At least I have choices.

I'm starting to hear back from graduate schools and the results haven't exactly been what I was hoping for. Don't get me wrong. It's great. I GOT IN. That is Freaking Awesome. Capital F, Capital A. And I got into more than one school. I have choices. That's even more amazing.

But I made a huge mistake. I got my heart set on one school and I got waitlisted.  Never get your heart set on a particular school. Big mistake.

That happened once when I applied to law school too, and I waited until the week before school started and I never heard a peep from them again. Nothing. Nadda.

University of Oregon waitlisted me, and I keep asking myself "Why?" What did I do wrong? I should have re-taken the GRE. They told me my score was fine. I shouldn't have gone by what the office said. I had way too much to overcome in my application and they probably hadn't reviewed it yet. They probably didn't realized how many deficiencies I had. Or maybe I blew the interview. Maybe there were trick questions. Maybe I didn't have the right answers. Maybe it was because I missed the phone call the first time around and had to call him back. What did I do wrong? I got into fancier schools, why not U of O? They even told me they are going to have a bigger class this year. Why not me?

I got the letter and I cried and cried and cried. I really wanted to go. If I had gotten an acceptance letter I would have dove out the front door with my bags packed and fled for the border right then!

Part of me thinks, well, if you do get in later, you'll really appreciate it.

And part of me thinks, maybe there's a reason you didn't get in. But I feel like I'm trying to convince myself. I really feel like it was the best fit for me and I don't know what to do now. I want to succeed at my new school and I am terrified I won't somewhere else. I don't want to fail. I'm totally freaked out. And literally have no idea where I should go. NO IDEA. There are bad things (and good things) about all of the remaining schools and I haven't heard from all of them yet. I am very nervous and anxious and worried.

U of O said I could send it one more recommendation letter to help my cause. I've already sent in FOUR. (Again, what have I done wrong?) What I know is lacking in my file is academic recommendations because I am a non-traditional student. I've been out of school a long time and been working in other fields. This is supposed to make me desirable though, not undesirable. But it also makes things like recommendation letters hard to come by. Only one out of those 4 letters was truly an academic reference.

I am still friends with a professor from my freshman year of collage-12 years ago. But she wrote one of my law school reference letters and I hesitate to ask her for another again. What do you think? It's only one letter, but she already did so much, and I did not succeed in law school. I failed, I didn't live up to the expectations she said I would in the first letter she wrote for me. I was a failure. It feels shameful to ask her again. It's been six years since she wrote me that letter but I still feel very embarrassed and not really right about it. Also, it would be short notice.

Here are the results of my applications so far, and the tuition rates for the schools I applied to, which has been a major source of anxiety for me. My FAFSA came back with a loan for only $20,500. Money is going to be a HUGE issue. I am not making it now. Moving somewhere expensive, going to an expensive school.... all huge problems. Schools are ranked in order of cost. The lower number is in-state tuition, which most of those numbers are wrong and the higher/second number is out of state tuition, which is mostly correct.

What do you think?

Panic Attacks

Despite the title of this post, and what I am about to tell you, I feel like I have been doing better. I feel more active, that I have the ability to be active. I just feel a little better. I feel a little more friendly. I even went and sat by the pool with a girl from the dog park today. How about that?! (Not in  swimsuit. I assure you, I wore way more clothes than necessary or appropriate for the circumstances.)

 That's good right?
Now to get into the nitty-gritty depressing stuff.

Last weekend I flew to DC for a wedding and a couple of engagement shoots. I was a little more organized than I have been in the past and wasn't hours late to the airport for once. As my friend said, I planned in time for me to freak out going through security. A lot of extra time.

(And drugs.)

Of course you hope you don't need it (the time, I know I need the anxiety medication), and I practiced breathing the whole time on the bus and on the walk in, and while I got my boarding pass.

In and out.

I wasn't calm by any means but was working really hard to control my anxiety and not think about Matt and his wife screaming obscenities inside my head and being afraid of someone hitting me or shooting me.

I was fairly calm (relatively speaking- not heaving with sobs) when I stepped into the body scanner, having taken my sweet time putting my stuff on the conveyor belt and stalling as long as possible. I did everything therapy has taught me to do- I focused on the tiny details, told myself I was safe, and tried to tune out the crazed screaming I always hear in my head in these moments of stress.

The thing scanned, I stepped out, breathed a sigh of slight relief and tried to run away. TSA stopped me. "I need to check your side."

I start to pant. I begin to heave out hysterical sobs. I can't talk.

She asks me if I am ok and I shake my head no and turn my head away. I can't look at her uniform. All I see is Him.

The full panic attack is setting in and I can't really control myself anymore. She is going to touch me and I can't stop her. Very calmly she says it's just probably the buttons on my sweater and tells me I am OK. She's just going to check my sweater. She asks me if I am ok again and I, hysterical, wildly shake my head no. I hold my sweater away from my body so she can touch my clothes instead of my body and she does it. She touches my sweater and doesn't touch my body and then says I can go.

I was so relieved she didn't touch me. I was so scared. Touch is painful. It is violating. Everything he did to me was wrong, and against my will, had I known. He tricked me into doing things based on false information. He wrapped his arms around me, hugged me, looked into my eyes and told me he loved me. And they were all lies. He told me I saw safe with him and I wasn't. He handcuffed me, he took me away against my will. He lied to my face, over and over. Be brought a gun into my home. He was a liar and he was evil. He made touch evil and violating and wrong. Because every time he touched me, hugged me, held my hand, he was being evil. He was. So how do I differentiate between safe touches and love and what he did, when I thought he was being so loving and caring with me, and he was really just hurting me, over and over?

