In Her Write Mind

The Wait Was So Worth It.

So I've mentioned before that I've found and reread through some old journals. And how oh so funny and forehead-slapping worthy they were. Apparently it just wasn't the years between 2001 and 2006 that were so drama-filled.

For some reason I thought to go through that same box of "old stuff" again. That was the same box that I found a folder of notes from someone from my past, which, I may add, are no longer in my possession. This was the box that contained the varsity letters from my HS field hockey days and a "Happy Sweet 16!" mylar balloon as well as napkin flowers my first boyfriend made me. Yes...I've kept it all. And I'm glad I did because they all make me smile when I happen upon them every now and again.

This was also the same box I had all my old journals in. I've mentioned them before...they were the ones where I wrote about all my loves/heartaches/conquests during my years after college. I skimmed through the coolest looking one and saw that it was the second from last one. I went back to the old box to see if the last one was there but it wasn't. I took everything out and piled it around my office but no journal. What I DID come across was a light blue, 1-subject Mead notebook. I had no idea what it was but when I looked inside I saw it was the journal I had to keep as per my 10th grade English teacher. It essentially chronicled every day of my sophomore year of high school. Well...the most dramatic days anyway. Which, as it turns out, were a plenty. Man. And here I thought my post-college years were a season of My So-Called Life.

I read the entire thing. First of all, I realized that I had the shittiest handwriting even back then. No wonder why I started typing my entries. Secondly, I now see that I was prone to depression even back then. Undiagnosed at the time, of course. I kind of wonder if things would've been different had I been diagnosed.

Of course (since this was about 17 years ago) I hadn't remembered any of it. In fact, not had I only not remembered it, but I had actually made it all seem less "bad" over the years. I can't believe the shit that happened. The pages were filled with betrayal, conniving behavior, vengeance, dishonesty...it was your typical season of the OC. The guy that was the center of most of the drama played me like a fucking fiddle. Shit...not like a fiddle...like a violin. In a symphony. First chair. He was a fucking PRO. And I was a fucking DUMBASS! Oh my. I fell for it. All of it. Hook, line and sinker. Even after he started secretly dating one of my close friends--even though she knew I was absolutely infatuated with him--I still talked to him and hung out with her. I apparently had ZERO self-esteem. Holy shit. 

I remembered I had a "huge" crush on him in high school but I had no memory of our actual relationship. I didn't know he called me practically every night and we talked for hours. I didn't know we hung out just about every weekend (with other friends), I didn't remember actually TELLING him I liked him and him telling me he wanted to be "free." Yet even after that we talked just about every night and hung out all the time. Even after he kept going back to his ex (not my friend) and she befriended me to keep tabs on him. Even after he got back together with my friend. I had no memory of us actually being friends. For some reason I always thought it was that I admired him from afar. I had no idea how close he really was. I don't remember how things ended up with him. From what I remember (but what does that mean, right?) everything ended after sophomore year and we didn't talk any more.

I saw him a year after I graduated from college. He was working at a retail store while he finished school. He was his typical charming self and we chatted. He said I looked hot and asked for my phone number and wanted to go out. I said no thank you. If I had even known in 1994 that that final interaction would happen, I wonder if I would've written how I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up because of how horribly he treated me.

There was another very eye-opening thing that came out of finding this journal. That wasn't the only relationship where I had false memories about how things went down. False positive memories. Oh my God. All these years I thought it was seamless...painless...well not entirely painless but mostly wine and roses. I had no idea there were so many issues, so many fissures...so much hurt happening, even back then. The difference between now and then was that this other person actually cared...but the same things happened over and over again. Looking back, as a 32 year old, on the writings of a 14 year old, it's so easy to pick out themes that would play themselves out over and over again...throughout the years. Oh my God. I can't believe I didn't see it until now. This is nothing new. This has happened our entire lives and it will keep happening, no matter what happens. No matter how we change/mature/grow up or whatever, it will always be like this. I have absolutely no doubt about that now. There are no doubts in my mind that we are not meant to have a relationship, however, we ARE meant to teach each other lessons, and when those lessons have been taught/learned, the cycle starts all over again. This isn't meant to be a calm, mutually supportive friendship. I now believe this is meant to cause pain and confusion and hurt because it's only through that do we grow. The hard lessons of a personal life are masked by the facade of a friendship that, by fate, can never be.  Holy shit. This just blows my mind because it makes SO MUCH SENSE!

 I saw I had written a poem during all this strife and it spoke to how I was feeling. It's not Keats or Poe or Plath but it was the written from the heart of a 14-year old who just wanted to love and be loved.

Untitled

Questions that may never be answered

I want to know

I like him so much

Does it show?

Can you tell how I feel by looking, watching?

Can you see the pain?

 

Questions that may never be answered

I want to know

She means a lot to me

Does it show?

Can she tell by looking, listening?

 

I don't think so

I can see her pain

I want to reach out, to hold her hand. Can she see I'm trying?

The wall, it won't crumble. I can't

reach through it

I try to reach. She thinks I don't care, I don't try, I don't cry.

I do.

