Caroline’s phone had mysteriously unadjusted itself to the time zone change in St. Louis, so we woke up at 530 and were out the door by 6am. I wondered why we left so early- she was confident it was 7am the entire time. We laughed it off and got excited about having ample time to drive- this meant we would have more time to lay in bed at our hotel in Texas considering we would be there earlier.

I didn’t wake up with gut pain, which was a positive. I decided for now, I’ll slow down on eating pizza and take it day by day. Most/all of my ailments in life could be realistically avoided. We grabbed some coffees and breakfast out of a gas station, which wasn’t the best idea considering my state of being so susceptible to crap food nowadays. I was just hungry. I fight binge eating on a daily basis- whether from an onset of hormonal changes or just an insatiable runner’s appetite. The only issue is that ever since my adventure north through Florida, I hadn’t done much, if any physical activity. Every time I step on a scale is a heart break. I just hoped that when I made it to North Dakota, I could gain the energy to do something about rather than feeling bad about myself.

I received news from my mother that my father, a problematic alcoholic and troubled town drunk had been the cause of two of my brothers back home getting arrested. The story I was given was that there was an argument over him being noticeably drunk and attempting to leave the house to drive and get more booze. He won the skirmish, and my brothers locked him out of the house. My father’s response was to grab a hammer and break every window in the house, swinging at my brothers while they got it all on tape. Fearing for the situation at hand, they called the police so he could sit his ass down in a jail cell. That didn’t happen. The police showed gross neglect in a domestic dispute situation and told my brothers he was allowed to “break his own property” even if they were fearing for their lives. It was all documented on video. Since the police showed up and did nothing, they were asked to leave. This wasn’t the first time they had been called on my dad, and not once had they ever done anything to make the people living there feel safe. Since this time was no different, my brothers yelled at them, which turned into 5 officers beating the living shit out of my 120 pound 19 year old brother and subsequently tasing him. Then they took down my older brother, because he was filming the whole thing.

So the police showed up, arrested the people that needed their help, and let the abuser run free. Eventually my mother went to the court house and filed a section 35, which places my dad in rehab for 21 days after a “doctor” defines him as an addict. Luckily that did happen, so the rest of the family was able to get some peace of mind and pick up the pieces to move forward.

As I was in the middle of Oklahoma at the time of hearing that news, I felt helpless. The “doctor” called me to ask questions, but I didn’t have much to offer to help the case- on my own accord I had minimal interaction with my dad and only briefly lived at their house for a month between living in California, skating across the USA, and moving into my girlfriend’s house. My blood boiled.

Thinking about how, if my family was black, I would have a dead brother right now set me off. Black people have been killed for less than yelling- my family was lucky to not have that racial bias against them. However, aside from conjecture, there was no need to taze him in the first place. The gross misconduct of a police force that has targeted my family for years decimated what could have been an amicable resolution. When I say I hate police, it isn’t because they literally go out of their way to strike fear into innocent people. It isn’t because they have no training beyond what is available in a police academy available to any townie who passes high school. It isn’t because they abuse their power, get caught on tape doing it, and walk away free. It isn’t because they exist in the same gang of people who murder people in the streets and refuse to identify corruption in their precincts. It is because they are the lowest form of government servant and the community places them on a pedestal in a Stockholm Syndrome-esque fashion. Humans, specifically Americans, are the weakest minded of any congregation of human and their adornment of police and guns is merely nothing more than a pathetic squeal to hold onto a culture that doesn’t exist.

This is how insurgents are made in military situations. American military kills innocent bystanders and their children, leaving whoever is left with nothing. It amazes me that people are surprised that the same people we claim to support and protect are fighting back at the military. Why does nobody ever wonder that? I’ll tell you what- if enough 19 year old white kids get tazed when they’re trying to do the right thing, or enough innocent black kids die in the street, all at the hands of abusive cops…there’s going to be an insurgency. The only question is if the hypocritical gun lovers and bootlickers could ever choose a side.

I fell into a pit in my mind, raging with anger and doing my best not to lose my shit on social media. I was lucky to be out of service range for much of it. My blood further boiled as we made it further south- churches became more prevalent, “Make America Great Again” banners flew proudly and 4×4 vehicles pouring out black smoke lined the roads. And yet, we were driving through some of the poorest places I had ever seen. It amazed me that these people could actively oppose their own interests to spite social justice movements- I knew for a fact I was unsafe.

Every time we stopped I prayed I didn’t have to pee. I held in my pee for as long as I could between stops. At one point I needed to buy something and when I asked for help I was given no response, just a hollowed out stare and a shake of the head, like I was some kind of alien criminal. Nothing about Indiana made me feel safe both times I went, but Oklahoma was a different breed. When we crossed into Texas, it was even worse.

We got into the hotel with plenty of daylight left. I was loaded with energy from letting my anger go uncorrected over so many hours of driving. Once I was safe in our room, I felt like I could be myself again. I showered and got to snuggle with Caroline- it was our first time sleeping together in a space bigger than a twin bed. We took full advantage, sprawling out like a couple of kids making snow angels.

I was still angry about the state of things. I knew there was nothing I could do. I texted my father, knowing he wouldn’t receive it, and said, “Don’t ever call or message me for any reason. You’re a psycho.” I can only imagine that it will sting, once he’s out of rehab, but I suppose that’s the point. I didn’t feel good about it.

I ran away from my family for a reason. Everyone, including myself, is a self righteous hot head. Only the police win.