From my journal, 12 January 2012…
“It is official – I have moved (FINALLY) from shock to anger. And boy and I angry!!!!!!!!! I am so mad that it took me so long to get to this stage; that it happened to me at all; that I have felt pretty much nothing for the last 15 weeks; that we live in a society that would allow and produce people like cockroach boy; that I have been stuck on so many levels for so long; that all I did yesterday was cry; that I was unable to cry for the last 15 weeks; that we may have to go to court and have an actual trial; that his attorney will try to make this my fault (HA); that it is her job to do that to me; that I haven’t been able to walk for 15 weeks; that I got fat (okay, just a little pudgy, but I FEEL fat) because I was unable to walk; that I had to join the gym in order to be able to get any exercise; that I have been in extreme pain for at lest the last 10 weeks, maybe longer; that I am not supposed to talk about my experience because anything I say can be used against ME in a court of law; that I did nothing to incur this attack; that most people have no clue what I’ve been going through and will continue to go through for at least a little while longer; that I no longer trust people in general; that I look upon every man and teenage boy as a potential attacker; that I have been unable to work; that I even consider breaking up with Bill because of the craziness I feel; that I cannot immediately jump into my new project because I might jeopardize my case; that I no longer feel safe in Coronado; that I want to leave where I have lived for the last (almost) 10 years; and there are probably 100s more things that I am mad about, but for now, this will have to suffice.”
I actually typed this rant at the time because, as mad as I was, I knew I could never write fast enough to keep up with my thoughts. It is almost comical, now, the things that I thought at the time. I really had no idea of how long it would actually take me to process, deal with and get through it all. And the thing that brought me out of shock was talking with the D.A. assigned to the case. It completely freaked me out when she told me that we would be going to court because she had to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was guilty, that she had to prove his intent was to rape me, that she had to prove this to 12 people on a jury. Well, I simply lost it right then on the phone with her. I was so upset. (On the one hand, I was happy that I was finally crying, but on the other, I was better able to understand just what I was dealing with. And it sucked.) I thought, what do you mean you have to prove he’s guilty? I know he’s guilty, I was there, I’m the one he brutally attacked. And you have to prove his intention was rape? Well, what do you think it was? To have a tea party? He ripped my clothes off. Where is the doubt in that action alone? Believe me, I understand that criminals (I use this word purposely.) are innocent until proven guilty in this country; what I don’t understand is why the alleged perpetrator is given all the rights and the victim of the crime, in this case ME, is treated as though she is the criminal and has done something wrong. Oh, it was very eye-opening and not in a good way. Part of what took me so long to recover was the repeated trauma I suffered when dealing with the D.A. I always felt victimized after speaking with or meeting with her in person. Even though she said she was on my side, I certainly never felt that. And the truth was, she was the attorney for the city or state or whomever, she was NOT my attorney. I didn’t have an attorney, though she was always happy to point out to me that it was my right to hire my own attorney. So, let me get this right: I was the victim of a violent, attempted rape and if I want to be protected I need to pay money for this privilege? I’m the one who was harmed here, not cockroach boy. And I am not automatically protected? See what I mean? This is but one small example of how it went for me.
Something to keep in mind, too, is up to this point, we still had not gone to court. His attorney kept getting a continuance, ostensibly because she (or he, I was never clear on this) hadn’t had time to get his psych evaluation done. Okay, I also get how overworked the public defenders are, but, really, it’s not like cockroach boy was busy. As far as I was concerned, he was having a merry old time in jail. Maybe jail isn’t fun, but he chose to go to jail by attacking me. He was getting fed each day, he didn’t have to work, he had television and internet privileges. Does that sound like he was suffering in jail? I don’t think so. And even if he was, too flipping bad. I’ll say it again; HE CHOSE to go there.
I will get more into this in my next post.