Featured

Minnesota Does It Again

July 15th 2017- Minnesota Law Enforcement officers do it again- they shoot and kill an innocent person. They murdered someone that looked past all the recent atrocities with the police. They murdered someone that asked for their help. Some people may wonder how this could happen. It doesn’t make sense. Once it didn’t make sense to me. But after my personal experience, it makes all the sense in the world.

April 2017 (I can get an exact date if ever needed) I had a life-altering interaction with Saint Paul Police Department. I believe it was a Thursday evening. My 12 year old son had a band concert that evening. My ex boyfriend had just came to my house that day; we decided to try to work on things in our relationship. Early evening, before the concert, we decided to lay down for a nap.

I was awoke from my sleep by a faint sound of “Saint Paul Police Department” being yelled. I live on the Eastside and police are always present, so I thought nothing of it. They must have yelled something to trigger my attention because I thought it sounded like it was awfully close. I got out of bed, while my boyfriend slept. I put on some clothes and walked to my closed bedroom door.

My bedroom door pulls open from the inside and frames a large square window in the middle. After putting my clothing on, I stepped in front of the open glass to be greeted by six men with guns pointed at my door. 4 were in Saint Paul Police Department uniforms, 2 were plain closed- all had guns drawn and pointed at me.

I put my hands up when they screamed to do so, but I did have to lower my left hand to turn the knob and open the door. I did so and immediately put my left hand up. I stepped out with my hands raised and guns still drawn on me, six barrels. They screamed at me about where my boyfriend was and if he was in the house. I stated he was and then proceeded to tell them that there were no weapons in the home and if they were told there were weapons. I woke by boyfriend calmly and stated “they have their guns drawn” so he wouldn’t make any sudden movements.

After I received no response as to why there were guns drawn, I began to question where my children were. In addition to my 12 year old son, I have 9 (then 8) and 15 year old daughters. The police showed no concern for the presence of children in my home with their weapons drawn. Only when they put cuffs on my boyfriend, did the weapons get holstered and I began asking more questions. At this point, they have answered not a single question I’ve posed.

The officers have not told me why they are in my house. They have not told me why they needed guns. They have said nothing. An Asian officer did hand me a business card at some point during the encounter when I began to question it.

The questions I asked may be out of order as I recall them now, but their answers are burned into my brain:

  • When I questioned the amount of force being standard for what could only be a Gross Misdemeanor -at most- the officer questioned how I knew what my boyfriend was being detained for. The reason I knew what they could possibly be detaining him for was because I had spoken with an officer from Minneapolis and a bail bondsman to ensure my boyfriend had no warrant for his arrest, he had been accused of assaulting his other ex. I knew that she was accusing him of the assault and I never questioned the validity, I just figured it left in the court’s hands. He’d never been physically abusive with me, but she may be different.
  • An officer once said “I don’t know what you do for a job and I don’t tell you how to do it. So don’t tell me how to do my job.” And I looked at him with disbelief- and responded “but I’m a taxpayer-” *this was one of the plain clothed officers.

My daughter came down after the guns were holstered and the officers questioned her pretty heavily about whether anything was upstairs that belonged to my boyfriend. The officers took my boyfriend outside and I stayed inside scared and angry and violated. Within 10 minutes he responded and said that the officers let him go and said “Don’t tell <sic> department that we were here or they will come and arrest you.”

At this point, we realized that the police were never let into the house. When my son and daughter had left to the store, they left the door unlocked/ajar and the officers let themselves in and drew their weapons.

A call to the supervisor on duty was a joke. She tried to shame me by saying my boyfriend had been accused of domestic assault and she stated that the door was ajar. At one point, I believe an officer said he saw dogs present, which is why the guns were drawn. The dog present is a mini daschund that didn’t even bark at them.

As horrible as this experience was for me, the aftermath is even worse. Because they illegally entered my home that night, which is why they let my boyfriend free, there is now a bench warrant for his arrest because he never appeared for court. His victim is still awaiting justice. I am scared of the police. After my rape then their over use of force and invading my home- I can’t trust them. I want to, because they aren’t all bad apples, but out of those SIX officers in my home- not one of them seemed to be a good apple. That is BAD odds.

