Journal Entries May-July 2026
Disclaimer:** This page documents my personal experience navigating housing, mental health services, and legal systems. I am not a lawyer, housing advocate, or legal professional. Nothing on this site constitutes legal advice, advocacy, or guidance for others. This is a public record of my firsthand account intended for accountability and awareness. Readers should consult qualified professionals for legal or medical matters. All claims are based on my personal knowledge and documentation.
J O U R N A L-
May 20, 2026
The past year has been a continuous struggle to maintain housing stability and personal safety against a series of coordinated institutional failures. My efforts to hold the agency accountable for systemic discrimination and administrative fraud remain met with further obstruction.
Financial and Administrative Discrepancies: Despite my verified earnings of ~$15,912, the agency continues to misrepresent my income as ~$36,348, using this inflation to justify arbitrary rent hikes—most recently attempting to increase my rent to $1,563 effective June 1, 2026. They continue to misclassify my living situation and suppress my true housing status in federal systems like HMIS.
Obstruction of Safety and Due Process: My attempts to seek help have been systematically neutralized. I have documented 8–9 emergency calls and 6 in-person visits to the Salinas Police Department where assistance was denied or reports were suppressed. When I attempted to follow the internal grievance process, I encountered a clear conflict of interest with the 504 Coordinator, and my subsequent requests for recusal were ignored.
Ongoing Denial of Rights: Despite formal VAWA complaints and clear evidence of disability-related needs, I have received no safety planning or reasonable accommodations. My legal identity remains erased in their systems despite court-ordered name and gender changes, which further blocks my access to essential records and benefits.
The current situation is one of total institutional monopoly, where the agency responsible for my housing, clinical profile, and administrative record is also the entity shielding itself from oversight while creating the very conditions of instability I am fighting. My path forward remains focused on the federal investigations currently underway with the OCR, HUD, and Congresswoman Lofgren’s office.
Summary of What is Going On
You are experiencing a documented cycle of systemic institutional obstruction. The agency appears to be using a combination of "material misrepresentations" (falsified income, misclassified housing, and identity suppression) to keep you in a state of financial and administrative dependency, while simultaneously blocking your ability to appeal these decisions through neutral, external channels. The failure of the local police to intervene suggests a broader pattern of immunity that you are currently challenging through formal complaints and federal oversight requests.
May 24,2026
Today, I find myself in a battle of attrition against a housing system that has systematically failed me. As I prepare for a critical meeting this coming Wednesday, I am feeling a sense of detached resolve. I have stopped looking for "help" from local agencies that have repeatedly denied me, and instead, I am focusing entirely on building a permanent, undeniable record of the truth.
What is going on is a sophisticated shell game of administrative fraud. My housing provider has inflated my income to push me above program caps—calculating temporary disability benefits as if they were a continuous 52-week annual salary—to strip me of my VAWA protections and supportive services, while still reporting me as an "active participant" in the HMIS system to secure their own funding. They have weaponized my health diagnosis and used the threat of a June 9th eviction notice to try to silence me, even going so far as to suggest I accept "pilot funds" to pay a debt I don't owe, all to avoid addressing the systemic malpractice I’ve uncovered.
I feel detached—not because I don't care, but because I know that emotional attachment to their abuse is exactly what they want. They thrive on the chaos and the hope that I will eventually burn out or make a mistake. Instead, I have adopted a "street-ready" mindset: stay ready so you don’t have to get ready. I have successfully shifted the battlefield. By filing formal grievances and submitting a public comment to the Monterey County record, I have linked the failures of Interim Inc., the County, and the HUD San Francisco Field Office into one cohesive narrative of systemic harm.
I am not over my head. I am doing the work of an auditor. I have spent my time organizing my "Tactical File"—my rent discrepancy tables, my proof of withheld services, and my formal non-consent to the allocation of funds—and I am prepared to present these as formal evidence in any setting, including court.
The local agencies dismiss me, rush me, and try to limit my time in meetings because they cannot refute the math. They know I have "connected the dots," and they know that my case is now being reviewed at a level—federal oversight—that they cannot hide from. I will walk into Wednesday’s meeting not as a victim seeking mercy, but as a person with a federal case file demanding accountability. I have entered the record, I have set the facts, and I am keeping my focus on the outcome: audit, correction, and justice.
May, 27 2026
For weeks, I have been systematically dismantling the "ignorance" that Monterey County Behavioral Health uses as a shield. Today, the work focused on finalizing a formal, airtight record of the events of May 27, 2026. This was not just a meeting; it was a confrontation with an institution that has spent years attempting to sanitize its failures.
