"I possessed plenty of cocaine and ecstasy before I truly appreciated the freedom I was enjoying."

I did not take a cookie cutter route to discovering liberty; I did not unearth anarchism by traditional means via an intellectual quest. There was no armchair philosophizing. No abstract consideration of government atrocities. No initial study of Rothbard or Mises or Nock. There was no deep thinking or spontaneous insight, at least not at the start.

My path was harrowing, anxiety-inducing, and fraught with sleepless nights of tossing, turning, and crying. My insights into anarchism came only after I had direct, physical contact with State goons.

For many people, this collision with government would have solidified their belief in the system—for they may have felt guilty and repentant after the fact—whereas my experiences woke me up to the harsh nature of the system and calibrated me against government.

Following is one event that is part of a fuller, more intriguing story. I am telling this first, because it was the precipitating event that led to my metamorphosis into a full-fledged anarchist.

Beforehand, I was an advocate for freedom in spirit only. I did not have a philosophical label for what I was...until the government criminals broke up the monotony of my routine and assaulted me for doing nothing other than living freely, prosperously, and joyously.

Me trying to act "hard" circa 2008

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Where is the Cocaine, Son?!?!?!?!

May 19, 2009,

The cops pretended to be maintenance men. That is how they got to me. Some people probably believed I had it coming or deserved it.

After all, I was holding 500 pills of face-melting MDMA, 20 plus grams of Freud-quality cocaine, several assorted downers, and a cornucopia of other goodies. It was all stashed inside of a fire safe, but I did not have a key to it. I did not know the exact weight of all the drugs. But in the end, that did not matter.

They knocked on my door with several loud thuds. It was a nonchalant Mexican man who was wearing a gray and black workers outfit. I saw him through the peephole; I did not think much about it. I figured he was with the apartment complex. I asked, "who is it." He responded, "air conditioning."

I cracked the door while holding my body against it, out of caution I guess, but that was pointless. He said something that was muffled or below his breath, and before I knew it he was forcing his way into my apartment like a rapist forcing his way into a victim. I tried to resist, but it all happened so quickly. I thought I was being robbed by a street thug.

But then I heard a ruckus of boots come tromping up the stairs to my place. The warning cries that came signaled to me that this was not an average mugger. That is when I knew I was in trouble. This was not a private thief; it was a public criminal.

"State police! State Police! State Police! Get down! Get down!

Before I even had a chance to get down, I was dragged outside and thrown to the ground. I felt the gunmetal of a Glock press against my temple. Fear and adrenaline overwhelmed me. I blacked out momentarily.

When I came to I was sitting outside on a chair on the patio, handcuffed.

"Where is it," They asked?

"Where is what"?

"The cocaine and pills. We know they are in here. Show us."

I did not Know what Rights Were; Key to the Box

At the time, I had no knowledge of rights, so I didn't know to invoke the right to remain silent or any other right—although I doubt it would have mattered a helluva lot.

I got up and sauntered into a spare bedroom. I walked into the closet. At this point, I noticed that there were a total of 15 or 20 armed cops in my house. Most of them wore normal clothing with a name badge slung around their neck. A couple of others were in their official costumes. I later realized that they were either part of the State police, the Marshal's office, or the city police task force.

With three of the officers in tow and a headful of terror, I reached to the top shelf of my closet and pulled down the safe. They said, "that's a good boy" and quickly escorted me back to my spot on the patio.

They asked me for the key to get in the box. I said I do not have one. The commanding officer ordered another officer to go to the vehicle. He went down and came back up with a crowbar.

My eyes dilated to the full extent, but not from drug use—from sheer terror. Nothing is more etched into my memory than when they began trying to pry open that fire safe. Two officers held the long rod and they continuously tried to wrench it free, like two firefighters using the jaws of life to cut loose an wounded driver.

As they heaved and hoed, I desperately hoped nothing was in the box.

Please be empty. Please be Empty. Please be Empty:

In that moment, that phrase was my mantra. But when they broke it open seconds later, a kaleidoscopic, rainbow cascade of pills and powders emptied out onto the carpet.

Me circa 2008, About half a year prior to my kidnapping

The Moment I Knew I was Fucked; Off to Jail with a 70,000 Dollar Bond

It was that moment that I knew I was fucked.

Mentally, I resigned myself to the notion that I was going to prison for a long time. A whirlwind of thoughts collided endlessly with each other in my mind, and I was paralyzed as a result of the terror and confusion.

That is when the cops started threatening me. I became unhinged. They told me I was going to prison for 4o years. Red-eyed and enraged, I shot back: "you assholes are the bad guys. You realize the prohibition failed, right? You are the fucking evil doers." I berated them at the top of my lungs with comments about the failures of the drug war that I had scantily considered. I continued to yell and flail about, as the handcuffs cut into my wrists. I questioned their morality with everything I could muster until they told me to shut the fuck up.

They finally read the Miranda rights to me, and then they officially charged me with manufacturing and delivery of a controlled substance exceeding 500 grams, which was a class A felony with a possible sentence of 5 t0 99 years in the state penitentiary.

I was then escorted outside to the police car, and I could feel the fear seize me. I could not think straight and tears welled up in my eyes. The police cruiser revved up, and drove in the direction of the county jail.

I had no clue what my fate would be, but I knew something terribly wrong was being done to me. But regardless, I knew life was going to be very difficult from that moment forward.

But luckily, it was that fear and terror that allowed me to fully internalize the vile and corrupt nature of government.

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Aftermath and Becoming an Anarchist

That a broad brush of the events as I remember them nearly 8 years after it happened. But there are a few facts regarding the aftermath I would like to share

Shortly after being kidnapped, I sat in jail for one day. Luckily, my family was able to bail me out. After they released me, I bought the most powerful attorney in town and fought for my freedom. I was able to wrangle a deal for 10 years of deferred adjudication probation, but only after being arrested yet again for a conspiracy charge in another county (another story).

It took a year of worrying, watching my back, moving to another town, and being utterly depressed before finally attending my court date. In the interim I had no clue what was going to happen. It was one of the most difficult times of my life. After being handed the probation sentence, I was on probation for 5 years before I sent in for a request to get off early. It was approved.

Trudging through all these traumatic experiences is what piqued my intellectual interest for anarchism. I knew something monstrously wrong had been done to me, but I couldn't put a finger on it. That is when I finally read Murray Rothbard's The Libertarian Manifesto. I also watched Stefan Molyneux videos, followed Ron Paul's campaign, and eventually had the full epiphany that I had been strong-armed by a group of thugs pretending to have "authority."

Without this experience, I may have never been transformed into the public persona and avowed anarchist I am today. I have no regrets or leftover anger about what happened. I will continue to produce content for liberty, educate more anarchists, practice compassion, and live life to the fullest.

Side Note: For anyone wonder why I didn't have a key to the fire safe, it has to do with the particulars of the case, which involved more people. I just didn't want to divulge names or get into those specific details. They weren't really relevant to my particular story anyhow.

My beautiful wife and I 2016