And what happened? Just 2 days ago? Right after a jury was confused enough to acquit a badged murderer that was “scared” another officer shoots and kills a woman that called for help. Information is now only being released but last report I read is that the officer shot from his car?!

This is how people are dying by the bullets our taxes are buy while paying the CIVIL SERVANTS here to protect (not kill) us. I had 6 guns, loaded and aimed at my head after waking from a nap. If you are familiar with my story, I was raped in my sleep, the time between sleep and awake isn’t always clear. One wrong move, I would have been like Philando or now Justine- murdered.

*at this point, nothing has been done to rectifiy my experience. Not even an apology. And in some ways, renewed faith in the system I once believed in- would mean more than any amount of 0’s on a check.* <and I finally cry>

Eclipse 2017

August 21, 2017 came and went. A “once in a lifetime” event the media exclaimed on every channel. They pushed glasses. They talked of being safe to your eyes. NO ONE mentioned the toll it would take on the psyche.

The morning was off as soon as I opened my eyes. My anxiety was on high before my feet hit the floor. When I couldn’t find my med box, I started to feel like the world was spinning out of control. I knew I had it, didn’t I? Then the puppy’s food bowl was missing- now I am sure that someone has been in my house moving things. I made the kids check both the doors- locked.

Then proceeds the argument with the children. More of them not doing what I ask and me finally losing my temper. I said some really mean things and I will be making up for them for some time. And honestly, I bet the garbage that was next to the kid’s bed is stashed somewhere else in the house, rather than the can outside.

8:30 is when I was to start work. I tried to connect and the computer wouldn’t connect. I literally felt like the world was against me. My head was foggy, though I had not taken any Valium yet. I was confused and still sure that something was after me. I called my boss to take an FMLA day- which I have for days like this- yet this day is not like the others. I was so confused- had to verify with my boss that it was Monday and not Sunday or Tuesday, by then I didn’t know. I just knew I felt like I was going crazy. Crazier than I usually go.

I made it to my bed, a much more laborious process than I would have liked. I remember watching the eclipse on the television while it was in Oregon and I was knocked out. I slept until evening after the moon was further along her path. All the things that I thought had been moved or messed with were found and peace found itself into my body once again.

That eclipse was no joke. I know what and how I felt. I am thankful I have some time until I experience that again.

Almost a year later

Almost a year has passed and I wish I had a tale of happiness and justice. Quite the opposite. I returned to work, but found myself under the influence of my night security escort. I was vulnerable and he got to me. The relationship started out as wrong as they can, but I thought that it would be different this time. It felt different. I literally felt like the center of his world.

Our relationship came to a halting stop when he got involved in drugs. And I couldn’t stand by while he did them. I am a mother. And his mother is an addict. Instead of being someone different than her, he became like her. And so I broke my heart.

Now, it’s been some time that we have been apart. And I want to start over, be happy again. But I looked for him in everyone. And they are never the man that I loved, so it never works. Mind you, HE isn’t even the man I loved anymore- meth got him. He told me yesterday that the guy I loved is dead. And he sounded like he meant it. And now I have to face it.

I did the right thing this time. I was respectful of myself. And yet it still hurts. I don’t want him to drag me down… not after all this time… but I’m starting to wonder what the point is when I keep seeking something I’ll never find.

 

Oh yeah- and Ramsey County Attorney sanctioned my rape by not pressing charges. What a loss of faith in the system.

Healing

I haven’t blogged for awhile, I’ve been busy getting better. And better I’m getting!! Although I am getting better, things are still very difficult. I’ve managed to return to work, where my assailant also works, which means I have to do what I can to avoid running into him- down to having security walk me to my car at night. I avoid all common areas for the fear that I will see him. Fear doesn’t even describe how I feel walking in common areas on our company campus. Terrified is more like it. It takes everything I have not to run to the safety of my floor. I look out the window and I see him leaving his workday, whereas mine is spent with a lot of breathing exercises and large amounts of Valium. And I didn’t do this to myself- he did this to me.