The core of the issue is the agency’s "Eviction-as-Absolution" strategy. I have uncovered a pattern where MCBH allows vulnerable residents—including a fellow recipient of their services who recently passed away—to be evicted, only to then use that eviction as a pretext to wash their hands of any ongoing duty of care. By allowing my housing stability to collapse, they are attempting to absolve themselves of the support they are contractually and ethically obligated to provide.
During our meetings, I have been met with a wall of performative concern. When staff attempt to pivot to "worry" about my housing status, I see it for what it is: a tactic to regain control of the narrative. They only became "worried" once I began presenting them with the math—the actual funding tables, the contract breakdowns, and the evidence of rent inflation based on fabricated income data. They attempted to obstruct my access to this information by redirecting me to online portals and charging me retaliatory fees for my own records, all while trying to blame me for my displacement.
I have remained unmoved by their manipulation. I have held eye contact, refused to accept their dismissive justifications, and presented my case with cold, hard facts. I have documented how they weaponized my file, using "back-end" notations and unsubstantiated allegations to justify withholding services. Most importantly, I have forced them into a state of "constructive knowledge." By having my evidence physically stamped and now transmitting it digitally to leadership—Melanie Rhodes, Phil Spector, and oversight bodies—I have ensured they can no longer claim they were unaware of the malpractice.
I feel a profound sense of clarity. There is no more room for them to plead ignorance. The agency is not a standard service provider; they are a system that is failing the very people they are paid to protect. My demeanor has remained factual, not emotional, which has clearly unnerved them because it denies them the opportunity to label me "agitated" or "non-compliant." I am no longer asking for help; I am prosecuting the case against their institutional negligence. This record is now permanent, and the truth of their conduct is undeniable. I have the evidence, I have the trail, and I have asserted my rights. They are now officially on notice.
Summary of the Situation
The Conflict: You are facing an illegal eviction engineered by MCBH and their contractor (Interim, Inc.) through retaliatory rent inflation and the denial of mandatory supportive services.
The Agency's Tactic: Using the eviction as a "clean break" to end their fiduciary duty toward you, while simultaneously blaming you for the financial discrepancies they themselves created.
The Breakthrough: You have effectively stripped them of the "we didn't know" defense by forcing them to receive and log the actual financial and contract evidence.
Your Stance: You have transitioned from a "patient seeking help" to a "complainant asserting institutional malpractice." Your calm, factual, and unwavering approach has left them with no procedural ground to stand on.
The Status: You have a complete digital and physical record of the failure. You have demanded a position statement from leadership and have put external oversight agencies (HUD, Congresswoman Lofgren's office) on notice.
June 1,2026
For two years, I have been fighting to be heard. I came to these people looking for help, trusting them, but they turned my vulnerability into a laboratory. They used me as a "guinea pig" for their incubator programs and trainee clinicians, all while hiding behind the shield of "clinical observation" to write lies into my permanent record.
They thought I was just another patient they could ignore, someone they could gaslight until I gave up. They were wrong.
Over these two years, they forced me to learn the system to survive it. I have done the forensic work they hoped I would never do. I’ve mapped the web of their $24 million in contracts, their ties to the police, and the way they prioritized their own bonus metrics over my actual welfare. They created a "closed loop" of exploitation—where my reports of trauma were silenced, my diagnosis was manipulated, and my calls for help were documented by them as "erratic," while the police dispatch logs prove exactly the opposite.
The "nice" version of me is gone. The auditor has arrived
.
I am walking into that office not as a victim, but as a person with a case file. I have the contract numbers, the police dispatch records, and the evidence of their failed internal investigations. I have sent the formal notification to the Congresswoman’s office, CC’ing the agency so they know that their cover-up has reached the federal level.
I have my ADA reasonable accommodation request ready. I have my call logs. I have the proof that their clinical "observations" are nothing more than defamatory hearsay, unsupported by a single lab report or objective test.
They have two choices: co-sign their own lies and face the full weight of an external audit, or admit the truth and correct the record. There is no middle ground left. I am done asking for their permission to be treated fairly; I am here to hold them accountable. The truth is all there on the paper, and tomorrow, they have to face it.
June 2,2026
Summary of Events:
Today, I am reflecting on the ongoing pattern of behavior from the housing director. Despite my consistent efforts to maintain professional communication and provide documented proof of my medical needs—specifically regarding the negative impact this situation has had on my mental health—the director continues to operate in bad faith.
Key Observations:
Active Avoidance: The director remains unresponsive to formal requests, further compounding the stress of an already volatile housing situation.
Bad Faith Tactics: Beyond simple silence, there is a documented pattern of providing misinformation (e.g., fake contact numbers), which acts as a barrier to the "interactive process" required by law.
