Before the record
Twenty years ago I was a freshman in college. I was 18 and the future seemed bright. It didn’t last long. By midterms I was hiding an opiate addiction that took priority over getting a degree and an education. I went to rehab. No longer self-medicating, my bipolar symptoms began to appear. I was given an antipsychotic named Seroquel. Thirty days later I left and went on with life. Fifteen years ago After a couple of good years I relapsed. People say that addiction is progressive. I agree. I can relate to that one. As my tolerance increased I could no longer afford the pills I now needed a higher dose of. During those rough days, with irrational thinking, it made perfect sense to try the cheaper alternative for a fraction of the price. I thought, what a victory — the same high for a fraction of the cost. What could be better than that? It’s not unique, I know. We have all heard that story a thousand times, and we all more than likely have someone close to us who went through something similar. The only thing I am trying to say is that my addiction, once again, had progressed. Ten years ago I found myself using fentanyl at a very high rate. I was now using the same drug I swore I would only ever sniff, multiple times daily. I was never on time for work, but I was always on time to get high. That is the one true job of a heroin addict. I accepted that I would be trapped and content to be right where I was then, in my neighborhood with the ability to get high. Why would anyone want to go on a vacation when they can do this? In my irrational mind that was the clear winner for me. I felt that same way until what felt like the biggest tragedy to ever fall on me. I found out I could no longer access fentanyl; instead I was relegated to only using heroin. Hoping to bypass another detox and rehab trip followed by months of long-term opiate withdrawal, I decided to buy as much as I could, do as much as I could, and honestly hoped it would all be over. To my surprise, as bad as I wanted one more high and to go to sleep one last time, I couldn’t pass out at all. My tolerance had gotten so high I began going through withdrawal by dinner time. Wide awake, sick and tired, I counted the minutes to get to detox to at least feel a little better than I did in that moment. Did I want to go? No, not at all. Out of work, no money or person to beg or borrow off, it was slightly the better of two bad choices I could make.
Nine years and eleven months ago I left treatment a new person. My bipolar was finally properly managed with medication. I had a psychiatrist to keep me on that schedule monthly, as well as an outpatient program I took seriously this time. I learned in treatment that most people don’t have another run like that in them. I believed that, at least. As I type this now, I am proud to say the day before rehab was the last time I ever used any type of opiate. I kept that promise to myself and my family even through a painful surgery. I knew I never wanted to feel that way ever again. For a long time I never thought I would, let alone deal with something a whole lot worse a few years down the road. Two years later Completely sober and healthy, taking the same medication I was given at treatment to finally let me sleep peacefully without getting high to do so. I was always in a good mood and smiled. I knew I was on borrowed time, escaping my old life, and that I was still here surrounded by the people I loved who were happy I was still around too. Even through the past two years I still feel that way. I’m grateful for each day. I had the confidence to go out there and find a way to make a living… I bought a Pepperidge Farm cookie route with a loan from my parents and a gigantic bank note. The route succeeded and expanded. I went to the gym every day and kept in touch with friends and family. I finally found peace. I woke up healthy and alive, without feeling like I was wearing chains. The day belonged to me, not my addiction or my mental illness. For the first time since childhood, I was truly happy.
Three years ago I met my girlfriend Brielle. I knew right away — it was the first time I felt real love. I got along with her family well. They are great people, and very good to me. They accepted me for who I was. I looked forward to a normal life with her: finally wanting the things I’d never let myself want — marriage, a family. I also was happy my parents no longer had to worry about me like they did each day when I was actively using — that despite my struggles, I had become the simple thing my mom wanted me to be, just a productive member of society. I had pride knowing that I made that come true for her. Things were great. I saved and bought my first house, Brielle moved in, and I started planning how I’d propose, something I never really thought possible until that moment. She is also my support person for my ADA accommodation, and there is no one better for that role in court. She quit her job to support me and my business. She watched over me daily through my crisis, and I am very grateful she is still supporting me here and now. I’ll never be able to repay that. Thank you for being here with me and still supporting me through it all.
Two years ago I first logged into a social casino on my phone. I tried a few and, for one reason or another, didn’t like them all that much. Then I found modo.us — the social casino run by the main defendant, ARB Gaming. Unknowingly, that day would change the course of my life forever. When I became a Black Diamond member in January of 2025, the next phase of my life began — a worse stage than heroin addiction, withdrawal and recovery. The case you’re reading about now, and the events following. People ask me about the financial losses they read about, and the psychotic identities I used to cope. The truth, though, is that what it all cost was worse than the actual money lost. What was taken was worth more. The truth is, while my friends went to college, held jobs and built relationships — when I’d see them, or family, and they’d ask what I was up to, I never had anything to say. I tried lying at first, to hide my shame. Eventually I dissociated from my relationships, life, business and society altogether. Because of the support from my girlfriend, her mom, my family and friends — just like all those years ago — I have gotten back up. That time was chaos, just as this case has been. I overcame those years. I think it’s a similar fight, just a different opponent(s).
Two days ago Now pro se for the third time, across different forums, roughly a year and a half later. After three lawyers came and went. Like the other times, I had to file to keep my case alive. I was able to answer the MTD and MTC motions, and when I had a second to breathe, I had time to search for my case. What I found was truly frustrating, and it’s the reason I made this site: stale docket stubs and one old press release. The actual record — every filing, every exhibit, every order — effectively invisible. So below is all of it: every document, every receipt, linked straight to the public court record. Today The files became public, and I built this site so the record would be somewhere a person can actually find it. I have no problem speaking on any of it — the addiction, the bipolar, the years I lost. I didn’t choose it, and I have no shame for it. I’ll end on a thought.
A vulnerable customer. Someone who was suffering, badly. Are people like that — people like me — just tossed to the wind? We don’t stop being owed something because we’re easy to take from.