I sobbed in the bathroom, per usual, cleaned myself up, and began the next anxiety- loading onto the plane and making sure I would not be forced into sitting next to a man. The flight there it was okay. The flights were mostly half empty and that means safety for me. Women are safe, empty seats are safe.

The trip was okay until the night before I came home. I drove around an hour looking for parking in downtown DC at 11:00pm at night after driving 5 hours and shooting a 6 hour wedding and was just exhausted. When I finally found a place to park- where I could only park 4 hours and was blocks from where I was staying (with thousands of dollars of equipment on me), I just lost it, and had a full out panic attack in the parking lot. I cried and cried for an hour. It was awful and I felt like I was never going to calm down.

But I did. I reached out to a couple friends for soothing and they helped me get checked back in.

I was up at 2:30am and out of the lot by 3am so I wouldn't get charged extra.

Getting to the airport was stressful, returning my rental car frustrating and I was really tired by the time I got through security ( best trip so far- they didn't touch me and I cried less than 10 minutes in the bathroom afterwards! Success!) and on the plane. I was SO blessed that the plane was really empty and I got the entire aisle all to myself on the first two legs of the trip home.

The last leg was not so good. I kept hearing mutterings that the plane was full, and although I breathed a sigh of relief when a woman sat in the aisle seat, I was so anxious about who would take that middle seat. The first flight I took after I found out the truth, I had a full on panic attack on the plane and spent an hour in the back of the plane, hysterical, being fed Dramamine and wine by the stewardess. I was passed out before I even realized I had drunk alcohol, I was so out of it and hysterical. The stewardess was just doing whatever she could to calm me down and relax me.

Just as the cabin door was about to close, a man stepped on to the plane, and before I could stop her, the woman on the aisle seat offered him our middle seat. I practically jumped out of my seat and sat so tense I was shaking. But we were pulling out and heading down the runway before I could even think of what I should do or say.. What do you say? It's a freaking full flight, I'm crying, shaking, scared to buckle my seatbelt be trapped next to this man, who is obviously a monster just based on his sex alone. He's going to press his body up against me this whole flight and who knows what else. WHAT DO I DO???

As we are speeding down the runway I debate with myself as to what I should do. Ultimately I buckle my seat belt, carefully tuck my sweatshirt in between our seats so he can't touch me, accidentally or otherwise. I took my Dramamine and my Xanax and was passed out cold before we hit cruising altitude. I woke up in a panic, again when we landed hours later.

When it was time to disembark, the guy stays in his seat while I squish myself against the window with all my bags willing for him to get up. Finally I ask him if he's getting up and he said he was just letting the other people off first, but HELLO, they are milling around, packing their bags, they are not in a hurry, and if you don't get OUT OF MY WAY, I am going to climb over the top of this seat and run screaming off the plane!

(Didn't actually say that, but I almost did, and if he had not gotten his butt in gear in the next 15 seconds, I seriously, would have climbed over the top of  the seat to get the freak away from him.

I was so glad to get home and away from all of these situations that are so scary for me now. Normal situations.. and yet, so scary. I really am not normal, and my reactions are not normal, and this is not me. I am controlled by my trauma.

So anyway, I feel like I'm doing so much better. LOL

The First Public Panic Attack

I know. Such an exciting post title. I'm sure you're all squirming in your seats. But trust me, it's not half as titillating as when I tell you about how I got pulled over. Again.

But back to this story.

Over Christmas I went to visit my dad and his wife in southern California. I stayed with them, and brought Charlie Brown, Amelia and Toulouse. We all road in the car together for many hours. Everybody avoiding pooping or peeing on each other, which was excellent, however, Charlie howled for the first four hours of the six hour drive and only stopped when I covered him entirely with a baby blanket, wrapped my arm around him, and patted his butt continuously. Did I mention this was AFTER I gave him Xanax? (Prescribed by his vet for the drive.)

 yes, that is the dog sitting on my lap, HOWLING as we drive down the highway.

Anyway, we made it to LA. Charlie and Toulouse had a good time using the entire house to play chase in, which is much bigger than our tiny house at home, and Amelia made use of the double closet, which was empty so she could hide in it from both of those lunatics.

Pbbt.

At some point during the trip, my dad, Andrea and I went out to our favorite restaurant, the Blue Agave. It's a southwestern restaurant in Yorba Linda and I've been going there since I was 10 or 11 years old. It's my absolute favorite. I was excited to go.

On the way there, I sort of belatedly realized... I didn't think I had actually been in a sit down restaurant since before Matt.

Oh...

I wasn't entirely sure, so I figured, well, it would be fine. Plus I was excited and this was a place I had been going for years. I knew exactly what to expect. I even knew all of the servers because they were all the same people who had waited on us, seriously, for over a decade. A waitress [also] named Andrea is our favorite. (My mother's name is Andrea too. And it's my middle name. And my sister's middle name. And my other sister's middle name. COUGH.)

We were a few blocks from the restaurant when my dad's Andrea took a call from her oldest son Joe saying he wanted to join us. I first felt uncomfortable in her just getting a call from him. Christmas last year my dad tried to arrange for me to stay at the house alone and have Joe come over and hang out for a couple hours while he and Andrea went to a dance lesson. I went in hysterics and my dad walked out of the room and shut the bedroom door, unsure what to do with me. He's a nice guy, but I don't know him at all, I have mass anxiety around men, and he's very touchy. He gives hugs. He sits close, he's very friendly and outgoing. All things that are WAY outside my comfort zone right now. I've only met him 2 or 3 times in the last 5 years Andrea has been in the picture and they act like we're all best buds. And then they tell me these stories about him getting drunk and walking on his girlfriend's car and getting arrested and having restraining orders...

