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Autobiography: Deets On Deets


Note: Not for children. Adult subject material. Multiple trigger warnings.






If You Know Someone in Crisis


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– Suicide Prevention – National Institute of Mental Health May 1, 2009



Chapter 1


Who the Fuck is “Ron Deets”?


We all know why I’m writing this book. I have a political campaign, and I want to get elected to serve the People. I’ll get to my policies and reasonings later, but to truly understand my reasonings, I feel there may be a need for my constituents to truly understand *me*. So here is the autobiography of A Mentally Ill Millenial from Missouri Running for United States Senate:


This bustling baby boy was born on July 16, 1986 in St. Joseph, MO. That’s right. The #ShowMeKid bears the same homesake as The Pony Express and Jesse James. Visit the small city and their tourism board will tell you so, repeatedly, because that’s all they really have to go on – ancient history. My hometown shares the notoriety of winning the 1997 All America City Award and also for making national news for allowing their healthcare monopoly to sue minimum wage fast food workers. Look it up. Great hometown I have. Heavy drug use, depressed economy, overt racism. That’s my hometown – a hometown that literally pushed “Hometown Proud” propaganda as I grew up.


My family… I’m the youngest of four, only boy. I’m not going to give names or details of my siblings for obvious reasons, so this book will primarily focus on my parents. I honestly don’t know much about my father. And I lived with him for over a decade. My father, Ronald, was a Navy Vietnam Veteran – SS Samuel Gompers (AD-37). From his discharge to his death at 51 years old, he was in an ongoing battle with our United States government for them to acknowledge the barrel of Agent Orange that was dumped on him and his four crewmates amidst transportation to the war. The closest the government has admitted to this date is the ship – but not the dates that my father served.


By the time I was conceived, his body had already deteriorated to the point that his doctor had prescribed him a literal cabinet full of opioids just to somewhat alleviate the pain. By the time I was born, my father’s body and mind was already deteriorating and he had already developed peripheral neuropathy. He had extreme morbid obesity and had an emergency quadruple bypass when he was 41 – in ~1994. The disease and his own childhood trauma also damaged his brain – he was bipolar and potentially schizophrenic. I don’t remember a day in my household that my parents didn’t violently verbally argue at least once a day. My father passed away in 2003. By the time of his death, he was practically a skeleton. The death certificate reads “stomach cancer and a diabetic coma leading into a heartache”. The hospital gave us a window of time to decide if we wanted to purchase an autopsy that could potentially detect Agent Orange. We had to take a little of that time to discuss it due to the cost. We called to confirm we wanted the autopsy. I remember it clearly. By the time we called, they already burned the body. No Agent Orange exposure, huh, U.S. government?


I grew up hating my father. For as toxic as my dad’s mental illness made the family atmosphere, my mother’s – in comparison – was illegal chemical warfare. Her backstory goes back to her own childhood trauma. She was molested and raped in her childhood home. I know this information because she took me to her therapy during my very adolescent formative years. My mother, Brenda, took me everywhere. Therapy. Legal counseling during the divorce. Her rapist’s grave so she could have a therapeutic experience. Millennials invest in therapy dogs. I was my mother’s therapy child. She made me her surrogate husband – the clinical term, I believe, is “emotional incest”. Looking back, I wished she would have just cheated on my father after I was born as she cheated on him while he served in the Navy. It would have saved me a hell of a lot of trauma. She treated me as an emotional affair. Every time my parents argued. Which, as established, was every day or virtually every day, I was the one she went to for comfort and to vent about my father. She poisoned me against my sick and dying father. I remember an episode clearly, I was *maybe* 8 years old. After an argument, my mother told me that my grandfather – her father – called her out for putting too much emotional baggage on me. She asked me – not an adult friend. Not any of her numerous half siblings across the nation, me – her child, if I thought my grandfather was right. What was I supposed to do but agree with her and nurture her ego – as the narcissistic victim I was?


After an episode that I won’t get into detail here in 2012, I finally had to cut my mother out of my life. I went no contact. That did force me to go no contact with my siblings, as, of course, they enabled the narcissistic abuser. Not necessarily all of them, but enough to make a relationship with any of them potentially damaging to my mental health. She is still alive – a MAGA Trumper last I heard – and I fully expect my campaign opponents to weaponize her against me at some point if I become a threat. “I’m ready” is all I have to say in that scenario.