Medium-sized

So I'm a medium. Well...more like a medium-in-training. Only 3 people in my life know this...don't you feel special? No I'm not drunk, high or under any other illicit substance.  I'm not crazy. I'm not delusional. I'm not on any medication to make me delusional. It's reality and you either believe or don't. 

I don't tell people because it's not exactly something that's a mainstream belief.  You are probably even sitting there shaking your head like "uh ya right." Believe or don't believe. I'm not trying to sell you-or anyone- my "services" so I really don't give a shit what people think. But it's not exactly something that comes up in a conversation naturally, ya know?

So ya...I'm a medium. By definition a medium is a person who receives "messages" from spirits.  There are a variety of ways you can receive these messages and that's where my "in-training" title comes in. I haven't yet honed down EXACTLY how I receive them. I can say "well I am told things in my head" but then you'd REALLY think I was fucked in the head. I have extremely strong, powerful intuition and I'm learning to always listen to it and it hasn't let me down once.

Part of it is I'm what they call a "sensitive." I pick up on a thing's energies. It could be over the phone or in person. I say "things" because it's the same thing with animals and inanimate objects.  If there's something "dark" going on I get a heaviness in my chest...kind of like something is sitting on my chest. It does't hurt but I can't get rid of it until it leaves that person or I leave the situation. I can walk into a home and know immediately if there are spirits there. Most of the time I don't tell the occupant...until they start mentioning weird "coincidences" that is...

For example a few weeks ago we went to this huge, old antiques store. It was 3 floors filled with all kinds of stuff. I'm not huge into antiques but it was really fun looking at everything. The building is pretty old...I don't know the year but judging by the basement I'd say the 1920s at the latest. I was walking around and everything was fine then I came upon this little alcove that had 2 chairs and a delicate little vanity in it. I was drawn to that place and I actually went and sat in one of the chairs. I chose that particular chair because I was sensing a very stern energy associated with the other one. Not mean. Not evil but stern. That was the only way I could describe it. The words "stern uncle" kept coming to mind. Now I don't know the story of the chair but I trust my gift enough to know that I was picking up on an energy that is attached to that chair.

The vanity was another "hot spot" for me. With that I got sadness. Like the sadness felt by the owner as she looked in the mirror. It was also associated with love. Like a lost lover. The other chair didn't give me anything and no other objects that I came across give me those same feelings. I purposly sat in other chairs and held other objects like radios and pitchers and I tried on clothing and jewelry. Nothing. We spent an hour there and that little alcove was the only place I felt something.

Another interesting thing was about a month ago. We have had a bitch of a summer with the weather. We were getting brutal storms that knocked over trees all over our property, our pond flooded numerous time, destroying our finished basement and causing us to have to rent (and finally buy) a pump to remove water to keep the pond from reaching the house again. We were getting pounded. It was relentless. After a particularly brutal storm I kind of lost it and spoke outload to the spirits I know surround me. I said something along the lines of "throw me a bone! That's enough! Knock it off...I get the picture...you wanted to push me to see my limits and this is it. I'm at my limit. I don't know what else to do. Please stop!" At that point the overhead light in my bedroom dimmed three times. The bulbs were not going out because it's never happened since. The storm had passed a few hours earlier so it wasn't a brown out. None of the clocks reset and my computer didn't shut off. No other electrical objects were affected. It hasn't happened since. I swear on my grandfather's grave this is a true story. 

We haven't had a brutal storm since that day. Sure it's rained but "normal" rain. Nothing harsh...nothing to cause flooding or destruction. The weather has been all but perfect. The garden is starting to bounce back (as much as it can this late in the season.) It seems as if we have our normal summer back. And I firmly believe it's because I asked for help and received it.

After all of this I should probably back up a little. About 4 years ago I visited the spiritualist colony Cassadaga outside of Orlando, Fla. I met with one of the residents who did a reading for me and much of it came true. One of the things he said always stuck with me but I didn't really pay it much mind at the time. He said something like "spirits try to communicate with you, but you know this already. You're a sensitive." I was like "that's cool!" but I don't really remember having any experiences other than I always felt my grandparents were watching over me and every once in a while letting me know they were around by leaving coins in the strangest places (in shoes, under potted plants, etc.)

While I was in NM I visited a psychic healer to see what she had to say. I've already written about my need to go to NM and how I didn't really know why I was so drawn there. By chance I learned about her so I made an appointment. The first thing she said was that she's never, ever met a person that was surrounded by so much love and so many angels that wanted to be in my life. Crazy shit, huh? Here was the second person in telling me I was "connected" to the spirit world. She came right out and said I was a medium and I had the choice to embrace the gift now, at my age, or ignore it and it will "choose" me when I'm old(er) and I would have no choice in the matter. She talked about how I'm holding onto some really heavy feelings and until I can release those, the spirits will not be able to  fully get through to me. She said I receive a lot of my "information" through my dreams at this point because I'm not ready to accept them in real-time. We did a couple of exercises to gauge where I was in the process and how I will be communicated with. Come to find out she mentors people who are starting out on this journey.

One of the ways she thinks I'm communicated with was through colors. I get into my "space," ask questions and the first color that I'm shown is the answer. The colors, of course, translate into ideas. At that time I was receiving a lot of messages about communication and creativity. She felt that meant that through writing, I will be able to release the heaviness I'm holding to.