So, I'm tense. Then she say's he's coming too. I try to breathe. It will be fine. I just need to think about how to make sure he sits by them and not me at the table. It will be fine as long as he doesn't sit by me. I take slow, deep breaths in the car and think about how I can possibly DIVE into the booth once we get in the restaurant. We always sit in the same area, so, I just prep myself: I can DO this.

But I'm tense.

We get in and my dad makes a beeline past the hostess station to the crowded and noisy bar. I ask him where he's going and he says we can  wait in here. My anxiety level goes up another 10 notches. It's crowded, it's loud, and the space is really tight. People are drinking. The only place to sit are at high tables on high chairs. Very uncomfortable and very crowded. People bump into me. I try really hard to not "wipe off" their touches on my sweater. But okay, we're just going to wait in here. My dad and Andrea sit down on either side of me, so I feel a little protected since they "surround" me.

We talk a little, and Andrea talks to Joe again. Somebody says something about eating in the bar.

"HUH?" I say.

My dad informs me we are eating in the bar now.

In the almost 18 years we've been coming here, I've never even BEEN in the bar, let alone eaten in it. Why in the heck would we eat in here? I don't drink, Andrea can't drink (she had an organ transplant) why would we eat in the bar?! I tell him I'd really rather eat in the restaurant. Why would anyone want to eat in here? It's crowded, it's loud. Let's go in the restaurant. My anxiety doubles again. I can feel myself break out in a sweat and I start to get a little shaky. This is not the plan. This is not what I was anticipating. I look around at the room full of men staring at the TV screens and my skin starts to crawl. My dad is not responding to my questions and requests. Then he does the worst thing.

He got up.

He got up from that protective seat next to me, so I was in between him and Andrea, and moved next to Andrea, leaving one empty seat next to me. So when Joe would arrive, he would be sitting next to me, because now we were eating in the bar.

I started to shake. I'm sweating, I'm shaking, my eyes are welling up with tears and I'm trying REALLY hard to keep my breathing under control.

What's going to be worse? Sitting next to touchy- overly-friendly Joe? Or telling these two, who totally do not understand your PTSD at all, that you need them to move back into the seating arrangement they were just in because you can't sit next to her kid?

The chip I had had halfway up to my mouth before my dad moved is on the table now, being smashed into teeny tiny pieces as I try to cope with my almost-exploding anxiety. I can't eat it. I can't sit there. I don't know what to do. Nobody is noticing how incredibly uncomfortable I am.

I decide to speak up and say, "I need you to move back to where you were sitting."

"What?"

Absolutely shaking, I say, "I'm sorry," (crying) "It has nothing to do with Joe, but I can't sit next to men. I can't. I am afraid to. I can't do it. I need you to sit where you were before. I can't do this. It is really scary and upsetting to me." (Or something like that.)

My dad gets this really irritated, almost angry look on his face and almost starts to roll his eyes at me. Then Andrea turns to me and says, "It's JUST Joe!" with this patronizing tone.

And I was gone. GONE. I flipped my drink off the table, I think I almost knocked the entire TABLE off, and started to hyperventilate so loud everybody at least on that side of the room turned to stare. I half fell, half ran off my bar stool to get out of the room. It was like trying to run after being spun a 1,000 times while playing pin the tail on the donkey; I was so dizzy. Panting like I was screaming, crying like I was screaming, I made it to the bathroom only because it was so close and I knew exactly where it was from going to the restaurant for so many years. The noises I made in there were SCARY. The hyperventilating- it was just, it was SCARY. I couldn't breathe, I felt like I was dying.

As soon as I got in the stall a woman who must have been in there started asking me if I was okay, and I just could not answer because i physically could not speak. I didn't have a word in my head. I couldn't have told you my name at that point I was so far gone. I stood in that stall for at least thirty minutes with my head between my knees trying to bring myself back down. It was incredibly humiliating, and one of the worst panic attacks that I have had since the very beginning. And the only one I have ever really had in public where I couldn't get away. Worst of all, Andrea kept coming in and trying to talk to me through the door and insisting I answer her, claiming she "didn't know if it was me" and it would be "so embarrassing" if it wasn't me, on and on. Like I could really talk when I couldn't even breathe. I was crying so hard I wasn't even producing tears. I had no control over myself at all. And when I would regain some control, another wave would start up again, and then I would just be "gone" again. It was awful. Just thinking about how awful it was makes me upset NOW, more than two months later!

Eventually on one of Andrea's numerous trips in and out of the bathroom I calmed enough to unlock the stall and let her in, apologize and emphasize it had NOTHING to do with Joe personally. NOTHING. She kept asking if I wanted her to call him and tell him not to come or should we leave and how mad my Dad was I had run into the women's restroom so he couldn't follow me. I told her Joe could come, we didn't have to leave,  I just couldn't sit next to him, but she told him not to come anyway and we went back to the bar after a very long while. They had set up an entirely different table because of the mess I had made knocking over the other table and drinks and stuff and I saw people stare when I came back in. My dad asked it I was alright, and then wanted to know what was wrong, and then went on to say that I didn't tell him what was wrong, or talk to him openly about this stuff, and i had given him no indication there was a problem. I start feeling anxious again....I can feel my face heat up blushing, palms sweat and I try to breathe. I'm already so hyped up...

