Insult to Injury

Last year, when I was going through the harassment, the PFA process and all of the other issues, I had some wonderful people on my side helping me through it. One being an ex-state police officer that knows the ins and outs of the legal system. Through out my father's threats of having me sent to a rehab, state hospital or just sent away in general, he kept reassuring me that it couldn't be done and that if anyone tried to take me away, it would end in a law suit big enough that I would eventually own my own island.

I believed him. I didn't think they could take me away. I thought I was at least safe on that end. So as my father came with his threats and sent other family members with threats, I stood my ground, explained that I knew my rights and I was not going to be signing myself in anywhere. I explained that I would gladly submit to any blood tests they desired but otherwise, I laughed it off.

Even the day of the PFA hearing when my father showed up at the courthouse, in his WCO uniform, and tried to persuade the judge to have me committed, I thought I knew my rights. When he called me later that day and told me that he wanted me to go talk to someone; again, I told him that I knew my rights and requested again, that he leave me alone.

Even when the Pennsylvania State Police arrived at my house shortly after, I thought that I knew my rights. As the two police officers approached me, I asked what I did wrong. I explained that I knew my rights, that they couldn't take me. Yet the two of them handcuffed me, took my purse from me, frisked me and placed me, with handcuffs behind my back, into the back of the police car. I thought I knew my rights. But apparently, this was acceptable because my father decided that it was and went to whatever lengths he felt appropriate. The truth is, my rights never existed.

Throughout the ride to the ER, I kept begging the officers to pull over and switch the cuffs to the front. I explained that I had a bulging disc in my lower back and was in significant pain. They told me it wasn't that far and that I needed to just deal with it. I explained that they apparently had never ridden in the back of a police car with a bulging disc, handcuffed behind the back and strapped in with a safety belt.

I arrived at DRMC in handcuffs, escorted by a police officer on either side of me. I was led through the hospital in this fashion and was then requested to lie down upon a bed, with the cuffs still behind my back until the doctors and therapists on call could perform a mental health assessment, draw blood and a urine specimen could be given. When the police finally removed the cuffs, I asked if I could keep them as a souvenir of what the PFA process leads to--they denied my request. They also refuse to provide you with a ride back to your home; they leave it up to you to figure that one out.

I went through the processes; the doctors and therapists apologized and again, I was asked why I didn't get a PFA on my father while I was getting one against the ex-boyfriend. They didn't fill out paperwork on me because they said the situation was too insane and they didn't even know where to begin with it. When I explained that I didn't have my wallet or insurance card, the doctor said that I would not be billed because it would only add insult to injury and I had already been through enough.

They sent me home because:
A) I wasn't on drugs.
B) I wasn't starving myself.
C) I wasn't homicidal.
D) I wasn't suicidal.
E) The 302 papers that my father filled out and signed were ludicrous.
F) There were absolutely no grounds to send me to a rehab or have me committed to a state mental institution.

My father was at the hospital as I was subjected to the evaluations and testing. The doctor stated that he didn't blame me when I stated that No, I did not wish to see him and please keep him out of my room.

This is what I got for refusing to obey my father's authority. This is what I got for obtaining a PFA on a man that wouldn't peacefully allow me to go on with my life--a life without him.

A false 302... including the discovery that my father did not know how to spell my name, did not know my birthday, did not know how old I was--plus all the delightful statements he made about me. Funny; the large, bold face notice:

"IMPORTANT NOTICE: ANY PERSON WHO PROVIDES ANY FALSE INFORMATION ON PURPOSE WHEN HE COMPLETES THIS FORM MAY BE SUBJECT TO CRIMINAL PROSECUTION AND MAY FACE CRIMINAL PENALTIES INCLUDING CONVICTION OF A MISDEMEANOR."

...this statement apparently doesn't apply if you are a WCO and have your own badge and name tag. If you are friends with the police, I guess ordinary laws no longer apply?

I got tossed around like some violent, escaped criminal--as a 115 lb female, you would have thought the officers were terrified of me. I got to wear shiny bracelets and was touched all over by two men at once. They took my bag and broke my things as they threw it in the trunk of their car. I got a ride in a police car, escorted by two officers sworn to serve and protect. I got to be a spectacle as I was marched into the ER with my cuffs and escorts. I got to answer a bunch of ridiculous questions to prove my sanity. I got to have tubes of blood drawn and I got to pee in a cup. When it was said and done, hours later, I got to arrange my own ride home.

You know what though? Somewhere, along the way, I was told that I had rights. That if they tried to violate my rights, that if anyone came onto my property and tried to take me away, there would be hell to pay. That if they forcibly took me off my property, there would be a lawsuit so big that I would own my own island and would never have to deal with the likes of them again.

So where in the heys is my island???

All I have are the memories, the scars, the added physical pain, a father that still insists he did what was right and he knows that I was abusing drugs, and this damn stack of bills.

Remember when I said that I explained that I didn't have my wallet or insurance card and the doctor said that I would not be billed because it would only add insult to injury and I had already been through enough? Yeah, not only did I rack up a bunch of bills as a result of the events from that day, but they still made me pay for that event, too. Justice, such a beautiful thing. Personal rights, freedom. Yeah, I almost believe in those also...