I've written about dreams I've had quite a few times on here. This is one of the heavy things I have to work through and release. The messages delivered to me all point in the same direction and it's just a matter of coming to terms with them...which I am because I know they're being delivered by something higher than me. I know I'm being guided into the direction that I'm meant to go in. It's just a matter of accepting the reality of it all, which admittidely has been difficult for me but getting easier day by day.

There have been other, more specific dreams I've had that come true that make this whole thing more real. One even happened while my parents were here. It stuck with me so much that I actually told everyone about it at breakfast that morning. A few hours later, it came true. When my parents are pretty blown away, then I know I'm kind of on the right track with this.

So I figure if anyone read this all the way through, some part of you believes me. I don't feel I have anything to prove and I don't know if I'll ever get to a point where I'd advertise my gift and I definitely don't plan to monetize it. Who knows...maybe when I'm older I will be more comfortable with it. But at this point I'm still getting comfortable with the whole idea that this is the way it is...and with the fact that even when I'm alone, I'm never truly alone. That aspect of it is comforting all on its own.

Valuable Real Estate

About 2 weeks ago I wrote a post about a greeting card I purchased yet wasn't sure if I was even going to send it. Well I still haven't decided. lol It's been sitting on my desk this entire time...hidden under a pile of papers...yet never quite forgotten.

I thought maybe if I forgot about it then the need (or desire?) to send it would pass. The reality of it is that it didn't pass...or get stronger...or get weaker. It's just...there. It's sitting there among scrap paper and uncut coupons and my Kindle and Nat Geo Traveler magazine. It doesn't occupy a special spot on my desk, just one that I guess I haven't needed yet. Maybe that's the trick: make my desk so cluttered that this thin envelope would need to be removed (maybe to the trash can?) in order to free up some valuable real estate.

The thing that kills me is that I'm probably the most decisive person that I know. I'm not afraid to say 'fuck it' and just choose something. Make the decision so it's made, and the consequences descend upon me so I can get on with life.

I've talked to a couple of friends about the situation and their answers are basically the same, "send it if it feels right." That's the thing. It doesn't feel right. Or wrong. It doesn't feel like anything. It's not a big fucking deal but I'm making it out to be for some reason that I'm struggling to figure out. I'm starting to wonder if it has anything to do with the card at all and that it is, in fact, just a representation of something, some act, something that means more to me.

I guess until I figure that out the card will stay under the coupons and Kindle and magazines. I'm not in need of more desk space just yet. But someday. Maybe.

It's a gift, that's why it's call the present

For some reason it just hit me that when it comes to living my life, I tend to dwell on the past, trudge through the present and I'm unable to think ahead to the future. I know you're like "uh, and this is just hitting you NOW?" I've always known (and hated) that I hang onto the past so much, but I've always just done it and chalked it up to it being just who I am. But that begs the question: does it have to be?  Will there ever come a time when I can let sleeping dogs lie, put down the matches when faced with the opportunity to burn down a bridge and stop crying over spilled milk?

I hate hate hate that I hold onto resentment and that I'm so vindictive at times. To me it becomes something more than just "paying someone back" for a real or perceived wrong they've done to me, it takes on its own life and I put on my vigilante cape with my #1 goal being to teach them a lesson...a deeper lesson that will stop them from doing whatever it was again. But will I make that much of a difference to them? Probably not. But that doesn't mean I'm not hell-bent on at least trying to. But am I trying to for them or me? At what point does it stop becoming personal vindication and starts being the karmic lesson I believe so firmly they should be sentenced to?

I'm not an idiot. I know it's not my job to teach them any kind of lessons. These are not children and I'm fairly confident they are who they are and no kind of "lesson" will change them. So why even bother? I'm not going to flatter myself and think that my behavior is affecting them in any way. I think it's safe to assume they carry on with their lives and activities as they did before encountering me and after. So why am I holding onto this burden? It's because I'm not living the idea that I felt so strongly about that I have it stuck on my wall: "You can look back, just don't stare."

These aren't simple situations so it's not like I can flip a switch and make it all go away. I can't make it go away. Maybe therein lies the problem. These situations eventually become something that is out of my control and I hate that.

Because of all this I have begun an exercise where I write "forgiveness letters." The idea is that I stop blaming the other party for everything that happened and accept responsibility for my share of blame for what transpired and apologize for everything. I can't say it's easy and I'm definitely not finished. I think this is going to be an on-going exercise because there are people in my life, my long-buried past, that I'm sure aren't dwelling on my activities, but I was the one who hurt them and not the other way around. These letters aren't for the person on the receiving end as much as they are for the writer. There's the option of sending these letters if it feels right, but I haven't found one that feels right yet. There are also ones I'm finding it difficult to even start. I know I HAVE to write them in order to complete the exercise. After all, I think the point of it is to clean out these people, but there are some that I feel so strongly about that I think it's going to take me a while to feel I've done anything to ask forgiveness for. Yes I can go through the motions and write them and pretend to be sincere but I'm thinking that's besides the point of this exercise.

So my goal is to write all of the letters I have to write, say goodbye to the past, embrace the present and look forward to a future where the need to ask for forgiveness will never again present itself.

