Thursday, August 3, 2017

Updating the Shit Storm

Hey all!  Friends, family, anyone who happens to chance upon this blog and consider it worth a read. I am here to provide an update.  I know my posts on Facebook have been cryptic, and full of subtle and depressive commentary about my life.  You know that whole "When it rains, it pours" nonsense??  Well I have been living in a deluge of shit.  A hurricane uprooting my life and my emotional well being, and simply being a twat to me.  Well...some of my life has turned a corner, and I'm here to let everyone know about it.

Some of you may know that I purchased my first home in late December of last year.  Super exciting, right?!  Yeah, it was.  But only for a couple months.  Then mushrooms sprouted in my basement.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Everyone's favorite (or least favorite) pizza topping fun-guy popped up in my basement in an area my inspector stated was slightly moist due to improper grading of the patio.  Since I purchased in late December, I couldn't exactly fix the patio.  Well once it was nice enough to do so (which we did), turns out my basement was infested heavily with black mold.  Not just in that one spot, but all around.  Courtesy of some disappointing house flippers and their shady tactics and crappy landscaping, I now have to rip apart the entire finished basement to repair the foundation and destroy the mold.  *sigh*  Yep.  First home problems...

I spy with my little eye...something in my wall that will kill me...
On this front, I have put together mediation paperwork and am going after the sellers who knew about the mold and didn't disclose it.  And how do I know that??  How can I prove that they knew about the mold and didn't treat it properly??  A handy little Google search showed that the sellers had a YouTube channel for updating their out of state partner, and I got to see it all.  And download it.  They were out to "make some blood money."  (Yes, that's a real quote from their video).  And now I am out to put their balls in a vice.  Booyah.

Well going back slightly further, as some of you may know from me or reading this blog, I was raped the day before Thanksgiving.  I was raped by someone I had previously had consensual relations with.  I told him I didn't want to date him.  I told him I didn't want to sleep with him again.  I told him no.  Repeatedly.  But that didn't stop him.  I did not report the rape.  I was ashamed, scared, embarrassed, and frankly I don't trust the criminal justice system to always do the right thing (see Brock Turner, Bill Cosby, our President, and many others...)  But a couple months ago something changed.  I found out that I wasn't the only victim.  That he had hurt someone else, and after learning that I knew I had to do something.

I reported my rape later that day.  I stood in my kitchen doorway and told a patrol cop what had happened.  I listened to her tell me I should have come forward sooner.  I should have gotten a rape kit so there would be more evidence.  And I wondered if it would even matter.  A detective was given my case and we talked.  I told him what had been done to me, and to his credit, he never judged me.  He never said I should have come forward sooner.  He never said I should have gotten a rape kit.  He said I did what I needed to for myself, and maybe some of that evidence would be helpful, but not having that evidence doesn't mean it didn't happen.  It didn't make my case less than another.  I will always remember this man, and be able to tell survivors that there are detectives who care.  Who want to help.

He talked to me.  I waited.  He talked to my best friend.  I waited.  He talked to another bartender who worked with my rapist.  And I waited.  He turned over the evidence to the prosecution.  I waited.  And then I heard the news: that prosecution would press charges against him.  Two counts of CSC 3rd degree.  Today was the preliminary hearing, and I discovered what my fate would be.  Would we go to trial?  Would I have to testify?  Would he plead guilty?  Would the judge dismiss the charges?  Questions and feelings running through my head at a million miles an hour.  Distracting me from my work.  Haunting me in my sleep.  Keeping me on the edge of paranoid every minute in public that I would run into him.  

Today I found out that he waived the hearing.  Wait, what??  I come down and sit for hours.  Deal with seeing his face and feeling every hair on me stand up, and now what?!  Well when the defendant exercises his right to waive the preliminary exam, it means going straight to trial or pleading out.  He is pleading guilty.  He is going to admit in a court of law that he touched me without my consent, without me wanting it.  He is going to admit that he ignored my pleas of "no" and forced himself on me.  He will get a lesser sentence.  He will plead to lesser charges.  He will likely not serve much time.  But in a court of law, he will admit he hurt me.  And that is not nothing.  That is a very big something.

