They Keep Coming for Me

Renee Chisolm

Description

Why am I here? How did I get here? Why did this happen to me? Didn't you know I would tell?The truth is out. You stalked me. You watched me. You lied about me. Why? You don't like me? Or you like me too much now that the truth is out? Are you still going to hide from it? And why didn't Congress or the White House do something? Don't they know you lied and fabricated my truth with lies? They know you are dangerous like a scorned woman that terrorized me and my family. You keep coming for me--state to state, street to street, place to place and, believe it or not, store to store. I sit and think, who am I that you keep coming for me?

Sujets

• Sociologie, société et politique

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 mai 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781645364122
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

They Keep Coming for Me
Renee Chisolm
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-05-31
They Keep Coming for Me About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Chapter 1 Cracked Up Chapter 2 Undercover Narcotic Cops, Feds, Internal Affairs, and Uniform Officers Chapter 3 My Politics and the Media Chapter 4 My Daughter Chapter 5 The Money Chapter 6 The Houses Chapter 7 The Road Chapter 8 My Childhood Chapter 9 My Family Chapter 10 My Son Chapter 11 My Mind Chapter 12 My Life
About the Author
The author had enough. She lived a simple life, cared less about the monetary needs, just content with being alive, never wanted fame, but to enjoy life and to live happily ever after, until law enforcement decided having too much fun was a crime and came for the author with all they had, without letting the author know. Now the author wants the truth told and she wants everyone to read her truth about law enforcement, as well as her family, Congress, and how the White House feels about it and the part it played.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my daughter and my son.
I am sorry it went this way and this far.
Copyright Information ©
Renee Chisolm (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Chisolm, Renee
They Keep Coming for Me: My Life Story – My Truth
ISBN 9781645364122 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019935774
The main category of the book — Biography & Autobiography / Women
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the publisher and the production team for their patience and execution of this book. I would like to thank my son for allowing me the time to write this book, my sister for the motivation to write this book, and law enforcement for giving the opportunity to share what most don’t want to believe. Know that it is the untold story of the truth about the law enforcement.
Chapter 1