Make a Wish (List)

So I watched "The Secret" the other night in an attempt to get out of the funk I've been feeling for a while. It just made so much sense that I thought "why not" in putting these into practice? I highly recommend it, by the way.

One of the suggestions was creating something along the lines of a "wish board" there you put pictures, jottings, etc. on a bulletin board or the like and the idea is that you are asking the universe for these things and you'll get them (eventually) because you asked and the universe is essentially on call to answer. Cool idea, right? One guy likened it to catalog shopping for your life...I want this and this and this and this...and the universe will fulfill your order. I'm all about having my order fulfilled by the person(s) upstairs.

I started my wish board today and to be honest, I was quite embarassed by the things I came up with. They're pretty f-in lofty as in a few of the things will cost upwards of a million bucks. How I'm going to get that million dollars? By having a book (or 15) published and selling lots o'photos to people who appreciate the "fine art" factor of them. Which roughly translates into people who will spend a hefty penny on art. I'm open to other ways to come about the funds, of course. I'm not picky.

I can tell you right now, none of my wishes had anything to do with my current house or current location. That not-so-roughly translates into I can't wait to get the hell out. Too much shit has been happening lately and this place is rapidly becoming the place that I holed up in while I went through some major life changes/challenges and eventually its purpose will have been served and it's time to move on. I just don't know when but I have the feeling I'll just know.

Some of these goals were long-term and others more short-term. I guess I can't really put a timeline on all of this stuff because I'm waiting on another to fulfill my order. Maybe I'll say that some requests are smaller and I'm assuming they'll be easier to fulfill so maybe Mr/Mrs Universe will want to just check it off their t0 do list right away. One can only wish (list), right?

Hallmark Moment

I just bought the hardest greeting card I've ever had to pick out in my 31 years. It had to be perfect...simply stated...nothing over-the-top...nothing mushy. This type proved to be difficult to come by given the subject matter.

There are other factors that I had to take into consideration when choosing the card. How would it be received by other the other party? Do I want to write anything or let the card speak for itself? Would the other party even have any reaction to getting it from me?

I found the right card, it had kind of a simply stated, but very meaningful message. By meaningful I also mean it refers to the situation outside of the one the card is being sent for. Does that even make any sense?

I haven't decided if I'm even going to send it, actually. I'm going to sleep on it for a bit to see if I can gain some clarity with the situation.  Part of me thinks it would be good but the other part thinks it's just going to make things worse and everything is water under the bridge at this point. But I'm not really sending it for the recipient, I'm sending it for myself.

I dream a dream

I had a dream about that person again. You know, the person that I dream about all too frequently? It's really starting to piss me off too. I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT THEM so why the fuck do I have to dream about them?! I don't talk to them and I don't even write about them anymore. I came to terms with things...and it's really annoying that these dreams keep happening.

At least last night's was a different one, a new one. I was walking in one direction on the sidewalk down a street and this person was walking the opposite direction  and we looked at each other and I kind of smiled, you know, an acknowledgment smile type of thing and then looked away and kept walking. They crossed the street and kind of gave me a look that said, "it doesn't have to be this way." Okay so they looked at me and that's what I heard in my head. What? It was a dream, weird shit happens. And I stopped walking at that point and they approached me and put their arm around my shoulders and we started walking somewhere to talk and...I woke up. While I'm grateful it's not one of those reoccurring dreams I always had, this one was more bizarre than the others because I actually felt cared about. I finally felt that this other person was hurt and they crossed the street to approach me and while I was very weary of the whole occurrence, I still felt really cared about. That's the only way I can really describe it.

The dream dictionary says that seeing a street in your dream symbolizes your path in life. I find it very interesting that we were going in opposite directions. I know it's how it has to be, hence the reason I kept walking.

Lonely But Never Alone

The aftermath of the attack came in many different shapes and sizes. My family and I had been estranged for a few months at that time and making that phone call to them the following morning was something I was dreading. I didn't want to be comforted and I didn't want to comfort. I didn't want anyone to know and if he didn't have my driver's license or my social security card I would not have told them. I told them for their own safety. No other reason. There were offers for visits and I don't really remember if I took them up on it but I know all I wanted was to be alone yet I was scared to be alone. I knew it would be a hard call and it was. My mother, father and sister all cried and I don't think I did. I do remember how hard it was to hear my parents apologize for not protecting me.

I would have mini-meltdowns at times...once I was convinced a man was following me around the grocery store. While he didn't look anything like my attacker he was a man and that was enough for me. Then there were other times when I was walking to my car from my apartment or through a parking lot in the middle of the day and a car would pass with a man/men in it and they would stare and I would respond with something along the lines of "fuck off" or "what the fuck are you looking at?!" It only stands to reason I'd react that way...after all...I had already been hunted in that manner. I'm not ugly, however, and I've always turned heads. I've been told it's the combination of my looks and the way I carry myself...I have a confidence about me that can be both attractive and scary to men. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here. I just want to explain that the attention that I once enjoyed was now another terrifying thing I had to deal with. And it was hard because I was so angry.

