From antimisandry:
"I can remember the day I was arrested on a trumped-up charge of domestic violence. As I was led across my lawn in handcuffs, a neighbor looked at me judgmentally, smiling. I felt so alone at that moment. But it didn't stop. I got to the police station, and was thrown in a tiny holding cell not much bigger than a house bathroom, along with 20-25 other men. The concrete floor had a grimy substance, and because all the benches were occupied I (and several others) had to sit in it for hours. Then the officers came in and read me a notice that I was not allowed to return Home, talk to my kids, contact anyone there (indirectly or directly) for at least one week. The day began this way at 10:30 AM. I was moved in and out of crowded cells like this until the wee hours of the morning, when I was searched, then released on the street with nothing but my wallet and the shirt on my back. It was 2:30 AM. There was a row of taxi cabs waiting a few feet just outside the door to the courthouse building. The cabbies knew this was the time when former inmates were being released. It was a regular occurrence. Those men who couldn't afford a cab walked to the nearest all-night restaurant, a Denny's a few blocks away. What they did after their first hour sipping coffee, I didn't know... It was damn cold that night too, and I didn't want to be outside. Not around these people. I got in a cab and asked the cab driver to take me to the nearest hotel. I was dropped off on a seedy street of several hotels. I walked up to the first hotel, a Super 8, and spoke to the man inside the lobby through a bullet-proof window. I asked him if I could get a room for the night, and he looked at me with suspicion. He knew where I had just come from. He took my credit card and swiped it. He told me the card had been declined. My Ex had deactivated the credit line in the preceding few hours. So I pulled out a second card, but he declined to even try it. I moved on to the next hotel and, fortunately, my second credit card worked that time. When I got up to my room, all I could think about was taking a shower. I not only wanted to wash off any grime from my body, but also the stench of shame and humiliation I felt. The feelings didn't wash off. After the shower, I changed right back into the same grimy clothes I wore in the prison cell for the previous 16 hours, turned off the light, and went to bed. At that moment I didn't know anyone that I could talk to -- not just because I was prohibited from calling certain people, but because I simply didn't want other people to know. It was so late, and I was so isolated. The next day wasn't much better.
Over the next few weeks I slowly pieced together my life again. But my Ex had called every one of my family members, and all of her own, trying to frame the issue. My family members did support me, but they were all out of town. I wished I could have talked to someone real, someone immediate, someone available, and someone who understood. Someone who could not only listen, but provide help and advice to assist me.
(...) there are people out there that are hurting. I was one. Today I am helping men with just such situations. They call me frequently. I spoke on the phone to one just a few days ago. They find me through my Web site, but sometimes they just need to speak to a real person. I am there for them. I've been where they've been. I know what it's like -- to be emotionally abused prior to the arrest, then vilified subsequent to it. I help guys like this because the Web is not enough. They are out there, and they need it. I want to help them. "