I try very calmly to explain to my dad about my triggers and what happened and what let up to my running out. Almost immediately he starts interrupting making jokes. After the third or fourth interruption and wise crack, I interrupt HIM.

I told him that this is why I don't talk to him as openly as I do Mom. He doesn't make it easy for him to talk to. He just asked me to talk to him openly and he won't even ALLOW me to. I just need him to sit there and listen and he won't stop interrupting. I'm so upset and he's making jokes. It's disrespectful. I tell him it makes it hard to be open and that with Mom, this never even would have happened because she is so in tune to my issues that she never would have changed seats to begin with. She never would have put me in that position. She asks me how I'm doing beyond a once every six months, "So is therapy helping? Okay, uh... good."

My dad says that, well, the whole thing makes him uncomfortable and making jokes is his way to ease his discomfort. I tell him that's all fine and good, but if he's going to do that, then I can't be open because he's not LETTING me.

It was awkward.

We made it through the meal and I managed to eat something, but all I really wanted to do was leave. And by leave, I mean run back to the house, grab all of my crap and go back home, to MY home. It was awful. AWFUL.

Luckily the dog did much better on the drive home.

:(

Talking about it in therapy afterwards, and with my mom, I talked A LOT about how much Andrea really hit the final nail there. The patronizing tone, the "It's JUST Joe." All these subliminal messages:

"You're making a big deal out of nothing.
This isn't a big deal.
Don't be a drama queen.
Your issues don't matter.
This isn't important.
You're just trying to ruin the evening.
You're trying to make this about you.
You're being dramatic.
That's stupid.
You're silly.
This is dumb.
You're ridiculous.
This doesn't matter.
This isn't a big deal!!"

On and on. It was a HUGE deal and it took a HUGE amount of courage for me to say anything to them about 1.) why are we sitting in the bar, and 2.) I need you to change seats and the belittling sounding comment... It was so incredibly difficult for me to speak up and the total lack of recognition of a problem and the realization that there was NO SUPPORT there put me over the edge. I was at a 12 on a 1-10 scale already and that heaping extra cup of "It's JUST Joe!" in that tone... Put me to a 20... when the max number was a 10.

I was hysterical.

My mom said that maybe it was good. She said that I look and sound so normal so much of the time that maybe them seeing something like that was good in that it served as a reminder that I am not okay. I am sick. That maybe it would be a wake up call to them.  ... Maybe.

It was definitely a wake up call to me. I realized that I really do live in a "safety bubble" of, I guess what you could call "approved activities" that I feel okay and comfortable doing, and doing something so far out of the box really was something I was not comfortable with and I paid for it. But as long as I operate within my "safety bubble" I can look and act like a normal person. but if you take me out... I'm like a fish out of water and I can't breathe. (Literally even.)

PS: I know my header has suddenly become out of focus/pixelated in the last couple of months and I have no idea why. I can just re-upload it, but I need to find the original and I'm not sure what computer it's on. It's driving me crazy too. :(

More Airport Drama

I flew to Southern California on Saturday for my high school reunion. The whole day sort of started out on the wrong foot; I forgot my dog's shot records at home and the boarder wouldn't take him without the updated records in hand (no faxes) and I had to drive all the way back home with the dog to get it, drive him back, check him in, and then dash to the airport.

When I got there, I found they had moved Southwest from the old terminal to a new one, with a tram and a huge who-knows how many stories vaulted ceiling interior with glass windows- fancy. Like Dulles. Also like Dulles, it has a tram. (Gosh what a waste of money for such a small airport that never has any lines!)I was thrown off right from the start, and it only got worse when I got to security.

They didn't have the old metal detectors... They only had the new ones that scan your whole body. The kind I am afraid of and had to have therapy sessions specifically for last February (when I went to Las Vegas for WPPI) to prepare... and then didn't have to go through them.

 

Images of body scans... Some are fake, some are real, I don't know which are which, but all look horrible to me.

I broke out in a cold sweat and was afraid I was going to freak out when I realized there was no getting out of this and that I was going to have some strange man look at some scan of my body and I would have to raise my hands over my head. (Which is awful for me because it makes my chest feel very exposed).

But... I did it. Which is huge. I managed not to get hysterical or cry noticiably. Great.

Then when I got through the other side I was greeted immediately by a TSA officer who said I needed to be patted down and be searched.

Goodbye Emily.

I flipped.

Hysterical, crying, hyperventilating, panting. They got me to a bench with my head between my knees, but I was getting that black tunnel vision you get right before you pass out. It was bad. Really bad. I had three officers guarding me on the bench while I was panicking, and when I calmed enough to hear them, they led me into a back room to be searched and patted. HYSTERICAL. Full blown panic attack and there was just no even reasoning with me. I was gone. The panic just took over. You could have said anything, I just wasn't "there." It was awful. Being touched by them was horrible and violating. I saw Matt in my head the whole time and shook with fear.

This isn't the person I was, or am... I guess maybe it is the person I am now. Flying, going through security, a pat down... not a problem before. Now it's an ordeal so awful I can't even function.

Fears

There are alot of things I am afraid of right now. Real-life things- like men, being touched, police officers... and then there are things in my future I am afraid of or for. They almost haunt me. I think about them quite a bit and worry. I didn't use to have too many fears for my future, but now they are things I think about way too much. Going through trauma has changed me in ways I don't like, but it happened and that's a fact. My therapist has told me that fears like these keep me safe for right now while I heal, and once things are better, I will push those boundaries to a new level I am comfortable with. I still worry it won't ever happen. Are there things you worry about like this?