A few days afterward my boyfriend of almost 2 years broke up with me "because he couldn't handle it." Yet another man letting me down.  I was in therapy yet I never cried and told the story with a detachment that worried the therapist. That was after she got over the initial reaction to what I had been through, a reaction that I would become used to over the years. The first diagnosis was PTSD.  She would have me tell the story over and over to try to get some sort of reaction out of me but there was nothing. I was numb. She recommend that I see a specialist that did EMDR which is Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. It seemed kind of hokey to me at the time but I did it anyway. The purpose was to get me to process all of the emotions that SHOULD come with such a traumatic event, but for me never did. Essentially I never left survival mode and was in a constant state of self-preservation. Which quite frankly I was perfectly happy being in, save for the anxiety attacks, sleepless nights with butcher knives under my pillow and the fact that I didn't want to be around anyone. 

In the weekly sessions I would have to close my eyes and replay the entire event over and over in my mind while the therapist tapped my hands rhythmically. There was nothing for a few months then one day a single tear rolled down my face and the treatment was considered to be a success and I was released. I felt the same.

I was also on a regiment of antidepressants. First paxil then wellbutrin then some other one to counteract the side effects of the original pills. It was around this time (4 months or so) that I met a guy and started dating again. I had no problem with intimacy. In fact I had turned into somewhat of a insatiable beast to the delight of my boyfriend, a guy I met at my job.  About 8 months after we started dating I moved into his house which turned out to be a mistake and the beginning of the end. He was cold and I was needy. I started referring to him as the "emotional iceberg" and god only knows what he called me.

During this time I had started up a friendship with another co-worker. One that I had been trying to land when I met my "other" boyfriend. Friendship turned into clandestine meetings pretty much everywhere in the city: the office, his truck, hotels...you name it we utilized it. Yes I was still living at my "boyfriend's" house but by this time we were living separate lives. He was hanging out with the attractive, new neighbors and I was never invited while I was "working out" with the other guy. One day I placed a profile on a local dating website and within an hour I was contacted by someone and we chatted for a long time that day. He didn't have a profile which I thought was odd since I thought you had to have one in order to contact other members. He never answered that question and I didn't really care. We met at a park the next afternoon and spent the entire day together. There was this strange attraction between us. He wasn't super attractive and he was a prick yet there was this insane chemistry. I ended up in his bed that night. My first and only foray into sleeping with someone on the day I met him. It wasn't, however, a one night stand since we would hook up every now and again over the next 3 or so years. I always wanted more and he agreed then I'd never hear from him for a few months and then came the inevitable booty call by one or the other. Come to find out he owned the dating site he found me on, hence the reason why he never had a profile. I had a feeling he "met" a lot of women that way hence the reason why he disappeared now and again. But we both played the game and our motto became, "don't hate the player, hate the game." The ironic thing is we both loved the game.

One day I decided I wanted to go to Paris. I made the arrangements that day and was leaving the following week. I put everything, including a new video camera, on a credit card. I bought a whole new wardrobe, also on credit cards. When I told my boyfriend I said "I'm going to Paris for 8 days and I leave on Sunday. When I come back I'm moving out." That was the only time he showed emotion about our relationship. We both cried but we both knew it was long due.

My other co-worker/lover helped me move into my new apartment which I rented for myself and my dog. I was alone for the the first time in a year yet for the next 4 years I was never, ever lonely.

To be continued...

What true friends look like

These messages were sent to me in the days following my attack. I think they illustrate perfectly the types of friends that I have and cherish so much. They illustrate what it means to be a true friend. They were there for me through everything...start to finish. They weren't (and aren't) fair-weather friends. They took on the burden of having a broken friend and stood by me through it all. We still talk all the time and I have no doubt in my mind that we will be life-long friends.

I am soo sorry this happened to you. I made JG
come in and read this with me and it is devastating.
Are you o.k.? How are you dealing with it?
We are going to call you tonight, when you get home
from work. If that's ok.
I think that counseling is a good idea, even if your
doing ok, it can't hurt. Please, do not in any way
blame yourself. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. It is never
your fault for something like this. You did not
deserve this and you did not ask for it.
We love you so much. If there is anything in the
world we can do for you please do not hesitate to ask.
We'll talk to you later tonight. Stay strong.

Dear M,
All I can say is that I'm thanking God that you are ok. 
I love you so much I was just sobbing while I read your e-mail. 
At first I didn't know if it was a joke but something else told me 
no one would joke about somethign as horrible as that. 
You were so wonderful and smart during the whole thing! 
Congratulate yourself for keeping a clear head because 
you might of saved yourself from a much worse fate.
 A couple of years ago Molly was chased while walking
 home alone on some dark streets but she was able to 
hide in some bushes before he caught up with her and 
from there she watched him run down the street hunting for her. 
I mean that upset me and he didn't even catch up to her 
I can't even imagine what you were going through during that horrible situation. 
Did they swab your mouth or figernails for DNA? 
I know you probably have a lot on your mind right now so I understand 
if you don't write back right away but call me if you need to talk. You're in my thoughts.

I Love you,
C


Wow- I can't even believe that they finally caught him. 
That is so good but at the same time that is so fucking scary! 
How are you doing with this? I mean you must feel all conflicted. I know I would. 
You are so lucky my girl! So lucky. Thank God. It is kind of weird to me that he kept 
your SS card on him. What do you think was the point of that? 
I guess it is lucky that he did. At least this may be able to bring some kind of closure. 
I am thinking of you!

