I wouldn't describe today as good or bad. It was, at times, difficult. Working toward a goal is rarely smooth sailing, easy-going or effortless unless you're someone who leads a charmed life. While my life has been amazing as of late, I am far from charmed.
A light day at work meant time for writing. I certainly welcome the opportunity to make progress on a book that I've spent the past ten years trying to write. As I attempted to acclimate to the section I wanted to work on, I realized that I not only need information from court transcripts to move forward with this book but that I also want them for my own peace of mind. I began attempting to track down the information I needed to order copies. I've attempted this several times over the years since the trials but never completed the process. Transcripts are costly and I could never justify the expense when I was working three jobs to support my sons. Thankfully, I'm in a different place at the moment, and I really don't care how much it costs — I will have copies of those three transcripts.
Believe it or not, I couldn't recall the actual dates of the trials. I know the first was in May of 2006, the second was in December of the same year, and the third was in June of 2008. It's taken a couple of hours, and several phone calls to track down the information, and relay it to the transcription firm. Now I wait for the estimate. Thankfully, these were not lengthy trials, but I know the transcripts are going to be thick as fuck, particularly the first one.
The worst part about this is realizing that the first asshole who won an appeal, which led to a second trial, can and has filed appeals since. The likelihood is he won't get it, but that doesn't really set my mind at ease. There are 23 years remaining on his 35-year sentence and I'd just prefer he served them uninterrupted.
I don't know that I could adequately convey what it is to spend the day with my rapists. Not physically, of course, but allowing them to be my focus — willingly letting them take up more of my life than they already have — well, you know there has to be a good reason. I'd love to say that I hadn't lost more time to these evil bastards than the years they've already taken, but in trying to write this book, I've had to surrender hours at a time going back to the hell they put me through that night and the many days in court. The only consolation is that it's my choice and it is on my terms.
Earlier, I came across a number of articles here in Cyberland, most of which I've read a dozen times, that detailed my case and subsequent trials. There was one I don't remember having seen before today and the words brought with them fresh stinging I hadn't anticipated. Given the amount of research I've done both on the subject of rape, as well as my own case, I guess I was just surprised I'd missed that piece.
Since the news that my case was solved arrived, I have slowly shared what happened with my sons. The biggest step, the most I had ever shared with them came when I drove them to see where I had lived, where I'd been abducted and then where I had been left this past summer. We don't talk about it much. I cannot begin to imagine what it is like for them to have a clear idea of what happened. My sons often tell me I don't tell them much about my life before them, I hadn't realized how little they've heard about the years I was growing up. Today, I let my youngest son read the article I'd found. I'm not sure if I was just hypersensitive to the situation or if he took as long to read it as it seemed. We haven't discussed it, with the exception of him saying "that's really messed up" before he retreated to his room. As unappealing as it is to me, they need to know the truth before I finish the book.
At the end of the day, I know this much: The emotional rollercoaster that I have spent the past 25+ years on won't ever end. I can and have built a happy life, but I know that no matter how many years separate my present from that night I will always suffer the same pain and more tears when the memories resurface. Why do I put myself through it then? There are so many reasons, but the most important right now is that rape culture has to end. In order for that to happen, survivors need to be understood, rape needs to be redefined and society-at-large needs to be educated — yes, even more than they have been up to this point.
Reading the articles on my story will likely always be a surreal experience. They don't tell the whole story, but they reveal enough details that it's automatic for me to fill in the gaps without even trying. While I want for people to understand that survivors, like myself, are capable of healing and living happy lives, I also find it necessary to emphasize that they are living a life sentence there is no parole or pardon from. It never goes away and there is no 100% healing. Rape leaves a permanent impression.
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