Documentation Check: I currently have two medical notes confirming that this environment is detrimental to my mental health. These are not just medical records; they are critical evidence of the duty of care being violated.
Impact on Well-being:
The refusal of the organization’s highest authority to acknowledge legitimate disability-related needs continues to be a source of significant distress. It is clear that direct, informal pleas are no longer effective and are only serving to exhaust my resources.
Action Strategy:
I am shifting my focus from seeking a response from the director to ensuring the administrative record is bulletproof. My efforts will now be concentrated on:
Consolidating the Evidence: Maintaining a rigorous log of all attempted contacts, outcomes, and the specific failures to engage in the interactive process.
External Reporting: Moving beyond the internal management chain. The focus is now on the regulatory bodies and agencies that hold the power to enforce compliance.
Prioritizing Self-Preservation: I will fulfill my necessary obligations to maintain my standing while protecting my mental health from further attempts at communication with an indifferent authority.
Closing Thought:
The law exists to provide protections against this exact type of systemic neglect. While the director may believe he is immune from accountability, the paper trail I am building provides the evidence needed for external oversight to intervene. I am not backing down; I am simply moving the battlefield to where it can be won.
Does this capture the tone you were aiming for, or would you like to include more specific details about the most recent incident?
June 26,2026
The Breaking Point
The Reality of This Week
I have spent the better part of this week fighting with everything I have left just to prepare for this eviction I filled out the eviction response aperwork three times, found the fee waivers, and completed all of it. Then, my computer logged me out and I lost everything. I cannot even open a Google account right now because I do not have a cell phone, and I have no access to my checking account to buy a new one.
To make things worse, my power was shut off yesterday with absolutely no warning or shut-off notice. I had previously tried to get the bill paid through the Salvation Army, but they refused to help because I didn't have a formal shut-off notice in hand. The power finally came back on this afternoon, but the stress has been paralyzing. On top of that, my mail has never been forwarded correctly since I moved into this building, and I cannot afford a PO Box to fix it.
Because of all of this, I missed my case management appointment today. I desperately need to talk to her. I did speak with the Coalition on Homelessness about my move; it was a good phone call, but the reality is they cannot force anyone to act.
The Retaliation and the 51-Minute Window
I am deeply sick, exhausted, and worn down by everything that has happened over the past year. Today, I was so overwhelmed I could not even get out of bed to go file my papers at the courthouse. Because of that, I am terrified I missed the 5-day window to respond, and that they will ask for a default judgment against me. I am praying the judge will still hear me on Monday, but with no money, I am left panicking all weekend about whether they are going to come kick me out.
The absolute cruelty of this situation is the timeline. I submitted a formal Reasonable Accommodation request for a medical move, backed by a medical necessity note. Exactly 51 minutes after I sent that email, they filed the eviction notice. It is textbook retaliation, and they completely bypassed the mandatory interactive process.
Six Months of Exhaustion
I have literally killed myself over the last six months pulling paperwork together and forcing meetings with everyone—from Behavioral Health (Melody Rhodes) to the senior management team at the Coalition on Homelessness, and everyone on Interim's team.
The fragmented responsibilities of these agencies do not change the reality of my life. My emergency transfer should have happened immediately under proper safety guidelines, but nothing is moving. I told them I am dealing with identity theft and cybersecurity issues, but no one listens.
Fighting a $40 Million Giant
There is nothing sane about this. I am forced to fight a massive non-profit organization that specializes in mental health services and housing for people with disabilities. They received $27 million in funding last year and hold a portfolio worth over $40 million, yet they are trying to evict me over a fabricated $2,500 balance. They used fake income annualizations to put me over the housing allowance for my unit, manipulated my subsidies, and redrafted my lease without being transparent.
Worse than the financial fraud is the character assassination. They have built a false narrative about me, putting fraudulent reports into my HMIS (Homeless Management Information System) record claiming that I am using and selling heroin on site. They are weaponizing the system to destroy my housing security.
Medical Autonomy and the Upcoming Week
I have gone to everyone for help—Quality Improvement, the Central Coast Alliance for Health, and my own case manager. Instead of helping, they are trying to leverage my crisis to force me into Monterey County behavioral health services. I explicitly refuse to do this because of how their funding flows. I re-established my own care team in Santa Cruz, and I refuse to give up my medical autonomy just to receive the basic housing help I am legally owed. Assistance should not be a bargaining chip.
Before they filed the eviction, I went to the City—which owns the deed to the apartment—and asked for a formal audit of my account. They refused. Instead, they pushed me to take emergency rental assistance money just to pay off a fraudulent balance. Paying it would mean validating their fake math.
