I survived being shot. I thought the worst was over.
I was wrong.
Instead of healing, I’ve spent the last two years under constant, inescapable harassment: drones over my head every morning, helicopters shadowing me, fire trucks and ambulances blasting sirens as they pass, strangers paid to stand beside my car and make noises, trucks and motorcycles revving inches from me, and electrical shocks I can feel in my body. My devices are jammed. My movements are tracked. My voice online — silenced.
This isn’t about fighting “the system” or uncovering hidden secrets. My fight is simple: justice against the people who shot me, injured me, and broke my arm. But they twisted it — turned the public against me with propaganda, made it seem like I’m waging war on the world.
I’m not. I’m surviving one.
If this can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.