Cracked Up
It was morning. I got up, dressed, and went out to see if I could make money for the next hit, to get the cookies. The thought made me happy and excited inside. I said to myself, “What’s the plan? I’ll go to Co-op mall, talk to the first person walking about, I will act fast!”
I said, “I am hungry, help Cheetah Charity Foundation to pay rent and buy food.”
He asked, “Is this for food?”
“Yes!” I said.
After getting into the groove, money was piling fast. I believe, in their hearts, they really cared about how poor I must be that I was begging; it was the sweetest thing. Did I feel sad or awful? No! I spent the rent and food money, and besides, I didn’t eat at all; just keeping it real. Then I went off to the change area, the Stop and Shop Supermarket.
I remember one man said, “I am a cop.”
I had said, “OK.”
He had handed me a couple of dollars, “Better be for food,” he had said and walked away to his parked car, smiling as if he knew.
Well, it worked, I made about 150 dollars in about one hour.
It was now time to go to Winston’s crib, that was downstairs from my apartment, but before I went, I made the call to pick up under the building that day sometime. I went to the apartment, and I stopped to get the lighters and stem from an African-owned gas station. It isn’t legal to sell, but it’s disguised cleverly. I didn’t smoke cigarettes; these cookies were all I needed as cigarettes aren’t my thing.
This was a beautiful day! I was happy, though there was one thing that weighed on my heart, which I will discuss in the coming chapter. I am feeling much better, and it made sense to continue this thing I loved to do and made me feel more alive than ever. I couldn’t wait to get to the building, (the building was actually the apartment). On my way back to my crib, I had to try and try again to fix my stem, but I felt like I was being watched, and cameras were in my furniture and walls ever since the constant slamming of the stairway doors for hours. I was shook, and this went on forever too as I was constantly thinking I was being watched. At that moment, I realized this thing called ‘crack’ was good and better than the rest.
The other Winston, Winston Brown, and my smoking crew tried to keep me still, but nothing worked. Still today, after stopping ten years ago, I still can’t stay in one place for too long. Well, the stem was right, I took my hit and one, two, three—off I ran! I got the hell out of my apartment down to Winston’s, praying I made it before someone, let’s say ‘the cops,’ caught me. I would be back later to try again.
I was about 39, going to be 40 years old soon. I could never remember my age; I always felt I didn’t go to enough clubs and parties. I was employed too early in my life and I blamed my family for that. I was just so fed up over it. I would go to clubs, and so many would envy my style, the fun, and all the beautiful people I met. People took to me with admiration; I was a star in my own right. I didn’t feel that way and why? I blamed my family and then there was the ‘dress code’—all the hard work that has to be done to move along, and I guess the ‘come up.’ But I was looking for happiness inside, something satisfying without the fashion and career. I want to keep it real with you. I would say, “They only admire me because I look good.” I will discuss that in upcoming chapter, so let’s get back with what made me so happy.
Winston was older than me, around 56. He had graduated from Cornell, and he was an ex-heroin user turned crack addict. In my opinion, it saved his life. Crack is a wonderful drug, for me, not for you. Some can’t deal with it, others like alcohol, and then most enjoy weed, but this one is for me! Not you! I was never selfish like some of the crack crew. It depends on how long you have been using it, and it makes for great company. If not, there will always be someone who has or chooses to share for safety and company; you don’t want to get arrested alone.
Winston and his wife, Merla, were my safe haven, but I desperately wanted to feel that way in my own apartment and I accepted it and went along, but others around me didn’t like it one bit. They always invited themselves to my apartment, especially when I had none, every time running out, sometimes leaving them there, going to Winston’s or outside, even to another crewmember, later, as I found others, using in secret and when you do, yes! Another friend to go to. You never catch me! With all your will, I will never rest.
Once I stayed up for two weeks straight, I was very green at the time. I never knew for sure if I was ‘wanted’ or not, it’s a feeling that comes over me, and it’s uncontrollable. Who taught me? Right! There is a right and wrong way, and you treasure your first hit! I treasure the last! You can’t believe everything you hear, for me not so much. I never listen or believe I wasn’t ‘wanted,’ I kept it to my heart. Well, anyway, Winston and his wife were closest to me, and yes, they taught me how to pull. I acted as if I knew, I wanted to try it, powder was murder on my nose. The only reason why I looked to this, I was at the end of the rope, if I didn’t get any joy in my life, I was going to crack up, and I did just that, got cracked up and the malpractice case led me away from my master’s degree. Later in the chapters, you will find that it was all a waste of time. Excuse my grammar, but I can’t write without mistakes, even with my college degree, BS, at St. John University graduate class of 1989, OK! Winston isn’t the only college graduate. I used to say to justify myself that, “This is my reward,” or something like that.
Some of the other crew would say, “My mother died in my arms” or “I have heart disease” or “I can’t find a job” and the most famous and true one, “My brother jumped out the window in front of me.” How about just because I can and I want to, they won’t dare, and they should’ve warned me. Everybody at first hit knew I feared the cops, and later in this book, you will know I mean it! When I hit, I blast off! Not in my house or anywhere or else they (cops) will arrest me for something that brings me joy in this cruel, jealous, and self-centered world, so let me be!
Well, I’m getting off track, I will tell you about that later. Right now, let’s focus on the joy and fun!
When I reached Winston’s apartment, he said, “You got it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Who’s here?”
“Just me and Merla,” Winston said.
I said, “OK!”
We sat like we usually did, in their bedroom, using the bed as a table. Since I had about 100 dollars worth and was holding fifty dollars in cash, I gave them two each! They pulled out their stem, ready, and pulled, so did I, and peace hovered over me! Free at last, oh my! I was free at last! Then, we started chatting over what went down around town over tea.
Drugs and sex go hand and hand with it or without it; sex always comes up. That’s when I say, “Hold on! Wait a minute! Damn, OK! What’s good?”
I didn’t know for sure that Winston wanted a piece of me, and his wife, Merla, wanted him to have me too! I believe Winston knew I was ‘wanted,’ and knew who they were. He asked them to back off