And on top of both those stressors are several other smaller things, like my SO trying to find a job...and four adults and two medium/large dogs living in a 2 bedroom/1.5 bath house with no basement storage because MOLD...and job restructuring with no available work so I sit and color and watch Netflix all day...and money problems from being out with mono after my rape...and all that shit adds up.  A calculation of shit plus shit plus mega shit equals a very emotionally drained me.  

I have had the best support through all of this though.  Scott, my loving SO, who has held me while I sobbed and wanted to give up and quieted me down when I thought my rapist was going to break into the house and kill us.  He has never left my side and has proven time and time again that he is my soulmate and the person I want to face every battle with when we grow old together.  My best friend Mary has been a constant source of kindness and warmth.  She never fails to ask me how I am or amuse me with anecdotes or offer Harry Potter and hang out time.  My mom and future in-laws have worked so hard to keep my spirits up and help me in any way they can.  Whether helping with house stuff or bills or even providing a well timed makeover, I've had great parents looking out for mine and Scott's best interest while we tackle all of it.  Oh and my pupper who never fails to offer snuggles and kisses.  My baby has been at my side through so much and continues to do so.  And everyone on social media who has offered kind words or virtual hugs or house advice, you have kept me going especially at my worst.  Thank you, all of you.  For holding my hand and my heart as I am working through all of this.  

It isn't over.  I will still have a sentencing hearing to go to and hopefully speak my piece.  I'm waiting to hear on how mediation will progress.  It's still going.  But today...today was a milestone.  Hurdle after hurdle...I'm still going...still going...still going...



Saturday, January 14, 2017

Writing It Out

Things have been unprecedented in my life lately.  At the end of 2016, I closed on my first home.  It was decision predicated by the amazing job I got earlier last year and the logical steps of my life.  And it has been absolutely amazing.  I've felt steady and well adjusted.  And even in dealing with my assault in November, I've been able to focus on this new chapter and how excited I am to be a home owner and making it my own space.

And then, my body betrays me.

I have been able to bring myself to be in my friend's apartment.  Mainly because the love I feel there has overcome the very, very bad experience I had.  But it also means that my assaulter is often one floor down in the place where he works.  For the most part, I've become very good at dealing with that fact.  I've seen him.  But I've yet to enter the bar.  Usually I keep my eyes on the ground and walk to and from my friend's place.  And it has been hard, but ok.

Today, after spending a wonderful evening painting, watching movies, and making new friends, I finally decided I was ready to go home.  And he was outside.  He was there, smoking and talking to people.  And in an instant, I was not okay.

My pace quickened as much I could on an ice covered sidewalk.  My eyes immediately started to water and my heartbeat picked up its pace.  I tried to keep myself composed until I got to my car because there were people outside and I didn't need someone noticing me in my vulnerability.  By the time I got to my car, I was hyperventilating.  I placed my stuff in the car and got in, immediately locking it in case he had followed me.  While I don't fear for my safety, I also haven't spoken to him and don't know if he would make that effort.  He did not.

The whole 8 minute drive home I could barely control my breathing.  I made my way inside, shaking as I fumbled with my key in the difficult lock.  Once inside, I slammed and locked the door behind me.  My poor dog looking at me as if to ask what's wrong as I collapsed on the floor crying.  I laid there for a moment with my warm face against the cold tile floor.  I composed myself, I got up, and I moved on as best I could.

But it's still with me, as much I as I move forward and focus on positive things, it's there.  It's there in the dark part of me.  The recesses.  So that in my weakest moments, it hits.  My therapist suggested that I write when I am this emotional, hence this post.  I'm not looking for pity or sympathy.  Only for people if they do not already understand, that the pain and damage of trauma runs deeply.  And it is painful.  And I wish with all my heart that I could get rid of it.  But I can't.