Innocent

Today is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week.  Christians reflect on the trial and punishment Jesus Christ endured for everyone’s sins.  Others relish in the pagan rituals of Spring Break.  Still others celebrate nothing.

Me?  I’m reflecting on my own trial.

Late one night in Summer of 2011, on a tip from a person who remains anonymous to this day, the police showed up at my house and pounded on the front door until I woke up.  I opened the door and stepped out onto my porch to find two officers there.  As soon as I was on the porch, one of them whipped me around and handcuffed me.  I lost my balance (remember my left ankle is mostly titanium?) and the other officer shoved me so I fell back into my house.  The handcuffing officer said, “Oh!  You’ve invited us in!  Let’s go inside and talk about this!” and dragged me – by my hair – inside and sat me in a chair in my front room while the list of offenses I’d allegedly committed was read.

And so it began.

They never did read me my rights, although the police report from that night says they did.

The police report from that night contains several other lies that I spent the next two years unravelling.  Talk about falling down the rabbit hole!  Nothing is deeper or darker or more bottomless than the lies people construct to cover up or protect or defend their wounded human egos.

My ex was around during this time and, on good days, I remind myself that I was distracted by my battle with the police department.  On bad days, I remember I felt guilty about all I was putting him through with the constant – and I do mean CONSTANT – interaction with the legal system.

After all of the lies were uncovered and I was exonerated, the fog lifted and I saw my now-fiancé for what he was.  When I told him the drinking and carousing had to stop, he knocked me down – not for the first time, but for the last.  I called 911.  Fate brought me the same officer from that summer night who said, “Remember me?  You’re not getting away with something this time like you did last time” and arrested me again (for “Misuse of 911”). 

He did read me my rights this time.

I refused to plead guilty and the DA – who also told me I wasn’t going to get away with something this time – refused to drop the charges.  So I went on trial for “Misuse of 911” one year later.  By now, the DA had been elected as a judge and he put himself on my case.  No one – including my lawyer – saw a problem with this.

After telling my tale of two years’ physical, mental, verbal, and emotional abuse to justify the 911 call (you can see the marks on my neck in my mug shot, which the judge disallowed as evidence, deeming it “hearsay”), the DA presented a defense that consisted mostly of telling the jury I “deserved it” because my fiancé and I were not married and, failing that, I am a liar.

The jury agreed with him.

The judge told me he was going to make an example out of me when he sentenced me to 20 days in the county jail.  The DA shook his finger at me.  I was taken from the courtroom in shackles.

Nine months later, my guilty verdict was overturned and EVERYTHING going back to that summer night was reversed.

I relate to Amanda Knox because:

I know firsthand what it’s like to fight a corrupt system that speaks a completely different and double-tongued language.     
I know firsthand what it’s like to sit in jail for a crime you KNOW you didn’t commit.   
I know firsthand what it’s like to hear the whispers of judgement Every. Single. Place. You. Go.
I know firsthand what it’s like to discover who in your circle really thought you were guilty when you witness their reaction to the news of your ultimate victory.     
I know firsthand how a person can be stunned into expressionlessness silence. 

I don’t know how Amanda Knox endured all that she did.  I barely made it through my thing (and I had a LOT of help) and it’s 1/100^th of her thing (thank God for double jeopardy).

But I do know this:

I do know that Spring comes every year.

I do know that everything that was cut back will grow again.

I do know that re-birth follows death.

I do know that, while human justice often fails, Divine Justice never does.

Just ask all of the former law enforcement personnel in my town. 

So hold on. 

Hold on through the despair and the despondency and the distractions and the depression and the doldrums.  Your day of restoration is coming, I just know it.  It came for Amanda Knox and it came for me.  It’ll come for you.  This is the perfect time for it.  

Trash Day

Never in my wildest dreams did I think my desire to speak with a “friend” could engender a three-week-long BitchFest, but it did.

On the one hand, this person is obviously completely and totally stressed out, incapable of a simple greeting without also being hurtful and manipulative.  I understand quite well how stress can flip a person out, so I have compassion.

On the other hand…

This person’s extraordinary ability to fire out insults until I am sobbing and then turn around and demand that *I* stop because she’s getting hurt is…well…just like The Old Days.

And so here I am, ten days before Easter, finally arrived at my Core Issue, the destination of my Lenten journey.

I HATE that my Mama thought the only way to keep me humble was to break me down.  In her immigrant mindset, that was the way to toughen a person up. 

We all know what a tough, confident person I am.

Not.

It’s taken an inordinate amount of thinking, prayer, reading, therapy, drugs, and alcohol to accept the truth of my and my Mama’s relationship:  She was profoundly jealous and proud of me at the same time.  She loved and hated me at the same time.  My adult mind understands that’s how she felt about herself.  My Inner Child-driven heart…I guess it’s pretty clear how that classic Gemini duality messed me up.