I am afraid things will always be exactly as they are now. That my life will be awful, that I will always be trapped in my house and things will never, ever change.

I am afraid I will never be comfortable being touched again.

I worry about how I will ever date if when I try to think about it, I scream and push away- even in my day dreams- just at the thought of holding hands.

I am afraid I won't ever trust anyone in the way I used to. That I won't ever be able to believe.

That I won't ever have children, a family, or fufill any of the lifelong dreams I have had about my life.

I am afraid of never being happy.

I am afraid of always being afraid.

I am afraid that I will never fall in love with someone else the way I did with Matt, and never meet someone who I have a connection with as strong as the connection was between him and I.

That I will never move on.

***************************

Are you kidding me?

The investigator just emailed me out of the blue and said that he needed to meet with me- this week preferably to have me sign some memoranda from our interview. He said he could mail it, but he would prefer we meet. My head is spinning, I feel dizzy and sick, so tired. I have questions for him; I'd rather meet him in person too, but I keep having visions of vomiting in a trash can outside a Starbucks when I see him while my friend who I have conned into coming with me (why, hello Amanda) looks on horrified. I kind of had a big dinner tonight, turkey sandwich and urban fries... I want to go throw them up. I just feel so sick. My anxiety is so high.. it's like I drank a ton of caffeine, but I am not shaky, just.. my head is spinning. I feel SO sick.

Ughhh.

 Source: http://www.etsy.com/listing/73739086/8x10-recycled-art-print-never-go-with-a

As far as I can tell, they are still working on the "investigation."  As far as I can tell, anyway. 

The last email I had from the sergeant he said that they were at a"pivotal point in the investigation" and that they were  approaching the point of "active engagement." That was a couple weeks ago.

I emailed the sergeant last night some dates he requested- he wanted to know the exact dates that Matt had pulled me over "for fun," and I wasn't sure so I had to research it. I was able to narrow down the dates using email and calendars, but couldn't go beyond that without further help. I ended up having to play hardball with the cell phone company to get my records so I could go through them day by day to pick out a conversation I know I had with my friend Kristin in Utah the day the pull-over/stop happened. She and I were talking on the phone while I was driving out to meet Matt for a lunch date and Matt kept beeping into the conversation. I went through the records day by day within the narrowed down dates until I found a series of calls that matched up with my memory, which I did. I passed that information along to the sergeant. 

He responded to me today, thanked me for the research and said that he would check it against what they had already uncovered- something like that. 

So I'm not entirely sure at this point if Matt knows or not. The good thing is nothing has happened so far if he does. I am getting more comfortable and confidant in leaving the house and I am not so afraid. The bad thing is I have had a number of hang ups from a blocked number on my cell phone. It could just be my Mom, but it's making me uncomfortable... The first three weeks following the interview my phone was broken and I was, for all intents and purposes, protected from the outside world because of it. No calls from parents, investigators or friends. No client calls. No text messages. No middle of the night calls from my night owl buddy to startle me out of sleep. It was like being in a cocoon of safety. And an excuse to keep everyone at an arm's length too. I needed that space. Not only could I "not" talk to anyone because my phone was physically broken (drowned in the dog's water bowl) but I wasn't really capable of doing so, and having this 'excuse,' if you want to call it that, protected me. Fewer questions, more hibernating. I needed that for myself. 

It's been a month now, and I'm starting to come out of my hole. I only worry that I'm becoming comfortable with a false sense of safety- if he doesn't know yet, if his family is unaware, this could blow up at any time and I won't be prepared. 

(Of course, that's why I have an attack beagle.)

My secondary worry with the situation at present time is whether they will be able to verify what I have told them [the investigators]. I hope so. That's one my top 5 list of worst nightmares- not being believed. I want them to find everything I have told them, just as I said it would be. I want to be a good eyewitness. I want to be accurate in everything I remembered. Part of me is terrified I have remembered things wrong. I question myself, it's all so serious, you can't help but do so. Did he really sign his name with the fake name on the credit card receipts? Did he really wear that name tag? Yes, that's what I remember... I can picture him signing the slip in my head... I can see the name tag on his uniform now even... But what if they go and find the receipts at the restaurant I told them to go to and it's not signed with the fake name? What if it's signed with the real name? What if I just thought it had the fake name on it? What if he altered the way he signed his real name to make it look like he was signing his pretend name? Or what if I had the restaurant wrong? What if it was a different restaurant where he signed with the pretend name and I sent them on a wild goose chase? I am so worried they won't be able to verify what I have told them.  And I don't think I can ask if they have been successful so far. Mentally, I just don't think I can... and even if I could... I don't think they would or could answer.

I am so worried.

Made a Big Boo Boo

I posted the link to my blog on my Facebook account for a couple of hours... and I blocked a number of people from seeing my wall and updates, but not everybody... and, well, since nobody responded to the post I wrote, I thought that nobody saw the link and so I deleted it.

Then some people have casually brought this blog up in conversation.  And, the hits on this blog spiked by 300%.

COUGH, COUGH, HACK, HACK.

I think I'm going to die.

I don't know how ready I am for people to know everything that happened this last year. I mean, I posted the link. I asked for it. I started trying to tell people beyond the like, 10 that knew the whole story, but the ones I started confiding in didn't respond in ways I expected or hoped- like the confidential email I sent someone who never responded or acknowledged it, and when I checked in to make sure they got it, all they said was they had and that they were busy. (Um, okay....? Thanks for the support?) 

