I'm Not Guilty
What happens when you are being wrongly accused for a crime you did not commit; but you have no evidence to prove otherwise?
Thankfully, my saving grace was a single log in the police database which stated that I had requested that a search warrant was executed at my address.
However, by that stage, I had racked up criminal charges including:
Possession of class-a drugs
Possession with intent to supply class-a drugs
Concern in the supply of class-a drugs
Conspiracy to supply class-a drugs
Possession and handling of stolen goods
The list went on and on. At my final court hearing, the judge furiously proclaimed
"I do not know why I am prosecuting this young woman. I should be prosecuting the local police constabulary! I've yet to meet an individual who is concerned in the supply of drugs, ASK for a drugs raid to be carried out in their own home".
To put it bluntly, I got lucky. I had absolutely no solid, physical, tangible evidence to prove that I was not guilty of the charges the police were accusing me of.
My blog was a work of fiction. I was a fantasist. My battered and bruised body could have been a result of my own actions- some skewed type of self harm. Predictably enough; my online submissions pleading for help from the police, could not be traced back. The two 999 calls I made didn't stress the seriousness of the situation. My mental health condition didn't make me vulnerable; it made me an attention seeker. My drug addiction meant I was labelled as a dirty junkie with no morals who would sink to abhorrent lows to ensure I had a constant supply of drugs. The reason I had not stepped outside for seven months was a result of agoraphobia. My refusal to give information to the police was because I had delusions of grandeur. One of the exploited gang members who told the police that I was the victim- was only doing so because I had bribed or groomed him. The eventual suicide attempt I made after admitting defeat- was definite proof of guilt.
Oh but how I WISH I had recorded the look on the detective inspectors face when I pointed out what had become glaringly obvious by that point;
"How the f*ck is any information I give you going to be taken seriously when I'm a drug addicted, delusional fantasist, who is conspiring with the same gang you are asking I give information about, to enable you to prosecute them?"
The moral of this story? COVER YOUR ARSE.