I can’t describe the overwhelming relief I felt when she died:  I’d never again have to endure a soul-crushing barrage of hurt, insults, and emotional manipulation from my own Mama. 

I can’t describe the overwhelming self-loathing I feel for being relieved.  This is MY MAMA, for God’s sake.  What kind of person am I to feel relieved she’s dead?

Then I realize The Duality is in me, too, and another wave of self-loathing sweeps me out to a dark sea.

Today, I find myself again on the Titanic:  After enduring three weeks of nonstop BITCH, I capitulated to this person (my Dad is involved and so I did it to keep his program in place.  Sound familiar?  Sacrificing myself so someone won’t take her anger at me out on my Dad?) and now she’s all sweetness and light.

I SWORE 14 years ago I would NEVER AGAIN be in a similar situation and yet here I am…fantasizing about yanking this person’s double-speaking tongue right out of her head. 

That’s the person I’ve worked so hard to not be.

Tomorrow is trash day; today I fill up my three 90-gallon cans.  Sarcastically grateful for yet another opportunity for “growth,” I consciously, purposefully, and tearfully throw away everything I hated about my Mama.  Tomorrow, all I will be left with is everything I loved about her. 

L’Chaim!

Self-Absorbed

I am regularly criticized by people who demand my time and attention at their leisure and then accuse me of being “self-absorbed” when I am unable to re-arrange my schedule to meet their demands.

Yes, I AM stubborn:  I will not re-schedule class or therapy or radio shows because those are the only times you’re available.  Would you not go to work in order to spend time with me? 

I didn’t think so.

It sounds like an unreasonable request, doesn’t it?  And a tad self-absorbed, too.

Yes, I realize you don’t know my schedule…why should you?  More importantly, you need to accept that I do not share with anyone – including my Dad – all of the details about anything.  That’s the way it is – as “self-absorbed” as it may sound to you. 

I view it as “protective” – of both myself and my Beloveds…those who chose to go through That Whole Thing with me.  They understand my reticence.

Don’t tell me you’re acting out of “love and friendship” when your words are chosen to be cutting.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s how to not react to (or be controlled by) someone else’s anger.  I now understand that “love and friendship” do not require putting someone down in order to “help” them.  That’s actually the textbook definition of “abuse.”  I have FINALLY learned what love and friendship really, truly are, so your days of emotionally manipulating me are over.  You had a great run:  It’s time to change your behavior or move on and find another target.  This one has left the building.  Permanently.  I don’t give a fuck how long you’ve been around.  *I’M* out. 

And, while I’m ranting, LET’S STOP BLAMING GOD FOR HUMAN’S MISTAKES.  People seem to be very comfortable sharing with me everything they HATE about Christians (more on that in a future post, but…how is that OK?  I don’t share with them everything I hate about them.  If I was gay or Black or obviously disabled, would people be so free to condemn?).  The one thing I hear over and over and over and OVER again is along the lines of “Well…if God is all-powerful, why does He allow sickness/war/death/torture/destruction/my ex to live?”. 

The people who say this to me are not Christians and so it’s kind of like trying to have a discussion in two different languages and neither person understands the other’s tongue:  A LOT is going to get lost in translation.

However, the short answer is:  Grow up and own your behavior and its consequences.  Stop blaming “an invisible force in the sky.”  You can’t have it both ways:  You can’t say you don’t believe in God and then in the next breath blame Him for all that’s wrong in the world.  *THAT’S* crazy.

I’ve had to admit to my own treachery…and I’ve done quite poorly at it, I know!  But I don’t blame God for what happened; I blame the responsible party:  MYSELF.  That’s not “self-absorbed,” that’s REALITY.

That’s why it’s been soooooooooo hard for me to get over That Whole Thing:  Ultimately, I have only myself to blame.  To move forward, I must (a) accept what happened; (b) understand why and how it happened; (c) get right with myself so I don’t ever put myself in those situations ever again; while (d) not succumbing to the overwhelming amount of self-loathing that (a) and (b) can create so I can actually make it to (c) and MOVE ON.  But I’ve got to MOVE ON WITH MYSELF so I’d better reconcile…with myself -- a person I don’t trust and am unable to forgive. 

That’s not “self-absorbed.”  That’s learning from one’s mistakes in an effort to not repeat them.  In some circles, that’s called “maturity.”

So please, before you shoot off YOUR mouth about how “difficult” I am, consider this:  YOU don’t have to live with me; I do.  YOU don’t have to live with the mess; I do.  YOU don’t have to listen to the constant barrage of criticism and judgement that flows through my mind every single waking second of every single day; I do.  YOU don’t have to live with all of the empty spaces created by the losses *I* made; I do. 

So back off.  And, if you can’t say something nice, please consider the value of silence.  If you can’t, then I give you The Gift of the Last Word.  I hope it was worth it.