Now with that parental backstory established, who the fuck is “Ron Deets”?


That is a question that “Ron Deets” is just now starting to find the answer to. I grew up in… In almost a fog. Nothing felt right between my body and mind. Nothing felt right between my mind and my peers. Nothing felt… Right. I grew up with undiagnosed autism – I think. I remember at either 4 or 5 years old a pediatracian thinking I was potentially clinically retarded – still a term used at the time ~ 1990 – due to my delayed and corrupted speech skills and suggested I go to Head Start. In the past year, a cousin has expressed that they were told I was autistic with social anxiety when we were still minors, so… I may have been diagnosed with autism or asperger’s as a child and was never told. Either way, I grew up alienated from the world. I had trouble making friends. The few friends I did have, I was afraid of bringing them home and exposing the toxicity of my family. I experienced years of selective mutism where I couldn’t talk to teachers or to classmates. I even almost flunked third grade because I was afraid of turning in my completed work. Fortunately my teacher checked my desk – and there was all of my work, completed and of more than passing level. That was roughly the same time I started experiencing lifelong chronic suicidal ideation and crippling depression.


Professional Wrestling was an integral part of my tween and teen years. I stumbled across the art channel surfing on a random December 1997 Sunday morning when I was 11 and came across the WWF’s – at the time – Sunday morning recap show SUPERSTARS. It would be an understatement to say that my interest was piqued. So I tuned in the following day for WWF Monday Night RAW and WARZONE. There I found out about WCW MONDAY NITRO ON TNT. Deets had been captured by the Monday Night War. At what may have been considered, retroactively, at a potential candidate for worst time to do so – the Monday before WCW STARRCADE 1997. Just in time for Sting vs. Hollywood Hogan. It was the first Pay Per View (PPV) I watched in scramblevision. For those unfamiliar, there was a period of time where you could listen to cable TV Pay Per View programs – across all genres – with either the picture distorted or the picture just being white and black “snow”. Whie the picture wasn’t accessible, you could still listen to the program. So I followed Wrestling PPVs not unlike listening to a radio broadcast. I didn’t have friends who could afford to buy an actual PPV until… WWF Wrestlemania 21? In 2005? That sounds about right. Since I didn’t have friends, I started wrestling my stuffed animals in my room and in the living room when no one was home around the time the nWo Wolfpac formed in 1998. I’m a geek. I’m a nerd. Whatever. I love Pro Wrestling. And I still do. All Elite Wrestling… Damn… You saved wrestling. 20 years Vince had a monopolical stranglehold on the industry, and here walks in T.K. and takes over the industry in two years. Respect. So. Much Fucking Respect.


What I lacked in social skills, I made up in academics. I was always good at school – in areas that weren’t affected by social circumstances. I was put in advanced classes in sixth grade. And Seventh. And Eighth. My social anxiety kept pulling me out of the academic groups while my academics kept pulling me back in. One step forward, five steps back, right?


Pro wrestling got me through my parents divorce. Which was so stupid and drawn out in retrospect. With how brainwashed my mother had made me against my father, I was ready to leave pretty much since the womb. In my adult years, I found letters that my mother tried to file for divorce in ~ 1995, and was turned down by legal aid because they were already serving my father in other matters – understandable, right? I found a letter from my mother to my father telling him that and blaming him for their life, instead of, you know, seeking out other pro bono lawyers like a rational adult would. She started talking about leaving again in October 1998. So, I was packed and ready to go in October 1998. It wasn’t until she had a mental breakdown in March 1999 did we finally move out in April 1999. I had my shit packed for half a year at 12 years old out of hatred my mother poisoned me with against my dying and disabled father. Fucked, right?


Around freshman year of high school – around the time of the first Left Behind movie – I got sucked into Evangelical Christianity. And I was good at it. Now that I know that I’m autistic, I can look back and say that autism did me very well in academics and research. Within a year, I was already challenging family cult members on their interpretations. I could whip back verse after verse after verse in debates. I understood the character of Jesus when Christians refused to acknowledge the type of man Jesus was. I was also a dancer. I danced like David. I even stripped down to the bare necessities I could get away with. I rocked Christian evangelism while trying to reform it without even realizing it.