It makes me feel really vulnerable and revisit those feelings of right after everything happened and I told one of my best friends and she promptly disappeared from my life. Literally. I broke my foot a few days after I went to the house by walking into a couch at a friend's house while essentially being babysat until I could start the outpatient program at Kaiser because of all this. That "best friend" ding dong ditched crutches on my porch and has never been seen or heard from again. She heard what Matt did to me, made some nasty, snide comments, and POOF'd from my life. I've called, texted, sent her a holiday card... I have no idea what happened. I guess that saying "You find out who your friends are" holds true... I didn't think it would happen to me though. Of course, I didn't think any of this would. I never thought I'd live a day of my life without Matt. I thought he never would, and never could, hurt me. I was wrong.

Posting that link, I'm afraid it's going to put me at risk for more of those things happening and it scares me. I cannot handle the lack of support. I lost the most important person in my life- my partner, and people need to recognize that part of it first and foremost before anything else. I have spent unbelievable amounts of time trying to cope with comments other people have made about him, and not dealing with the situation itself, or taking care of myself and that's not helpful.

I am terrified of not being able to control who finds out. So far, the people who have found out are people I specifically told. If I told someone, I told them individually. Not their spouse, not their friend, I told them individually and told them not to repeat it. That has been honored up to this point. The majority of followers of this blog are not people I know in real life and I take enormous comfort in that. The clients of my business predominately do not know. One or two who were around when it happened know, but that's it. The rest have vague bits of information that I lost Matt but they don't know how or why. Some think he died, others that we  broke up. If they ask, I don't clarify, and simply say it's too upsetting to talk about, because it is. I can't have a professional relationship with my clients if they know I have a panic attack when I go to the grocery store. If I'm in work mode, I'm in work mode, and I can do it and it's fine. But if I shift gears into the victim that I have been for the last year, I can't function, and I can't let that shift happen while I'm with clients. I don't know if I'd be able to stop myself from shutting down if that shift started.

I have come a long way, but I don't know if I'm ready for this level of openness, because there's a level of vulnerability that will go hand in hand with it. If people I know in real life know what happened, then inevitably, they will tell other people that I know... people I didn't choose to tell. Who may make judgements about things they don't know about or understand, or when they don't know the full story. I am terrified of being judged. I didn't know... I didn't know the truth about Matt, any of it, until the day I found out, and the day I exposed him. But that didn't stop some woman in group therapy from accusatorily saying to me, "And you DIDN'T know he was married with a baby?" in a nasty tone... I'm afraid someone I know will say or think something like that about me. Or take her or their side. But I didn't know... I didn't know... I never knew, and when I knew.. I told. And I'm not the one whose allowing my child to be raised by someone who is so disrespectful to women... a criminal...who committed forgery, committed identity theft, ... I'm not someone who is overall teaching their daughter that it's okay to be in an emotionally and verbally abusive marriage (with HER [wife] being the verball abuser) and that it's okay to be cheated on. That THAT is a good example to provide and live.

When I told her she already knew. She had confronted him multiple times. Me, I never suspected a thing until the day it all unraveled. He cheated on her for half their marriage. He and I started dating when their daughter was 10 days old. We said our "I love you's" right after their wedding anniversary. She knows all of those facts. WHY would you stay in a marriage like that? What kind of a marriage IS that? The day after the house (the day I went to their house and told her her had been living a double life) we emailed and she told me she was "still so in love with her husband" and that "she got married for forever, not just a little while." How long do you think HE got married for? You took vows... How quickly did he break his? What kind of a marriage do you HAVE? You don't have one! You don't have honesty, fidelity, love, honor... what the hell is there? I would NEVER stay in that relationship, and I would not want my daughter to think that it was okay for a man to ever treat me or another woman- even if it was the "other woman"- like that! It's not okay to tell another woman you're another man, with a fake life- fake parents- fake home, fake job--- what the hell?
At the same time, I understand why you would want to stay... but I would never, ever make that choice. Especially with a child, and most certainly not with a daughter to set an example for.

Despite all of those things, some people want to demonize me, make those two- Matt and his wife- the innocent parties in this? Huh? Like I had anything to do with making the situation what it was? I AM the victim, and it is okay that I am the victim. His wife should have been one too, but she chose to stay in the disfunctional relationship and there are going to be penalities she's going to suffer because of that. I was very uncomfortable in persuing any type of action against Matt because of her- I did not want her to be affected, but what I was told at therapy, in outpatient, group... when she chose to stay with him, she also chose to suffer the consequences of his actions right along with him, and she was entitled to make that choice. So let her. That's what she wanted.  I've called over 30 law firms at this point. I've been told to go to WEAVE and VIVA for help. I'm not the bad guy in this, I'm the victim, and that's okay. And no matter what people say to me, I have to hold on to the facts of what happened, and that is, I was a victim. And this was not my fault.



I am so incredibly afraid of not being supported. My family did not stand up for me and was not there for me after it happened... I can't take any more hurt. Especially right now, when I am finally trying to take back my life.

Frustrated and wanting more.

I took the time to email the investigator the remainder of the information that had not been reviewed in the interview, and forward him all of the images of accidents they had asked for. What did I get in return?

"Received by Sergeant So and So."

That was it.  For ALL of them, including the at least two page note including additional facts and details that had been missed the first time around. I could have used a little more than that. How about a, 'thank you for the additional information, I will add it to our notes, we will contact you if we need more'? Something more than RECEIVED?