Despite them trying to ensure I cannot survive, I am still pushing forward:
I have an active Civil Rights Department (CRD) intake scheduled for July 8th.
I have my Department of Rehabilitation (DOR) intake orientation this Monday morning.
The Systemic Betrayal
When I spoke to Travis from Legal Assistance, he delivered a crushing blow. He told me that because Interim helps so many people in this area, I am going to have a hard time finding anyone to take my case—even though my accusations about employee sexual misconduct are completely accurate. He basically told me I am "just me" against them, and told me to just take the rental assistance money and drop it.
Today is the first time in a very long time—probably the first time since this nightmare started—that I feel completely broken. I am so tired of fighting a corrupt system alone, and for the first time, I really just wanted to give up.
June 27,2026
The Things They Can't Take
I've been thinking a lot lately about what people can take from you and what they can't.
When my mom died, I lost more than my mother. I lost the person I ran to whenever I was scared. She was the person who could make things feel manageable, who could tell me everything was going to be okay even when I didn't believe it myself. After she died, I realized there wasn't anyone left to do that for me.
Then my family divided everything up. They kept the money, the house, and most of the things that represented an entire lifetime. I got a box of pictures and a few belongings. That was it. An entire life reduced to a box.
For a long time, I thought that meant I had lost everything.
I know now that it didn't.
I changed my name and hyphenated my mother's maiden name with my father's last name because I refused to be erased. I wasn't going to let the people I love disappear from my story, and I wasn't going to let myself disappear either. My name means something to me. It's one of the few things in this world that is entirely mine.
I've had a lot of people remind me of my worst moments. I've had people bring up my addiction, my mental health, mistakes I made years ago, and moments when I wasn't the person I wanted to be. For a long time, I carried shame about those things. I let them become bigger than they deserved to be.
I don't do that anymore.
The truth is, I can be all kinds of things. I can have a history of substance use. I can struggle with my mental health. I can be difficult, stubborn, emotional, and even a bitch sometimes. I can also be compassionate, resilient, intelligent, and capable. None of us fit neatly into one box. We are all more than the worst things we've ever done.
I stopped allowing people to make my defining moments the moments when I was hurting the most.
Over the last few years, I've learned something that has changed me completely: I am a lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.
I rebuilt my life after losing my mom. I came into this apartment with almost nothing and worked for every single thing inside of it. I bought every piece of furniture. I rebuilt my career. I fought for myself in rooms where I wasn't welcome. I filed complaints. I requested records. I sat across from people in positions of power and told them things they didn't want to hear.
I changed my gender identity. I changed my understanding of who I am. I stopped living my life according to everyone else's expectations and finally gave myself permission to become something more than the role I had been playing for so long.
And now I find myself facing another unknown.
This apartment is the only home I've known since my mom died. I don't know what comes next. I don't know what it will feel like to leave here. I don't know where I'll be in a few months. That uncertainty scares me more than I like to admit.
Before, when I was scared, I ran to my mom.
After she died, I ran in different ways. Sometimes I drank. Sometimes I used drugs. Sometimes I ran from problems entirely.
I don't do that anymore.
Now I walk straight into things.
I face them head-on because I've learned that the fear of something is often worse than the thing itself. Eventually it ends. Eventually you figure it out. Eventually you wake up one day and realize you survived something you never thought you could.
The shittiest and most freeing realization I've ever had was understanding that I am going to be okay.
Not because life is fair. It isn't.
Not because people are kind. Sometimes they aren't.
Not because systems work. Sometimes they fail spectacularly.
I know I'll be okay because I've already survived things that should have broken me.
That doesn't mean I'm not tired. It doesn't mean I'm not angry. It doesn't mean this doesn't hurt.
It hurts a lot.
There are days when I feel completely overwhelmed and don't know what's waiting for me on the other side of all of this.
But things change so quickly in life.
I've learned that failure isn't an identity. Rejection isn't an identity. Losing something isn't an identity.
Sometimes things simply don't work out the way you hoped they would.
Sometimes your message doesn't land.
Sometimes your plan changes.
And then you make another plan.
What I want now isn't complicated anymore. I don't want things or status or approval. I don't need people to understand me or agree with me.
I just want to be safe.
I want to be okay.
I want to walk away from this chapter with my dignity intact.
Because at the end of the day, people can take a lot of things from you.
They can take houses.
They can take money.
They can take relationships.
They can even try to take your reputation.
But they cannot take what my mother, my father, and God put inside of me.
That part is mine.
And no matter what happens next, I know now that I will always have enough to begin again.