At least I did until my father passed away when I was 16. The people I had devoted my life to serve with in the Church failed to support me when I was in need. Very few showed up to the memorial service. And I was rocked. For the first time in my life I had to face the concept of death while simultaneously facing the reality of being used. I showed up to class only a handful of times the remainder of my sophomore year and dropped out of high school as soon as the State allowed me without parental permission. It was too much. Too many people. Too much bureaucracy putting test scores over academics. I didn’t see the point. I spent the next year in social withdrawal except for a very limited number of friends that I kept from the Church who had also been screwed by the Church. I primarily stayed in my room and played WWE SmackDown! Shut Your Mouth on my PS2 – my previous Christmas present. Around this time I started having pseudoseizures – clinical term Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures – where I would start shaking uncontrollably, but yet not overtly violently, for 10 – 15 minutes at a time. I did manage to get my GED and complete my ACT during that year. I was prepping and was wanting to go to college. REAL college. At least I did until the night before my 18th birthday. My mom had given me an ultimatum since I dropped out of high school – ignoring my emotional trauma and mental disabilities – I had to get a job or get kicked out. I now know that, thanks to my amazing therapist, that this was my mother “breaking up with me” and moving on from the emotional incest relationship now that I was becoming a burden. I desperately spent that hot July 15th walking around Saint Joseph picking up aluminum cans in hopes of earning a roof in the morning. My mother said it was enough for her. It wasn’t.


Within ten days, my mother had gone to her Pastor, her Pastor gave me a “this is get on the train or fail for the rest of your life speech” and I was shipped off to a Bible College Cult in Pittsburg, KS. The Church hosting it was wealthy enough to afford a frat house literally on frat row across the street from Pittsburg State University. Even though the Church had money, they still expect their students to pay rent on top of tuition – on top of unpaid labor for the Church. The Bible College also segregated sexes and forbid these 18-22 year olds from dating. It was control. It was a cult. I finally escaped one week in the second term of my first year – against the wishes of both my mother, her Pastor, and the Church hosting the cult college – SHOCKER. During that year, my mother moved into my sister’s house. My mother also told her that my sister didn’t have room for me – something I just found out was a lie in 2020, 15 years after the fact. I was effectively freshly survived from a cult and homeless. For the first time.


The next year was rough. I couch surfed at a friend for a couple of months until his toxic family became too much to handle. Then I moved in with a sister in Independence, MO. My social anxiety and just plain lack of social skills kept me from knowing how to pursue a job, so I moved in with another sister in Lenexa, KS since her husband offered to get me a job under him as an apartment complex’s ground’s crew. What he didn’t make clear was that the position needed a driver’s license, which I did not have, so I lost the job. I quickly found a position not far away though at a local video and video games rental place. That fall my girlfriend at the time drove in from Wisconsin. This was the sister who was in a cult, so “no unmarried sex under her roof.” I thought I honored that. I slept on the couch while my then girlfriend took my bed, and I went in after daybreak to cuddle with her. For reference, we were both 19 years old at this time. Shit hit the fan. Within two hours I was kicked out, so we stayed the night at my original sister’s. Then things got bad.


A couple from my mom’s Church back in St. Joseph, MO took me in – a couple that I had known for years from a different Church. It was a temporary situation going into it, as they were renovating their attached office space to move into the back of it. While they were renovating, I stayed on the couch while they stayed in the single bedroom. They had a dog. The dog had fleas. When they were ready to move into their office apartment, I still wasn’t able to secure a job. So I had to beg my mother to move out from my sister’s and rent the apartment from the couple. They moved. The fleas did not. After giving me a guilt trip about her finances, my mother took the apartment, barely saving me from the streets. In the coming months, I got a night crew position at LOWES, quit that, and moved into a truck unloading position at Wal-Mart. I was able to move into an apartment above with a ten year older roommate… for a few months. We quit our jobs at Wal-Mart, and eventually got evicted from the apartment. My first and only eviction. His… Well… It wasn’t his first.


As awkward and screwed up as it is, that sent me back to my mother’s apartment under the same landlord for a few months. I was able to secure a temp-to-hire position at American Family Insurance and got my own apartment for the first time. Things were going “good”. I didn’t have a license, but I was able to work out a ridesharing arrangement with a co-worker. Thing’s weren’t glamorous by any means, but I was able to keep a roof over my head, food in my belly, and a stable internet connection. That was all I needed at the time. So, I started to make moves to enrol in college again. Until I got distracted.