I would have been okay with the received until I got the last email from him maybe 30 minutes to an hour later responding to a secondary note I included about the time Matt pulled me over "for a non-enforcement reason" as they called it. I also asked if I could be notified before or when Matt finds out about everything so I would be prepared in case he or someone in his family contacted me. He did respond to that, but what he said was No, and that Matt would be told to not contact me.

 I'm sorry, but that's not good enough. I want to know if he's going to find out about this in six months or in six weeks or six days.  I can't sit here for the next however many weeks not knowing if he knows, and watching my back! I can't drive into Woodland (where he lives!) and meet clients and shoot weddings (of which I have TWO this year) and be afraid if he or his family sees me that they'll come after me because they'll know I turned him in. I can't, I can't, I can't. Not good enough. I need more information, I need to prepare. I feel seriously freaked out and I really do not trust the investigators anymore. I didn't trust them to begin with, but now I feel so freaked out I really don't. I know that I am triggering right now, and getting myself all upset over something probably someone else wouldn't, (gee, thanks Kaiser for the over-education), but this feels real to me and my concerns feel real. Just telling Matt, "You better not contact her!" and waggling their index fingers isn't good enough!

I want an attorney. I feel panicky. I want to file civilly, I want to do it quickly, before he has time to react to this. But I feel like it's already too late to do that because I already interviewed and turned him in.

::waving hands wildly in the air like a hysterical person::

I'm not ready for all this crap, I can't deal with it, I want it to all go away. Make it go away, I can't do it. Somebody else, please, PLEASE just take care of it. Just make it go away. I am begging you, make it go away. I can't freaking handle it for one more second, I need a break! I have been up all night worrying and stressing, I just can't settle down. I just want it to stop. Make it go my way. Please. Make it go my way. Protect me and make it all be okay. Why can't I just know that it will?

Betrayal: After the Interview

Maybe if I can just.. think of him as having really passed away. If he is really gone, if he is not on Earth any more, than what I have done has not betrayed him. If I can just accept that he is gone and doesn't exist anymore and that this isn't him, that I am not talking about him, that I did not sit in that room, and shake and cry and tell those officers all of the things he did... maybe it will be better. If I can just grieve him, grieve my loss of him, and just miss him in the way my heart misses him, then maybe the pains and pangs of betrayal and hurt won't be so terrible. It is so terrible. I can't even tell you how terrible it is. When I left the house, the last thing I did was listen to Stephanie Nielson's video from her blog, as I have many times, and I drew peace from that. I've seen it so many times I didn't need to watch it. I walked out of the house thinking, "He is at my right hand and at my left. My right hand and at my left. My right and my left. Right and left. Right and left. Right and left." Over and over again. It is one of the most terrible things I have ever done.

"When suffering, we may in fact be nearer to God than we’ve ever been in our entire lives. That knowledge can turn every such situation into a would-be temple.


Regarding our earthly journey, the Lord has promised:

I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up. [D&C 84:88]


That is an everlasting declaration of God’s love and care for us, including—and perhaps especially—in times of trouble."

Elder Holland

Today is the big day.

This morning I will be going in for my interview with two of the investigating sergeants. We are meeting at an engineering firm in a business/industrial district that has no affiliation with the CHP or the state as far as I can tell. I have no idea how they managed to coordinate doing this interview on private property. It is pretty strange.

My mother flew in this afternoon and will be there for at least part of the interview for moral support. I asked the sergeant if it was okay that she be there and he was actually really negative and discouraged her presence. This was primarily due to the same concerns I had- that I would hold back or edit myself in front of her; their concerns were about being able to ask me absolutely anything they wanted to, apparently. (Whatever that means?) He also said she absoutely cannot speak or emotionally react to anything that is said, that I can't be comforting or dealing with her. There are honestly some things I really don't want to talk about in front of her and have debated about her presence. I have a friend who I really, REALLY wanted there (Al) but she can't because she's not local so I guess I should be grateful my mom could be there.

Mormon missionaries stopped by today while I was going through old letters between Matt and I. I thought the timing funny.

Having some problems with my mom triggering anxiety episodes in me. My mom is conservative and proper, but at the same time I'm her adult daughter, so she thinks certain things are okay to do in front of me and they just really upset me. Like she started changing her clothes in front of me. And her feet were bothering her after she got up from a nap and so she was trying to stretch them and they were up in the air, and it just was a very awkward body position.... She also has this habit of always sitting in the car with her hand between her knees/thighs and because her legs are so short, it has always bothered me just because of how it looks, even though she is just tucking her hand between her knees to keep it warm as a habit. Like someone would sit on their hands. All of these things, together and as a whole, all trigger red flags of *SEXUALITY*  and completely and totally freak me out. Honestly, when she started to change her clothes I cried and had to stand up and face the wall and ask her to stop. I felt like a lunatic. Like, seriously, it's my mom changing clothes to go to the dog park. Or she's stretching her leg. Or warming her hand, and it all means, like nothing, but when I see those things, instead of seeing normal things someone does in private, my whole body freaks out and screams something sexual is going on and I need to run away because something very bad and very wrong is happening. It is totally and absolutely because of Matt.

