole thing is going to get bigger, and I'm going to enjoy it. I am getting much more respect around town (excepting the courts and a few other places) the last several days. For some time, I have felt like I've been channelling Will (William R. Jr.) Kenan, and now, just like litigation between the Florida East Coast Railroad (then owned almost exclusively by the Kenan Family) and the US Government set a record in the decades it took to resolve, I seem to be stuck in long-term litigations to clear the record of lies.
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