I had been talking to a girl on Yahoo! Chat from Oklahoma for a number of months, and she decided she was going to visit. Things went fast. I lost my virginity at 21, within two days of her visiting. Being young and socially naive, things got too serious with too many red flags. She decided to stay for longer, promising to get a job. Weeks went by. No job. Months went by. No job. I lost my apartment, opting to vacate before it escalated to a second eviction on my record. We stayed at her sister’s trailer in Seneca, MO – a little south of Joplin, MO – for a few months. I took a job at her father’s casino. Within days I was in the hospital experiencing pseudoseizures again. A month or two after that, we got kicked out of the trailer after I called family services for her sister abusing her niece. So we moved into her father’s house in Wyandotte, OK. I was experiencing anxiety over the thought of being homeless hundreds of miles away from anyone I knew, so I married her in November 2007. I invited my mother, but she said she had to babysit my nephews. Another lie that I found out to be a lie in 2020. Speed up a few months, and I get both myself and my wife enrolled at Northeast Oklahoma A&M College in Miami, OK. And I was also completing both myself and my wife’s coursework, because I was afraid of being homeless and she took advantage of my fear.


This continued for two years, as we chose to complete our NEO degrees remotely and move to a trailer in Kansas City, where we decided to pursue undergraduate degrees. And of course, by “we”, I mean “I’ll do anything to not be homeless”. After completing our two year degrees in Summer 2010, we enrolled into UMKC. Being around so many people was too much for me to handle, so our grades started slipping. I knew I needed to get back to remote-based education, so I enrolled us into Northwest Missouri State University in Maryville, MO for the Fall 2011 semester. Around this time my wife did get a job, and I was able to use that to submit the paperwork for a mortgage, since she wanted a house, and I wanted to make that happen. We closed in April 2012. Around this time, I started getting hope, as she was finally opening up to seeing a doctor and trying medication for her… issues. I thought we might have a chance to heal things. She gave up on the meds in less than a month and refused to try anything else. A few months later she lost her job. The fall and winter of 2012 was rough. She started staying in bed all the time. I started sleeping in the basement. Around this time, I started talking to my high school girlfriend, who was also having relationship difficulties. I wasn’t trying to start a relationship, I was just desperate for someone to talk to. My wife got on my upstairs computer and started reading the chats. There was nothing bad, no flirting or anything, we just were just talking about our experiences. Things blew up. She started yelling. Started accusing me of things that she had actually done herself. She started pleading for me not to leave while verbally attacking me. I knew I had to get out for my survival. So my ex-girlfriend and her mom drove down to Kansas City from Saint Joseph and took me back to town. And I got distracted… again.


I filed for divorce and my ex-girlfriend and I renewed our relationship. I had my student loans, and she agreed to get a job. Starting to sound familiar? I got an apartment for us while finishing my undergraduate degree and started my MBA program. I paid for everything the best I could, but I still had to take out signature loans to make ends meet. We lost that original apartment at renewal in 2014, and moved into a $450/month trailer that we still couldn’t afford. We started looking for a new place. We saved up $750, and lost it to one of her “friends” in a Craigslist scam. We then moved out of the trailer and into a roommate situation, where we had the downstairs and they had the upstairs. During this time I quit my Samsung kiosk position at Best Buy and started a sales position at a sign company in St. Joe. We were at that place for about six weeks. And then they announce that they’re breaking the lease and moving to Texas, leaving us effectively screwed. Since we weren’t married, neither of her parents would let me stay with them. Her mom let her and the dogs stay with her though, so at least my dog had shelter.