My investigator says it can take 2-3 months for the BCA to process the evidence collected during my rape kit. So for 2-3 months I wait and he goes about life. The investigator had me sting him, to get him to admit to what he did. Apparently I didn’t get him to admit to enough. When he went in for his interview (they scheduled it and gave him weeks to show up for it) he denied everything. Isn’t that contrary to the physical evidence I already supplied? It is. It doesn’t matter. This is the Rape Culture we live in. We don’t live in a world where the system supports the victims, it continuously victimizes them over and over again.

I refuse to let this slide. I will keep in contact with my investigator and see that charges are brought- because they are warranted. He did this and he can’t get away with it. The smug apologies he gave during the sting were just further evidence of how entitled he must feel to use a woman’s body as he sees fit. Disgusting.

I’m Fighting Back

The person that lives outside me, sees this title and smiles. That is how it is supposed to be. That is how it it. And it is what it is.

University of Minnesota Medical Center, West Bank- that is where I spent my day April 22. I was so scared going in there. I didn’t want to verbalize the words of what I knew happened to me. Its quiet, a security guard sits on duty. He instructs me to fill out a piece of paper and hand it to the triage nurse. I didn’t have to verbalize it! So I simply wrote as a reason for my visit Sexual Assault.

The triage nurse was great. It’s amazing how many people apologize to you for things they didn’t do. I really I hope I don’t do that- and if I do- I am definitely working on that. I really didn’t want to hear anybody apologize for what happened to me- they didn’t do it. (maybe it is a personal thing- I don’t like when anyone apologizes for anything they didn’t do- might be a whole new topic to explore!) People were gentle. They were kind. As a woman with mental illness, I know the inside of many a hospital. As I notice the subtle differences in how I was treated, I couldn’t help but hope other victims experienced the same treatment.

There is a special nurse that “deals with” sexual assaults. The triage nurse actually said the phrase “to deal with you” when she seating me in the waiting room for the SARS nurse to show up. I made comment that she said “deal with” and she tried to explain it away quickly. I knew she meant no harm- but it was a slight that just didn’t need to be. The nurse was AMAZING! I definitely am thankful there are people like her in the world that do what she does day after day.

I am a loyal SVU viewer- we’re talking- from Day 1- and I’m not going to lie my friend and I made many comments regarding the show and my situation. There were two student advocates that showed up. I didn’t really need them and I felt bad sending them away right away, so I had them stay for awhile then said I was okay and they could proceed on with their day.

I didn’t initially decide whether or not to call the police until I began the extensive evidence gathering process. When swab after swab was taken, I knew I had to report it. Because it is wrong and it does happen and too often we stay silent. I’ve stayed silent! My friend that I was waiting on lives across the river in Minneapolis- while the crime was committed in my town of St. Paul. The nurse assured me that it wasn’t an issue to have the SPD come to Mpls to take my report. I did feel guilty. She called early. It took a long time – but living in the heart of the violence plaguing the streets this year, I know they are busy. I hear the sirens day in and day out. I also felt guilt taking officers off the street, away from kids shooting each other, to come take my report because a man didn’t respect my body. He raped me.

By the time the police arrived, my friend has left- the advocates were gone. It was just me and the nurse. A lot of the day, I thought about other victims. I made comment that I couldn’t imagine going through a rape kit traumatized with physical injury and fear. There are pictures of my cervix taken with a camera. I couldn’t imagine.

The police came last night, took them awhile, again, but I heard the sirens all night. They were very, very busy. But he was nice as I handed him my brand new sheets, pajamas, a water bottle with the tobacco from a cigarillo he broke down, and the remainder of the baggie he rolled a blunt from, and the condom wrapper. Because I don’t remember anything- and why didn’t I wake up?

This morning, I woke up feeling better- still wearing hospital band- but I think it’s going to be okay. I feel great chemically (meds), I am not feeling like my heart is as broken as its been- I feel strong. On my way walking back from the bathroom, I find the fucking condom on the floor. My puppy was kind enough to get into the garbage and found the condom he used and threw into the trash after he was done raping me. And who has sex with a sleeping person anyways? WHAT is that?

I’m going to spend the day with my friend and her son. We are thinking about the falls- my favorite place to be. In fact, I am looking forward to going there. Maybe I’ll find my center.

This is my life. Every day. All day. And I’m still hanging in there, living it.

