Making Sense of the Mess

As statute of limitations becomes an ever-pressing issue, I find myself thinking more and more about what this all means to me and why I would consider moving forward with a lawsuit. Initially, much of it was the physical aspect. I had a bulging disc in my lower back prior to this entire incident and it already caused me a significant amount of pain. This incident aggravated my pain to levels I couldn't even fathom.

My father portrayed me as a threat to society and when the two state troopers arrived in my driveway and handcuffed me, they were less than gentle. The one was clearly afraid of me and was particularly rough. The ride to the ER with my hands cuffed behind my back and seatbelted was excruciating and I asked the officers several times to please pull over and switch the cuffs to the front. I explained my back issues, but to deaf ears. By the time it was all said and done, the pain in both my wrists, my back and neck were absolutely unbearable. I was terrified for months, after the police incident, that I would never kayak again or enjoy a "normal" life. For several weeks, I was confined to my bed in pain that I didn't know was possible. Almost two years later, I still suffer from wrist, back and neck issues.

These things should have never happened.

Tonight, I find myself thinking about my life at that time and I look back in absolute shock. How did I survive that, emotionally???

The terror started in February 2010--well, much earlier, if you consider when I was living with the PFA boyfriend (March 2009--November 2009) and when I initially left him Thanksgiving of 2009--but the feeling of being terrified of him coming to my home and hurting me probably started increasing around mid-February 2010. It became bad enough and I had enough evidence that it was occurring that a friend encouraged me to seek a PFA. That started on April 1, 2010 and we had our official "date with the judge" on April 22, 2010--during which time, the judge felt there was enough reason to grant me a three year PFA.

Looking back at the terror I was feeling by April, I was often terrified to leave my house, I was afraid to sleep many nights and woke up to the slightest sound due to his frequent threats to come in on his own, if I was unwilling to talk. Easter was April 4th that year and I tried talking to my father about my fear, the PFA, and begged him to help me. He, too, turned a deaf ear and told me that it was between me and my ex-boyfriend. April 10th was when my father came to my house, harassed me himself and again, refused to listen when I tried to tell him what was really going on in my life. Many people told me to seek a PFA against my father after that event, but that seemed ridiculous.

By the official PFA hearing date of April 22nd, I was an absolute mess. I felt terrorized and harassed from so many directions that I could no longer leave my house without having people with me--for grocery shopping, to get my mail--simple activities were now so fraught with terror that I could barely function. Yeah, my father was right. There was something VERY wrong with me. But I needed his support; not for him to add to the horror.

I remember being terrified to even enter the courthouse that morning. I hadn't had to deal with the ex-boyfriend face-to-face since the last week of March (and those events were driving factors in obtaining the PFA), so the idea of sitting in the same room with him were almost beyond what I was capable of. If it hadn't been for the fact that my "defender" was there to support me, I couldn't have done it.

What I didn't expect was to have my father show up there, attempting to persuade the judge to have me committed to a state hospital. He was there in uniform (to show his authority and power) and frequently came into the room I was waiting in, with his own anger and threats. Again, how I survived this, I am not sure. Thankfully, the judge ignored my father's requests and still granted me the PFA.

Several hours after this, I was in my yard and my father called me. He demanded that I meet with a crisis worker and when I discovered that my father was also in the town I lived in, I immediately went inside and locked my door. There was no way I wanted a replay of the antics he displayed on April 10th--I knew that trusting this man and calling him father was no longer possible. Thankfully, he didn't call back and he didn't come to the house.

Shortly after, I had to take my vehicle to the garage. It was as I was returning home and pulling into my driveway that I looked into my rearview mirror to see the state police car behind me. I didn't even have my vehicle shut off when they approached me. And so began the rest of that journey--wrestled, handcuffed, escorted to the ER and the rest of the evening spent there. By far, one of the worst days of my life.

These things should have never happened.

To start the day with a PFA hearing and terror--midday, to have the police remove you from your property as a common criminal and the terror of not knowing why (they didn't tell me why they were there or why they were doing what they were to me)--to end the day, attempting to prove your sanity and the terror that knowing because of all of these events, sanity is quickly waning...

Yeah, these things should have never happened...