I became working homeless, sleeping in my minivan in parking lots and showering before work. Until I get fired for telling other coworkers that the owner was running the business off of personal credit cards – the same owner told the team “I better not fucking hear of anyone working on their resumes” in a meeting. I did have a lower paying job lined up as a data entry position at a local call center, so I wasn’t financially screwed, yet. We tried homeless camping at a campground for a few weeks, until we were flooded in the middle of the night. A couple on the grounds offered to let us stay in their camper, which turned out to be a grift. My girlfriend reached out to some of her friends in a small rural town between St. Joseph and Maryville. It was one of the most toxic houses I lived in. Literal dog shit was all over the floor, and the children had zero discipline. I was desperate to get out, so in Spring 2015, we talked to a guy “renovating his house for apartments” and moved in while he was “renovating”. The guy would randomly show up drunk and sleep upstairs if he was fighting with his wife. Until he decided to move a freshly released convict and their dog into the room. Day after day after day I would come home to massive dog shits on the floors. Eventually the ex-convict bailed, and the landlord moved in another random couple off of Craigslist. Keep in mind, this was just a house with flimsy doors. It wasn’t apartments. The dude was moving in roommates without talking to us. I had been using this time to find a new place, and I found a cute little house for not much more than what we were paying. We moved in the middle of the night, fearful that it would lead to a confrontation, and left a bunch of stuff behind because of the fear of confrontation. The new house was okay… Until it wasn’t. The house got condemned and we found another roommate in Kansas City. Not ideal, but it was an opportunity to escape Saint Joseph again, so I took it.


It started out good. I paid rent on time, while commuting to and fro from Saint Joseph. They were hardly there, staying with their boyfriend. Until they weren’t. They started to just leave their dog and children behind without saying anything. The kids would leave shit stained toilet paper around without flushing it and leave huge messes in the kitchen. I quit my job in Saint Joseph to start a new one in Kansas City, but I lost that one because I was driving my girlfriend to her job that I found for her everyday from Kansas City Northland to Lenexa, KS. We moved in with a couple in Overland Park, KS in July 2016. At this same time, I was going off Prozac cold turkey and experiencing massive suicidal ideation. At the same time, the couple stopped paying their electric bill, so we were stuck in a house in the summer without electricity. So I started looking for a new place. Again. We ended up staying at a very low rent extended stay hotel in Blue Springs, while I was still driving her to work in Lenexa, KS. I was still unemployed, because it was nearly impossible finding a job around her commuting schedule. I found one though, but it didn’t start until November 2016. In late October 2016, I found an older woman renting out rooms, who moved us in. In October 2016, my girlfriend dumped me for not working. In November 2016 I submitted my bankruptcy paperwork and started the new job. We shared a room for a few months, until I saved enough from my new job to rent a second room in the house. It was all I could afford. During this time, I was still driving her to work to Lenexa, KS from Raytown, MO, and then onto my job in the Kansas City Northland. My bankruptcy was discharged in February 2017. In the Spring of 2017 I finally came to my senses and told her to start taking the bus after I started routinely making it to work half an hour late due to traffic. Around this time, drama started popping up at work, leading me to having a burnout meltdown and quitting in August 2017.


Fortunately, around this time I started talking to a new lady. The person who is now my wife. She gave me the support and guidance I needed. I worked at Amazon Flex for about 6 weeks delivering packages to pay rent while applying for jobs. I landed an accounts payable temp position in October 2017 at a drug screening company, and that grew into a full-time position in February 2018 around the same time they were bought out by Abbott Laboratories. A month later, I finally moved out of the house and my girlfriend and I got an apartment together. Around this time, the stress of working was getting to be unbearable. I was drinking at least 3-5 nights a week just to help shed some of the anxiety and fear. I wasn’t an alcoholic, I knew I could stop when I found a replacement, but I was drinking way too much. And the pressure just mounted and mounted and mounted for the next year and a half until December 2019. Before we go there, though, my health was taking a hit in 2018. A doctor told me in early 2019 that I need a gastric bypass. Fortunately my insurance covered the procedure. I had hit 376 pounds before the surgery in June 2019. I married my now wife a few weeks later on July 7, 2019. Just a small dinner wedding with friends – literally. We did our vows at the table and signed the paperwork there as well. It was perfect for us. I’m now stable between 205 – 215 pounds. I had addressed the physical, but my mind was still suffering. And the surgery had side effects. I was hospitalized in October 2019 for gastric bleeding – for the first time. That got resolved, and I started a new position in accounts receivable in November 2019. That did not go well. The new boss was a very oppressive extrovert. The job instructions weren’t clear in the position, and the manager was triggering my selective mutism. After a month, in December 2019, I get called to a meeting and get yelled at for my “shitty performance”. I detail that day that I submitted to my gastric bypass psychologist for short-term disability here:


Attached is a form from UNUM for a short-term disability claim. I submitted this claim on 12/20/2019. As discussed in my appointments with Dr. Coker and N.P. Beggs on 12/18/2019, my anxiety is getting to be too great for me to control. The anxiety has negatively affected both my personal and work life, including shutting down around those close to me in my personal life as well as losing the ability to communicate with my co-workers and superiors. I have used the prescribed alprazolam with little to no effect. Further, this is the reason why I am typing this letter. My anxiety prevents me from verbally communicating, and I feared that I would not be able to adequately describe the condition it has left me in verbal form. I was not able to fully convey the effect it has had on my life at the 12/18/2019 appointment – in fact I had considered skipping the appointment altogether. That is why I had my wife join me, as she has experience in being a community health advocate and I trusted her to relay what I could not express.


While I always carried generalized and social anxiety with me to work, it started considerably ramping up at the beginning of Dec. 2019. I had days were I was literally unable to leave my seat from the time I clocked in for my shift to the time I clocked out. This included not even being able to get up to go to the restroom or to acquire liquids. As we all know, as a bariatric patient, daily liquids are vital for the recovery process. While I knew this in my head, my anxiety left me paralyzed to actually act on this knowledge to get my necessary liquids for the day. This culminated on the morning of 12/20/2019. After a communication from my superior, my anxiety advanced to the point where I nearly walked away from my desk and went home out of a panic. After communicating with my wife, I took one alprazolam and wait an hour to see if my anxiety would subside. After the hour had expired, the anxiety had no improved in any way, so I took a second alprazolam. The only effect that it had was keeping me at my desk. My anxiety did dull, but to no real noticeable effect. From maybe a ten to a nine. While I was still at work, I could not actually focus on my duties as I sit in fear of my superiors, with the thought of being terminated constantly racing in my head and the feeling of my heart pounding in my chest, as I am unable to even respond to work emails or complete routine tasks.


At approximately 2:30 PM CST, I packed up all my personal belongings at my desk. I knew I couldn’t continue working with this anxiety. I knew I was at the point that I was going to do something rash – ending my employment without a source of income to replace it and little to no savings. After deliberating with my wife, at approximately 3:00 PM CST I filed an FMLA and short-term disability claim with UNUM – my employer’s third-party claim service. Shortly before my shift ended at 4:00 PM CST, I emailed my employer’s human resources department letting them know that I had filed an FMLA and short-term disability claim with UNUM and requested that they inform anyone needing to know this information, including my immediate supervisor.


I have reached out to the psychiatric references that were given to me at my 12/18/2019 appointments. I left a voicemail with one and have not heard back. I booked at an appointment with the other, but the earliest they can see me is 01/20/2020. As stated earlier, I fear that I will do something financially rash before them, and, as such, filed the short-term disability claim so that I may have a safety net until I can get the help that I need. Even the thought of work, when I’m not there and won’t be there for a couple of days, is enough to trigger my anxiety to a 7. I can be completely fine and enjoying a Saturday out with my wife, and, with no real reason to initiate it, my mind wanders to the office and my demeanor completely changes, and it can take hours for me to settle back down and reclaim the rest of the day. Additionally, this is further affecting my personal life. The anxiety is so mentally draining that I have no energy left after my shifts. All I can do is go directly home and lay down in bed – where I also continue to fight off the anxiety.


Please consider this letter as well as any relevant information from our previous appointment(s) when completing the attached form.

Thank you,

Ron Deets

And that was the last time I worked. Just in time for… 2020

My 2020 is summed up in my blog:

Why a Mentally Ill Millennial from Missouri is Running for US Senate – July 8, 2021

Before I introduce myself, let me tell you who I am not.

I am not a disgraced former Governor bankrolled by a GOP Super PAC.

I am not someone looking to make their name off of their fear of the #BLM movement.

I am not a Representative who took out PPP loans while blocking vital pandemic aid to their constituents

I am not a Mayor who made their houseless constituents choose between being exposed to a pandemic and dying in the winter freeze instead of implementing housing options offered in the CARES ACT until after the winter had passed.

I am not someone who may flip flop on women’s rights.

I am not an Attorney General who devoted resources towards overthrowing Democracy amidst a pandemic.