I died 10 years ago today

July 7, 2001 was hot. Holy sweet Jesus it was hot. And humid as all get out. It's my friend Krissy's birthday, so I had traveled from my  home in Rochester, NY to the city where I grew up for a girls-get together to celebrate. I was excited because I recently lost about 30 lbs (due to being on my own and dirt poor) and I was wearing a really cute halter top and dress pants to show off how hot I looked!

We started out at her friend's house, hanging out and having a few beers. I had 3, I think. I was buzzed, but in no way intoxicated. Someone's husband drove us the 5 blocks to the bar. It was 11 pm.

I purchased only 1 beer there, and never finished it. There were so many people there that I hadn't seen in years...I was too busy talking! The beer got warm and I eventually put it down. I was going to spend the night at Krissy's house, but since I was completely sober, I decided to drive back to Rochester. I just had to get back to my car, which was still parked at her house. Everyone was going to an after hours party and I didn't want to go. It was 2am.

I used the pay phone outside of the bar to call a cab, but since it was when the bars were closing, I was told it was going to be at least a 1.5 hr wait for a cab. I said no thanks and decided to walk the 5 blocks or so through downtown. It was well lit and I knew the area well.

I walked quickly, looking straight ahead, holding my car keys in my hand for protection. I was about a block and a half away from my car when I saw I wasn't the only one walking that night. A man was approaching me. I moved off the sidewalk to "give him room" and that's when he grabbed my arm and said "oh no you don't" in a low voice in my ear. He had a gun and it was pressed into my lower back. The left side. I threw down my purse and said he could have it all. He said he didn't want my purse.

My therapist tells me this is when survival mode kicked in. I remember telling him I was walking to my boyfriend's house ("it's just right over here.") and begging him to let me go because I was pregnant. Which I wasn't, by the way.

During this time he had dragged me to his parked car. It was an early 2000s silver Ford Taurus. I remember that now and I remembered it when it came time to recall the details later that night and over and over again over the next 2 years.

His car was parked right next to a funeral home, rectory and 2 doors down from a Catholic Church. How ironic is that? A place where you're taught you can always feel safe and take shelter was closed off to me when I needed it the most. He told me to kneel down on the floor and put my head on the front seat face down, facing the rear of the seat. I told him I was too tall at 5'9 and wouldn't fit. He and the gun said, "yes you will."

I talked to him. I begged him not to hurt me or "my baby" and I told him my name (Katherine) and I asked his (I don't remember what he said but it was a lie.)He chastised me for drinking while pregnant (he could smell beer on my breath) and I asked him if he was going to church later that day. He said yes and told me to shut up. It was 2:30am. It was at that point that I thought, "I now know how those women feel when they know they're about to die."

I couldn't see where we were going and even though I tried to follow a probable route in my head by the amount of street lights, I quickly lost my bearings. Even when the car stopped and he told me to get out. I didn't know where I was. Except that I was surrounded by trees on 2 sides, there was an abandoned garage in front of me and darkness behind me. I told him I had to pee and he motioned with the gun over to the corner where I cased the place and realized I had nowhere to go.

It was at this time that I knew I was going to die so I figured I'd might as well leave clues for the CSIs. There's a Tori Amos song that talks about her rape and one of the line goes "It's kind of funny the things you think at times like these." And it's true.  I dropped some items from my purse into the grass...a makeup compact, a lipstick, a few coins. He didn't see and then ordered me back into the car. It was 2:45am.

The official legal terminology is "sodomy," but it's also referred to as sexual assault, sexual abuse and even rape. I've always felt guilty calling it rape. I don't feel like I deserve that classification since there was no penetration. I don't remember the actual sex-related charges he was brought up on for what he did to me but there were many of them and I always felt like what he was being charged with properly represented for everything he did to me and everything he made me do.

After he was finished he took my wallet which contained about $35 and my license and social security card and told me to walk straight ahead and not turn around. It was surreal. I can still remember walking away and bracing myself for the bullet to hit me in the back or the back of the head. He was a coward and he couldn't get it up...he certainly wouldn't have the balls to look me in the eye when he murdered me. I was surprised when he actually did drive away.

I found my way to an apartment complex where I hid in some bushes while trying to figure out my next step. It was about 3 am, I didn't have any money, no cell phone and I wasn't anywhere near a payphone. Right at that moment I heard a car pull up and I crouched down lower into the dirt...thinking it was him coming back after changing his mind about letting me go alive. It was a car full of women though and I climbed out from the bushes and approached them. I was shaking yet strangely calm. They all stared at me wide-eyed as I quickly went through what had happened (minus the gory details) as they got me water. It was at that point that I realized one of the girls was someone I went to Catholic grade school with. She tried to make small talk at first but then realized reminiscing was the last thing on my mind.

I didn't want to call 911 because I was terrified of all of the police cars converging on the location. I didn't want the ambulances and the flashing lights alerting the neighborhood that somewhere amidst the uniforms was a broken girl. It was a theme that has plagued me these last 10 years: never let them see you as broken.