Don’t I get a cookie or a medal or something?

I was raped.

I was raped. I had felt this before, but never like this. Never this real. It’s almost surreal. I don’t know what to do. So I blog?? I know- I think that’s why I added it with mental illness category. I think in the throws of a mental health low- being raped is just a kick to the already salt-filled wounds.

I’ve been in a bad place. I’ve been depressed. I’ve wanted to die. I’m getting help. I’m doing it. Trying to keep my job with the protections in place for the disabled and trying to keep a positive outlook for a better tomorrow. I’m honestly trying.

Last night, a guy I had been trying to date asked to hang out. We’ve watched The History Channel’s Vikings together a few times and he wanted to hang out and watch tonight’s episode. I explained that I am not in a great place emotionally (when he initially reached out he mentioned not seeing me at work) but we could watch the show. He asked if I wanted wine. I said Moscato.

I felt the need to tell him at 5:18 pm Ya know I can’t have sex tonight… to the response of So. (I think this dialogue is important for many reasons) Me: Just making sure it was clear. Him: Does that mean you don’t want to see me?  Me: I hate misunderstandings…  <new message> No, I’d like to see you… Just making sure you still wanted to see me.                              I went out of my way to tell this man that I wouldn’t be having sex that night. I don’t believe a woman should have have to tell a man that sex isn’t an option- it shouldn’t be assumed- but I know it can be and I wanted to be clear. I didn’t want to be in a bad position.

Before he arrived, as I watched Grey’s Anatomy then Scandal- around 8:45 pm, I tell him If you haven’t stopped already for wine, don’t worry about it. So no wine. He arrived while I was finishing up watching Scandal. I shared some of his Black & Mild Woodtip- and we watched Ragnar and his brother Rollo fight, discussing the many forces at play in that particular episode.

We smoked a blunt. (I do believe in medicinal purposes) which I think I hit, maybe 5 times- I didn’t feel like smoking. I was tired. It was late. So we laid down. I slept in a pair of pajama pants, tank top, and t-shirt.  I tossed and turned. Considered getting up for my Trazodone, but decided to try breathing exercises. I finally got comfortable after putting my “boyfriend” also known as my body pillow between us.

When I woke up this morning, I had a weird- realistic recollection. I have the faintest memory of the feeling of someone pulling out. I thought maybe it was just some weird dream I had or something. But an odd feeling still resides. Talking on the phone with my friend this morning I look to my right and find a Trojan Magnum condom wrapper in my bed. These are clean sheets- fresh washed. He left behind the condom wrapper?!

So now I know… something happened. I can’t remember him giving me anything to ingest- other than the same blunt he smoked. I know I sleep sound- I’ve held my baby through the night while having night terrors. He took advantage of me. He raped me. I don’t think there is any other term for it. And if I were on the outside- I would be screaming report it!! But I’m sitting here, scared and alone. One friend said not to involve the police- it’ll only cause more chaos in my life. A male coworker urges to report it. I sit here waiting for my friend to wake up and see what she thinks. As a female, I’ve pushed aside many an inappropriate sexual experience (times I meant no but submitted for safety) but this time I feel like he got me. He targeted me. He raped me. I was raped.

 

 

Disappear into a Black Hole

It doesn’t matter what appears to have set off a downward spiral. Usually it’s something insignificant to others without BPD. They try to say it isn’t a big deal. “You’re such a strong woman with such a future- get over it” that one gets me bad. YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT SHIT?! Sorry about the language. What people see on the outside (contact tears, panic attacks disassociating) is nothing like what’s going inside. And some people with BPD can see the cycle- see the pain coming- know what is going on- and still it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. A line I use so often. I think I am trying to tell myself more than another. So while I’m going crazy on the outside- I am on the inside disappointed in myself on top of feeling the other emotions causing the break down.

I don’t want to write too much. I don’t want to get in the habit of blogging in crisis. Things get said that shouldn’t be. I want to educate others- but I don’t want them to have a front seat to my destruction. (it’s not attention seeking behavior – I wish I could disappear in to a black hole

-I’m not even proofreading this before posting… that act alone will erase this temporary calm I have (I wrote this blog) and I’ll be gone again.