No crisis worker ever called me or came to evaluate me. They took my father's uniform as enough evidence that his statements were true. He lied all through the report he gave--information he knew was not true--but this is what happens to disobedient children, right? Never mind the fact that they are 36 years old and a therapist, themselves? As I mentioned before, the crisis worker my father met with was a woman I had fired several months before that--I was her supervisor. Some conflict there, perhaps? So many areas that this entire situation was just wrong.

Making sense of it... I still struggle, nearly two years later. I wonder if I ever will?

To File or Not to File

As I approach the two year anniversary of the PFA/police fiasco, I wonder about the decisions I have made.

Originally, when the threats were occurring, I was told that if my father made good on his threats, the lawsuits would be so huge I would never have to work again, that I would not only own my hundred-acre woods, but my own island. I suppose that in part, people were just trying to reduce my anxiety level; but I think overall, none of us really believed that he would do what he did.

The one gentleman was my father's friend for many years and was also my defender through the PFA process. When my father came onto my property and made his threats, I finally had enough and called this friend to talk to my father. My father's response was, "Well, he was a good man at one time. I haven't seen him for many years; who knows what he is now." And the harassment continued.

The other gentleman was my employer and knows the mental health system forward and backwards. He was also my ride home after the police delivered me for my "evaluation." He continued to assure me that the lawsuits would be massive; he was as outraged and upset by the situation as I was. He was privy to the entire PFA situation and the issues with my father, so when my father initially called the agency attempting to start problems, my employer put him in his place. "I can not disclose if she works here or not. If you would like to know where your daughter works, I suggest you ask her." Case closed. After the events, he also introduced me to his attorney and explained the situation and mental health laws to him, with the potential for a case.

Perhaps most outstanding about my employer was how he stood by me through the situation. He offered a shoulder for my tears. He assisted me with finding the humor and laughter in the situation. He offered me time off work until I was back on my feet--physically and mentally. He became a spiritual father during my time of need. He helped me in so many ways, above and beyond what most people would have done and he also assured me that employment was still available when I was ready and able to come back. He's been my employer since 2006 and it is a choice I believe was made well.

The lawsuit never came to pass. If I have not done anything with it by April 22nd, I lose my right to. Good old statute of limitations. There is part of me that still wonders if it would be possible to win. My own island? Good lords... Who doesn't dream of such? Financial security for the rest of my natural life? It would be sweet. My father being forced in a court of law to admit he lied and used his uniform and influence for ill towards his own child? I don't know. I don't think he is capable of admitting defeat or being wrong. I think it would just lead to more of the same and more statements from him that would crush me. After all, the main reason it went as far as it did was because I was disobedient and he felt he needed to reestablish his control over me. What levels would he go to if he discovered that I intended to make it all public?

I guess, too, more troubling to me is how my grandmother would handle such. She struggles so hard to keep the family together and it would be devastating to her on so many levels. I know it wouldn't sit well with my brothers either--they see much good in my father and believe he only acts in the manner he believes is for the best of the universe. Some of the other family members may find humor in the situation, pity or disbelief.

Not that the lawsuit was going to be against my father--much like suing the Red Cross, there are some things that just aren't right (but looking back, I do regret NOT getting a PFA for him, as so many recommended).

The lawsuit would actually be against the agency that allowed all of that to happen. They made so many mistakes--unbelievable screw-ups occurred to even permit the situation to take place. For one, crisis never evaluated me. They took my father's word for it that I was suicidal, homicidal and so many other pleasantries. For two, the crisis worker that my father met with was working for crisis because I was previously her supervisor at our agency and had to have her fired. Slight conflict of interest, but I am sure she enjoyed every minute of my father's sordid tale.

Funny, when I was required by the attorney to contact the faulty agency and obtain my records, I got a huge run around and the story that "they now train their employees better, so that similar situations do not occur in the future." As if that made everything alright and I should laugh it off and praise their new procedures to train their so-called crisis workers. Several months ago, when I again attempted to obtain my records, mysteriously--no record of me existed. Seems to be the case all over when my calls about this situation are placed. That, I believe is the definition of FUBAR--when no one wants to take any responsibility or even admit that the event occurred--sweeping it under the rug at its best.

Admittedly, THOSE things do make me want to continue forward with a lawsuit. What happened to me should not have happened--it involved gross negligence on many, many ends--and by not doing anything, the system wins. It will continue to consist of major screw-ups and by not doing anything, similar situations can occur to other people. If I moved forward, fought it, and won--I am betting that training for crisis workers, police officers, and many others would be a bit different. Not to say the system would now be perfect, but I am betting a lot of changes would occur. Sweeping it under the rug simply adds to my frustration with all of it. It just makes me even more determined to make the proper parties accountable for their actions. As it is now, they breathe a sigh of relief and know that they got away with a major fuck-up unscathed. But revenge is not the right answer, either.

