I Get It, I Really Do

This is a letter I wrote to Attorney (Fill in the Blank on the number I have hired/fired/consulted with) about what happened to me on February 8, 2012.

This is for the Girl in Steubenville, Ohio or for the woman in India who died or for other women who have shared with me their stories of being a victim of violence at the hands of the depravity of men.

Shame on you. Shame.  For those who have called us all names, who stood by and watched, who did nothing to help. Shame on you. Shame.

I often wonder what I would do if actually anyone, someone who could help did so, what would I do?

I am grateful for those who have been good to me. I know who they are and they know who they are to me.  To the Fireman who did not know my name but did their jobs without judgment or concern, I am grateful.  It is because of them I am alive.  If all were like you this world would be a better place.

Thank you for working on this case.

It has not been an easy road in any stretch of the imagination.  But as on any road the end must come and I have to beg/demand/request, whatever appropriate verb is required (traumatic brain injury does that to a person, finding words), that you find a way to end this journey.

I am alone, without support of any kind. I am barely keeping my head literally and figuratively above water.  And yet I am and even I am amazed.  But I have this faith that keeps me going. And that truly brings new meaning to the expression, thank God.

And while my plate is overflowing the portion you have should be enough to remove it from my plate in its entirety.  But as in all buffets there should be many choices from which to select. Nothing is off this table at this point.

I know no one cares about me. I am a signature on a check. I get it I really do. In fact no one gets it better than me. 

Imagine your wife, mother, sister, daughter going out on a date and finding out a week later she had crashed her car, been in a hospital, released to “someone” whom you are unsure and in turn allowed to wander the streets for a week, confused, dazed and unaware of their situation and circumstances. Then realize a week later that their entire life had literally crashed around them all due to something that they did not knowingly or willingly do. 

Imagine trying to find help and they are rejected, scoffed and dismissed as crazy, a liar, a drunk and that it’s so “unbelievable” or “just weird” they are not worthy of anyone’s time or compassion.

Then 4 months later as they are trying to get some shreds of this tattered life together to find a summons in the mail being told you are being charged with a “crime.” Then again having to go around, repeat the story over and over again. And have new names added to an already overflowing list of pejoratives.

When do you think this person whom you know and love and care for breaks? What is the tipping point?

Even I find this “unbelievable” and yet I live it every day of my life.  If I was even 1/4^th of the things I have been “diagnosed” or called, I wonder how I am still standing and all after sustaining a Traumatic Brain Injury.  TBI was something I read about our Soldiers overcoming and the damages it causes and then it happened to me. You have no idea what its like to once think of yourself as smart and happy and content to find out that will never be your life again. 

I asked God many times “why didn’t you let me die that night?”  I know for a fact now no one would have cared as they have demonstrated that to me alive; I get it I really do.

Why?  I will never know. What I have done to deserve this?  What happened to me that night was a sick tragedy but I live it every day, every day of my life, over and over.  My greatest fear was this would define me.  I suspect it has, as it’s all I have.

So you have a week to come up with some plans of action. Some ideas that can end this. It has gone on too long and I have been punished enough. I have paid in many many ways for staying for that last and lethal drink. And as told to me by my last Attorney (right after calling me obsessed and affected – yes and you wouldn’t be given what has happened) the City wants to find my guilty and put me in jail.  I can see more compassion; willingness to listen and give a shit is a consistent pattern here in Seattle by all its municipal entities – legal and medical.

One day someone will sit down actually just ask me to tell them, then look at all the evidence to see I am telling the truth and not extrapolate data, or take things out of context or utterly misunderstand me as I struggle to communicate (something I never had before) and simply listen and read the data then ask reasonable questions about me and demonstrate compassion that I have yet to experience, not once, even when attached to an end of a check.  Maybe you gentleman can break this pattern just once.

I will see you on the 17^th, 2:30 for my next appearance.  More degradation, humiliation and anxiety and yet I still stand.  I do keep wondering why God spared me. I know he will answer this question one day.

I think I know why God spared me. Only once did he come to me and say "this is not about you." I get it I really do.  I am alive because my voice is needed and people need to hear it.