Instead I asked them to drive me to the police station. One of them, not my long lost friend, walked in with me. I approached the counter and a young, bored-looking officer quickly listened to the details, walked me into a windowless room and told me to wait for the detective whom he just called. I released my driver from her uncomfortable job. Looking back now I picture her as a fish struggling for its freedom at the end of the line. What was she supposed to do? I didn't know. I didn't want my hand held or a hug or reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Everything was NOT going to be okay. Too much had happened in the last 2 hours for things to every be okay again.

The detective was a youngish guy...mid-30s maybe...handsome. He went through all of the formalities, "it wasn't your fault," "we'll catch this guy," "what a bastard..." I can't remember if he asked me if I wanted a rape crisis counselor. He probably did, but I declined. He wanted to call my family and I declined that offer too. I wanted to do this alone. It was close to 4am.

After taking a report (hen-pecking at the keyboard. I repeatedly asked him if he wanted me to type it.) I told him exactly what kind of car it was, his height (5'6ish), his hair type and color (longish and salt-n-pepper like). I described the gun as best as I could. We discussed accents and identifying marks. We talked about clothes. I never cried.

He had this bright idea to take me back to the garage where it happened. Is this SOP? Taking a sexual assault victim back to where she was just violated a couple of hours earlier while the scene was being processed? He drove me in his detective's car...with a safety glass and no handles on the door. I was trapped yet again in a car with a strange man.

I don't remember much about what happened at the scene. I showed him the area, they found the small items of my purse that I had purposely left there in case the crime was ever discovered and pictures were taken. My plan had worked after all, I thought. My makeup compact and lipstick (with DNA mind you) were now safely packed away into evidence bags.

Then I was free to go and I started the hour and a half drive back to my apartment. I drove close to 100mph the whole way, with the idea that if (when) I was pulled over, I would tell them I had just been sexually assaulted, check your computer and they would feel bad and let me go. I never got stopped.

I made it home, grabbed a butcher knife and went to bed. Needless to say the sleep was restless. Or maybe I didn't even sleep. I called my boyfriend at the time (he was about an hour away) and he was quiet...offering few words of comfort. Later on that night we would break up with him saying that "he couldn't deal." I still didn't cry.

I was in a brand new city (had moved to the area less than 2 months earlier) with no family or friends or even coworkers that I was friendly with. I was alone with my secret and that's how I wanted it to be. I was worried they could read it on my face.

Over the next few weeks the detective would visit me frequently during my lunch breaks and show me photos. I think there were 3 sets of 6 pictures he showed me over the course of a month or so. The people at my new job started at me and this law enforcement person with a glock in a shoulder holster looking at photo arrays on the trunk of his car in the blazing July sun. A few asked me about it and I told them half of the truth. I was robbed one weekend. To this day I think only 2 of them know the truth.

About a month later I got a call saying that they got the guy. He was caught after kidnapping, handcuffing and repeatedly raping a woman in a small town called Buffalo, WY. He was arrested while taking a break at a diner. The woman managed to signal to a waitress that she was being held against her will. In his "bag of tricks" was found my social security card. (Later on I was told that he had intended to kill her and leave her body somewhere in the Wyoming wilderness. I was "lucky" they said.) They tracked me down with the help of the FBI, all the while hoping I wasn't a Jane Doe in a cooler somewhere. Another photo array...this time with me easily identifying the man in the top left corner as the man who broke me. Dale W. Dean Sr. I didn't cry.

September 11th happened. And it took that magnitude of tragedy to break me. I remember staring at the TV in my tiny studio apartment hurting. Physically hurting. I was curled up in a ball crying like I had never cried before. I was dry heaving and gagging and gasping for breath. I never bothered to use tissues. The tears and snot and drool ran down my face and soaked my shirt. I couldn't even muster the strength to get up off the floor. I hurt so badly. So so badly. It was physical and tore through me. I was just so tired. At that point I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. I remember thinking and begging God to just put me to sleep. To euthanize me like a fatally injured animal. I finally fell asleep.

I don't consider that a thought of suicide, as I would tell therapists later on. God only knows what they wrote in their inch thick files on me. I never thought about shooting or stabbing or hanging myself. I was too much of a coward. I wanted God to do it for me. Here I was, asking God to do me a favor all the while cursing him for allowing such evil people to walk among us. I was torn...for some reason I was allowed to live yet living meant a heaviness that I would never be able to describe for people.

It was around then that the detective broke the news to me that Dean would be tried in WY before coming to NY to face the charges in my crimes. It was something I was OK with...still am. It was a few weeks later that I got a call from the investigator out there informing me that WY has a "prior bad acts" law where a defendant can face stiffer penalties if proven he's a habitual offender. Dean was recently paroled from a FL prison after serving time for armed robbery, attempted murder and a variety of other charges I never bothered to listen to because the first 2 always sealed the deal for me.

The investigator asked me to fly to WY to possibly be a witness for the prosecution in this rape case. I agreed and in Feb. of 2002 my Mom and I flew to Buffalo, WY, population 1200. We flew in on separate flights...I arrived a day or so before her. I was picked up from the tiny airport by the investigator I had been speaking with on the phone. While he was very nice, I always got the feeling like he was waiting for me to crack. I hadn't had another one of those "episodes." I had become numb to the details, to the procedures I was dutifully going through. Later on during my trial the local papers called me "stoic" and "matter-of-fact."