Would I emotionally be capable of surviving the lawsuit? Facing my father and his "love" for me? It already breaks me. Even now, talking about the situation often leads to anger and tears. I don't know that I will ever be able to entirely put it behind me. I guess the biggest question: is it worth the additional pain that I would be subjecting myself to? Or am I better off dealing with it as I currently am and hoping that time will heal the wounds? I suppose there will never be an answer and no matter which path I choose, I will always wonder how the outcome could have been different. There are no easy answers, I guess...

A Brief Update

Guess it has been a while since I have posted. Many drafts have been saved, but none have made it into the cyberworld--many reasons for this; but alas, I shall not bore you with the details...

Overall, January has been an absolute bear. December faded out with a quiet that chilled to the bone; January followed with a silence that pierced and froze the soul.

My nephews returned to my life the last week of December. It was the first that I had had any communication with them since Thanksgiving of 2010; a week was not near enough time and waiting another year seems a million lifetimes from now. It is so difficult to not see them regularly...

Tonight, my brother left. I know that this is the next chapter for him and a good one about to begin, but it is still difficult to watch him go. I am grateful that amends were made and that we are close again, but it does make this harder. He's been living here the past seven or so months and I have gotten pretty used to him being here. I guess I worry that the promises to keep in touch will eventually fade and as with my other brother, contact every five years will become the norm.

January 10th marked 19 years since my mother was murdered. Half a lifetime with her and now half a life without. I try to remember her voice, her laugh--they are gone now. I know at some point, I need to begin a journal of memories--for my brothers, for my nephews, for my niece, for me. The memories slip away, even though I never believed that could happen.

My father's birthday is days away. Funny how that plays on my mind and has become a day of sorrow in itself. I still have gifts for him (and his wife) from years ago--tucked in the back of a closet. Disadvantage of shopping ahead, I guess. I received a Christmas card from him this year (one of those many drafts that remains unposted) and am sorry to see that he still doesn't get it. If I ever let him back into my life, I am aware that I must accept that he is not capable of understanding me and that he will never see me for who I am. As of yet, I am not ready to bow. Stubborn, maybe. Hurt many times, yes. How many more times can I bear?

Troublesome also and leading to many tears this week is a local murder trial that began this past Monday (1/17). A husband and wife murdered in April 2010. Hits home on many levels. The day they were murdered was the day that my father came and harassed me. When I went to their funeral later that week, my father had one of his friends follow me and harass me through the funeral--sounds crazy, yes--but this man didn't even know the couple--at any rate, it is a tale for another day...

This murdered couple left behind four adult sons and several grandchildren. Not only were they dealing with the shock and horror of having both of their parents murdered, they were also suspected of having committed the murders and forced through police interrogation. I remember what I went through with having my mother murdered, but I also had some small blessing in knowing who did it and that they were in police custody. What this family went through, I can not even fathom. As the trial is occurring, I know the grief of being forced to relive all of the details--how impossible moving forward and healing are when you forced to repeat it, over and over again.

The son that found them was a friend of mine for many years. I can't even begin to imagine. What he saw, what he has lived through, and what he is going through with this trial. I spend each evening praying that he remains strong, praying that he is alright, praying that he has the support needed to survive the trial and the events ahead. I give him a silent hug each night in my mind and feel my own tears flow for him and his family. It is a horror I know a bit about, a grief I have tasted on my own level, a nightmare that one never awakens from. My hope is that he finds the support my brothers and I lacked through our own nightmare--hope that he survives--hope that he heals and is able to find his own peace.

I think sometimes we forget how short life truly is. How quickly a day can change your entire life and rock your faith in humanity. Sometimes we see our own struggles and forget that there are others going through trials beyond our imagination. Life is a strange, quickly fleeting ride and we never truly know when or where that ride is going to end. But mostly, life is the blink of an eye and the flutter of a butterfly's wings. Grasp the good times, cling to those that bring you joy and laughter, hug the ones you love and let them know how much they mean to you. Second chances are never guaranteed. Live without regret and love with all of your heart--life is too sacred not to.