I am not a State Senator who focused on getting the DNA of minors into the criminal database instead of sponsoring legislation to help his constituents amidst a pandemic.

I am not a Secretary of State who made it harder to vote amidst a pandemic.

I am not a Senate President Pro Tem who blocked voter-approved ACA State Medicaid Expansion over misguided and ignorant views on human biology.

I am not a US Attorney who supported Trump’s and Barr’s controversial Operation LeGend.

I am not a U.S. House Representative who has voted repeatedly against his constituent’s interests.

I do not try to protect Capitol seditionists.

I am not a former Governor that blocked attempts to root out domestic terrorism – domestic terrorism that resulted in the Capitol insurrection – over a decade ago.

That is who I am not.

As for who I am?

I am first and foremost a #ShowMe Kid.

I have spent over 30 of the nearly 35 years of my life in this State. When I didn’t reside here, I resided in border towns in border states (Pittsburg, KS and Miami, OK).

I was born in Missouri. I was raised in Missouri. I received my higher education (MBA from Northwest Missouri State University) in Missouri.

I’ve lived in rural areas of Missouri and I’ve lived in urban areas of Missouri.

I’ve at times lived in my car in Missouri.

I survived childhood trauma and abuse here. I’ve survived childhood poverty here.

I grew well into adulthood with undiagnosed Autism Spectrum Disorder and C-PTSD here.

I’ve seen politics and capitalism destroy communities in Missouri, allowing those communities to fall to self medication treatments.

I understand the needs of this State.

Not from the top-down, but from the bottom-up and inside-out.

Who I am is a citizen of Missouri seeking to not only represent – but to actually exceed the needs of their constituents – as US Senator from Missouri in 2022.

That’s who I am.

With that established, the next question of issue is why I am running.

Well, as we are all well aware, 2020 was not exactly the best year in America’s history.

Nor was it my best year.

When the pandemic and lockdown hit, I had already been at home on short term disability for a couple of months after what I now understand was a C-PTSD induced panic attack and autistic meltdown in December 2019.

To put this in perspective, on one of my last days at work, I did not leave my seat until my superior had left for the day. I was under extreme fear and anxiety after a meeting with said supervisor. I did not leave my seat to eat, drink, or even to go to the bathroom. I was frozen.

In March 2020 I received my PTSD and C-PTSD diagnosis and went onto unemployment insurance after my employer failed to respond to ADA accommodations in time.

In March 2020 COVID-19 was here and lockdowns were rolling out.

In March 2020, I began dealing with my mental illness amidst the pandemic.

The CARES ACT was passed and things weren’t great, but things seemed promising until August 2020.

Or so I thought.

The GOP questions started. The anger rose. The anti-lockdown protests began. The virus spread.

And spread.

And spread.

And people started dying. A lot of people. Dying painfully, fearfully, and alone.

The GOP lies flowed more and more. Governors started fighting the virus mitigation strategies.

Politicians started urging their constituents to doubt the CDC and to hate the WHO.

And more people died.

Come late July 2020, I was sitting at home in a state of panic and anxiety almost 24/7 watching people suffer and die needlessly solely due to bad policy.

I broke.

I’ve struggled with suicidal ideation for the majority of my life. Even when it’s bad, I’m always able to endure the mental storm and ride out the desire to end my life.

I couldn’t endure any longer.

In early August 2020, days after my Autism diagnosis, I checked myself into a local psych ward for the first time in my life.

I wish I could say it was a positive experience, but it wasn’t.

However, it did give me an opportunity to reset and try a new path.

Upon my release, I found a good therapist and really started working on my mental health.

I had a new desire. A new purpose.

I looked long and hard at our political leaders while I dug deep into our American history.

It didn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. These people were leading us in 2020?

These people devoted themselves to a lie at the cost of half a million American lives in a single year.

If that wasn’t enough… In the midst of this pandemic, January 6th happened.

The lies grew and grew and the Big Lie was given life.

A life that nearly choked our American Democracy to death… Literally.

I knew on that day that I could not trust anyone else to deal with the complex issues our nation faces in the 2020s and beyond.

I knew on that day, I had to run for office.

Initially, I had planned to challenge Josh Hawley in 2024 – if he is not indicted before then.