The WY victim asked to meet with me. She wanted to meet the woman with whom she had shared something so intimate, yet had never met. I agreed and me, the investigator, a rape crisis counselor and the other woman, Tina met in a diner for dinner. After laying eyes on Tina I knew why the investigator was convinced I was going to crack. Tina was more broken than I could ever imagine. No human should ever be in the state that she was in. She was on the verge of emaciated, as she had no appetite. Her hair was falling out. She made herself as small as she could, all the while trembling like an abused animal. She couldn't look me in the eye, though I'm sure she wondered if I was, in fact, the "NY victim" as I had come to be known.

We weren't allowed to talk about our cases, since we had to be sure neither of our testimonies was tainted in any way. It was then I was told that I may not have to testify after all. The DA told the defense attorney about my presence and that blew their case apart. He was claiming consensual sex, but since I was attacked in a somewhat similar manner just 2 wks prior...that's where the "prior bad acts" law comes in. Because I was there, Dean probably wasn't going to take the stand in his own defense.

I wasn't allowed in the trial, though my Mom was with the strict instructions not to talk about it with me in any way...which she did not. I wasn't even allowed into the court house, except on the day that my testimony was tentatively scheduled. That day, as I waited at a long conference room table, the DA came in and told me he wasn't taking the stand and we're sorry, but you won't be telling your story.

Shortly after that the case was handed to the jury. The prosecutor took my mom and I out to dinner while we waited for a verdict. As we were leaving he got the call...they had come back after about 2 hrs. We all rushed into the courtroom. I was allowed in at this point since there was no more testimony.

He was guilty and I broke. Again.

I ran out of the courtroom into a nearby bathroom and sobbed in a way that was very similar to September 11th. I crouched into the corner of the bathroom as my mother begged to come in and I just wanted to keep her out. I didn't want her...I didn't want anyone. I didn't want to be touched...I wanted to be alone. Alone was safer then having people want to help you and take the pain away. It was my pain and it had become comforting...a security blanket.

I don't remember anything from that point up until I left Buffalo, WY. Tina and I exchanged addresses and wrote a few times, but a year or so after the trial I stopped getting responses. I figured she needed to move on and I was a part of her past that she needed to forget. At some point I received a trauma survivor book and a newspaper clipping from the rape crisis counselor out there. The clipping was about Dean's sentencing...120 years. I don't know where either of those are today.

A few months later it was my turn for "justice." I testified before the grand jury where they handed down the charges. I was prepped and the DA and I went over my testimony again and again. It wasn't necessary because my story never varied which is what happens when you tell the truth.

As I stoically and matter-of-factly told my story and was questioned by the prosecution and defense, I don't remember looking at the jury. There was no point, I knew what I was going to see...sad eyes. Maybe even some sympathy. I didn't want their sympathy. I wanted them to do their job so I could get on with my life. I didn't need closure but everyone around me did. I don't know if there ever will be closure...but I've made peace with everything.

The defense attorney did his job and tried to say that it was a case of mistaken identity because I got wrong (or didn't know) the details of any facial hair he had and I mis-identified the gun. He was grasping at straws of course because what jury would expect a 22 year old woman to be able to identify a gun in detail? All I was concerned about was what that gun could do to me, not how pretty it looked.

I remember waiting in the law library in the courthouse for the verdict. I don't remember how long it took them...4 hours maybe? All I know was that I was so sick to my stomach. There was nothing anyone could do at that point to change what was going to happen. It was out of my hands and once again I was helpless when it came to this man.

I sat in the front row in the courtroom as the verdict was read...guilty on all counts. I remember crying out and just collapsing. Finally this part of the ordeal was over. Sentencing was a few weeks later and he got like 25 years for each of the 3 or 4 charges to be served consectively. He wouldn't, of course, serve a minute of "my" time because he was serving Tina's time first but that's okay. My time was kind of something to fall back on. Verdicts are appealed and thrown out all the time. This way if her verdict was thrown out, he would never walk free again because my verdict would be waiting for him.

At the sentencing I was allowed to read a victim impact statement. I wrote about how he didn't break me, but now, 10 years later, I know he did. There are parts of me that are so very broken right now that I don't know what to do. I face them everyday. They are constantly on my mind and I just want to forget but I can't. The damage has been done and it can never be undone and all I can do is take it day by day.

But then there are other parts of me that I wouldn't hand back for anything. Having to discuss sexual details with stranger after stranger opens you. Attending years of therapy where I would recount the events over and over...all of this has made me so open and unafraid of speaking my mind. I've completely lost my filter and I know it and I don't give a shit anymore. I've gotten brash, mouthy, sarcastic, snide and sometimes even rude and again, I don't care. I stopped caring what people thought of me. I've been considered a victim, one title I've always hated, yet I realized I can't change a person's perception of me. So I stopped trying and caring. In that way, I feel reborn. I feel as if I'm finally in the skin I'm meant to be in. 

Because it's only in facing death that you truly learn what it means to live.