Thank you, guys. Thanks for the support, the kind words, for sharing in kind, Jan. I hope it doesn't come across as anything other than an admission when I say I don't feel strong or brave; to the contrary, I often feel weak. The openness fits into that. If you're at all like Jason, please don't interpret that to mean I'm inviting or hoping for some statement to the contrary. It's a feeling, right or wrong, it's my feeling. It doesn't make me appreciate what you've said any less.
In another show of being open, I have to say -realizing it is childish- that I am saddened by things Pweb related, meeting related, and otherwise, and that I need to go away for a bit -a few days, a week, I don't know- and get my s*** together. So instead of waiting until Thursday night/Friday morning, as I should if I want to properly pay respects to the big Two Year mark, I'm posting this now.
This is, should be, the most difficult to share. I'm not posting it as an image, on the off-chance that it offends or discomforts anyone. I'll do a writeup since I'm aware it's not entirely clear what's going on; please use this to determine for yourself whether or not you are responsible enough (I'm begging you, if you know you can't be nice, keep your mouth shut) or just plain willing to look.
I hesitate to call these panels...they're not the typical comic, nor do I actually see them that way, despite all appearances. But in the first, the ankles cuffed...that makes the list of one of the most humiliating times of my life, let alone this event, because of the way they spoke to me when I was wearing them, the way they took away my dignity by making near impossible something I learned as a toddler. They yelled quite a bit. I've been yelled at before, by my father, by members of the military but this was different. My stride was hindered, my feet were being cut into, I tripped over myself multiple times. People take for granted their ability to move freely, even in the simple task of walking. I felt them on my ankles, even after going home. Phantom cuffs.
The last panel, while you might think should have been the worst of them all, was the second worst. One of the first things they do when you're booked in is strip down to nothing to make sure the arresting officers didn't miss anything. Now, only one person sees this but this was not someone I gave permission to. That didn't matter, of course; my choices were decided for me when they changed their mind and "appear in court" became "You are under arrest." After the strip down, I was told to shower, still in front of a guard, and then dress in the colored suit. Mine was red, not orange like you see on TV. The different colors all meant something to the guards. Seriousness of crime, I think. I stood under the water crying and with my back to the guard. When I first undressed, it was me crying with my back to the guard. When I finished and got dressed (one red top, one red bottom, one pair of white underwear), I cried and did so with my back to the guard. I wanted to disappear, fold into myself. The things I had going in -jeans, white undershirt, earrings, ring, cross necklace, underwear, bra, lime green flip flops- were put in a paper bag. The clothes stayed there, the jewelry was placed on a strip of card stock and basically laminated, alongside my wallet -IDs pulled out- and cell phone. One officer, out of three, looked like he thought I was getting screwed over. He told me he'd grab my wallet and phone from the car after the cuffs were put on.
But, the worst moment of all was asking for my call. When I dialed the first time, my mom didn't pick up, so I had to try the house number instead of her cell. When that was answered, I had to sit through the Operator saying "You have received a call from an inmate at the *** County Jail, would you like to accept?" My brother answered and asked what the hell happened. Trying not to let my voice crack, trying not to cry, I asked him to hurry and get my mother on the phone. It had to have been about 3AM at that point...I forget and don't want to check the paperwork to figure it out. When she got on, I told her to please trust and believe in me, I'd explain later, I was really sorry for f****** up and not being a better person, and please call my boss. Tell her where I was, that I would call as soon as I could, to likewise try to trust and believe in me.
Those things made it sink in. If for no reason than that, than making me believe that I was really there, that it wasn't a dream or a joke, those are the most humiliating moments I had.
Humiliation.
I won't be checking in this thread unless I plan on posting a picture, so please don't feel like I'm ignoring your responses. And while it still is a sensitive subject, I am leaps and bounds more capable of dealing with it now than I was two years ago so if at any point questions arise, I'll do my best.
Right. I think that's all. See you in a few days/a week/whenever.