But… Then the announcement came. Roy Blunt would not seek election.

Time is life, and the sooner I seek office, hopefully the sooner I can begin the work of reversing climate change as well as literally centuries of systemic racism in our government and justice system.

So… That is why I am running for US Senate from Missouri in 2022.

With that said so far, you may be thinking to yourself that I’m likely running as a Democrat or Independent.

That logic would make sense, however, it would not be accurate.

No, I am running as a Republican.

A liberal Lincoln Republican.

I am running as a Republican for a number of reasons:

– Lincoln’s memory deserves better than the modern actions of the GOP.

– We need at least two functioning parties, and restoring the Republican Party is easier than getting third parties rolling at this time.

– Strategy – I live in a gerrymandered red state. Let’s use their toys *against* them.

– They tried to steal our Democracy. I want to steal the Party back from under them.

Lastly, you may be wondering what my actual platform is. You can get a more detailed overview on my website, but my perspective on legislating can be summed up in a few key ideas:

– The role of the government is to provide their citizens the best quality of life with the given contemporary technology, wealth, and knowledge.

– No man should have two cows until every man has a cow.

– Every individual deserves basic human respect unless self-forfeited by inhumane actions.

I do want to thank you for taking the time to read the thoughts, desires, and proposals of this mentally ill millennial. If you would like to see what an America with a rational Republican Party working alongside instead of Democrats for the common good may look like, please consider donating to my campaign. You can also follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Yes, I was in the psych ward in August 2020 for suicidal ideation. We were in the middle of a weaponized pandemic, leadership was being inept, I was just diagnosed with multiple disabilities, and I had just learned multiple dynamic changing family secrets in a very short period of time. The experience sucked fucking ass. Research Hospital Emergency Ward kept me on a hallway gurney for six hours while not enforcing masks – during a pandemic – nor telling me anything. I called ahead and they said it may be an hour or two of processing before being taken over to the psych ward. It wasn’t. And they refused to give me a status update while ignoring me for hours. I had an autistic meltdown and tried to escape. They finally moved me to a private room after 6 hours while still refusing to tell me when they would transfer me. When they finally did transfer me the following day, they did so with a police escort and tossed me in the back of a police vehicle – not an ambulance – for the transfer to psych. I felt like a criminal for seeking mental help. At that moment I knew I wouldn’t be the same. At that moment I became a mental health activist. The first day in psych I basically just slept the trauma off. The second day I started talking and doing the work. I got the 72 hour hold and was released. Within a month I found the therapist that I’m still with and started doing the work to prepare me for Office. I started autistically researching psychology, civil rights, American history, the Reconstruction Era, human rights abuses, systemic racism, I sucked all of it up like a sponge. That’s why I’m confident in my platform. I’m still disabled, don’t get me wrong, but now I’m armed with the knowledge I need to reform this country in The People’s image. And I am disabled.


I submitted my first Social Security Disability Insurance application in November 2020. I got my first rejection in February 2021 – when I was literally hospitalized for gastric bleeding the second time. And this one almost killed me. I required a blood transfer and a gastric clip for an 8 cm ulcer at the site of the gastric bypass. I submitted my SSDI appeal in March 2021. In April 2021, I was hospitalized for a weird type of food poisoning. In May 2021 I was hospitalized for a gastric blockage. In June 2021 I filed the paperwork to be a political candidate, as well as submitted my first campaign application to ActBlue – and received my first campaign application denial from ActBlue. I worked on my website, wrote up the above blog, and started campaigning online. In July 2021, I submitted my second ActBlue campaign application and received my second ActBlue Campaign application denial. In August 2021, I submitted my third ActBlue campaign application and received my third ActBlue campaign application rejection. I also received my second SSDI denial that month, and submitted my appeal for a hearing. At this time I also requested the documentation the Social Security Administration had on my file. I received it – it was less than 50 pages combined. In September 2021, I submitted my fourth ActBlue application – and got ghosted by ActBlue. In September 2021 I also faxed in over 700 pages of new documentation to Social Security Administration. So far in October 2021, I faxed in almost 500 pages of additional documentation as well as submitted my fifth application to ActBlue.


The next pages of this journey are written by you guys. I can’t do this alone. Let’s do this.




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Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets

Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets

Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets

Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets Autobiography: Deets On Deets



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