We had this little breakthrough over the weekend, I remembered this instance when I had hugged Matt when he was on duty and he had his bullet proof vest on and he made kind of an "Awwww, shucks!" noise and I asked him what was wrong and he said because of his vest he couldn't feel my body the same way when he hugged me. Basically, he made hugging, a totally normal, platonic, but loving act as partly sexual. This is probably why hugging has been such a trigger to me and why it upsets me so much. My sister's long term boyfriend/partner hugged me goodbye over Christmas and I had a panic attack in the car and couldn't stop wiping my chest, like I couldn't get myself clean, I couldn't get the flithy shame and dirt off my body even though nothing happened... that it was innocent.  I've progressed to the point where I can tolerate a hug without the other person realizing how upset I am (this is primarily with men) and keep calm, but in my head, it is all hysteria still. But outwardly, I am handling it much better these last few months.

Anyway, going through all those letters and papers the last couple of days in preparation of this, and it bringing all of that stuff up again and basically triggering it. So my mom doing those things is absolutely making me hysterical. I am so grossed out and feel dirty and want to scream. For absolutely ridiculous, nonsense reasons.  Just don't ever put on a sweatshirt or something in front of me or brush your hair or I might pass out in terror thinking you're trying to assault me.  I mean, come on! But... I am so serious. I feel sick, I feel so disgusting.

My therapist said (before my mom even got here or any of those things happened) that I am just being triggered right and left because of the interview. I spent the last 24 hours trying to confirm the person doing the interview really is who he says he is. I couldn't find him on the state's website and I was having these overwhelming feelings of paranoia that he wasn't a real police officer, because why else couldn't I find him on the website? After spelling his name about 20 different ways I finally got it to come up, but it really didn't provide any relief in my anixety.

I am just so afraid for tomorrow. (/This morning)

Not what I expected

The sergeant conducting the investigation called me day before yesterday. I have to have an in-person interview. I did not take it so well, to say the least.

They are being fairly accommodating, and he said they would not come in "black and whites" (patrol cars?) and I asked if they would have to wear uniforms and he said they wouldn't. He said we could do it in a public place, but semi-private so it wouldn't be embarrassing for me if I got emotional. There will be two sergeants there, and the second sergeant is a woman, which will be helpful for me. I still have so many problems being around men... I appreciated that. He said it would be recorded and that we could do it in my home. (Which I totally and adamantly declined. No way. I do not want that memory of them being in my home. It would feel violating, and I already feel confused enough because I feel like I am betraying the man I was in love with and in a relationship with, my partner, by doing this. I don't want them in my home. Also, it looks like a hoarder lives here. Nobody wants or needs to see that.)

I really felt like I wanted somebody there with me, and when I was talking to my mom about the interview she just announced (without me asking or expressing it) that she was buying plane tickets and would come to be with me. On the one hand it was such a huge relief. I can't believe my family is finally coming through for me and finally, without even asking is just being there to support me, done and done. On the other hand, I am worried about having to discuss some aspects of what happened in front of my mom. I'm not sure I am comfortable with that. I haven't told her everything and there are some things you just don't talk about in front of your parents. There are lines and boundaries and I am sure those things are things that will come up and I don't know if I should ask her to leave for those parts or just buck up and talk about it in front of her. It kind of makes me think about Elizabeth Smart. Her parents, in all these years never knew what happened to her or what the Barzee's did to her until she got up on the stand and testified at the trial. She never told them and they never asked. It's the same kind of thing. Like the handcuff thing. He handcuffed one of my wrists once as a joke. I don't want to tell my parents that. I don't know if I can speak totally freely in front of her but on the other hand I want someone there and she already bought the tickets.

I am terrified of doing this. I never thought I would have to be interviewed in person. I thought the big event here would be a phone call or a letter in the mail confirming details. I never thought this would be part of it. I wasn't prepared for this. I just laid in bed and cried after I talked to the field supervisor and he told me. I also went and got the stuff to make turkey sandwiches again. (Which is all I ate for months after I first found out.)

Please guide me.

The last few years I have been so lost. Intermittently I have found my way, or thought I have begun to walk the right trail back to the road I'm supposed to be on, only to find myself lost in the woods again for one reason or another.

My biggest "hiking disaster" of course was while I was with Matt. We made lots of plans both together as a couple, and I made lots of plans based on the future I planned to have with him. I put things on hold, searched for employment around him, looked into schools around him...

Maybe the "higher purpose" was so I could have a longer break before going back to school. I don't know yet. I don't know why.

I have really had alot of pull to Colorado the last year without any real reason why. I've done as much research as I can and there aren't any graduate programs there that interest me. (Other than law school, which is not an option at the moment.) I've felt confused as to why I would feel such a strong draw to this place without any rhyme or reason other than I like it, so I looked at some apartments and houses online anyway, and they were just terrible. Awful, horrible little dumps. (Sorry, but it's true.) All of them were like that. I looked in several cities and they were all like that. It wasn't at all what I had pictured when I imagined the state and it really dimmed that light very quickly tonight. I want a better quality of life, not a worse one. Ick. (No doubt there are beautiful houses and safe, affordable neighborhoods Colorado, but I was not drawn to that for some reason, and for good purpose too. I need to move for school, and I can't find a program there right now...I don't need to be shown that right now, as much as I would like it.)

Which makes Oregon all the more easy to swallow. (Maybe that's why I had to be fixated on Colorado? So I could reject it and further embrace Oregon?) Being turned off by Colorado so suddenly made me much more interested in Oregon and made me more solidified with this plan of applying to their Conflict and Dispute Resolution program. But as I type this... I feel scared. I don't feel ready for lots of changes. Filling out an application sounds exciting right now (Filling out school applications is always fun, don't you think? lol) but, actually doing the work, and leaving my safety net here sounds... very scary at the moment. And right this second, I'm not ready to go. But I don't have to go right this second. (Breathe.) This would be a new life for me, and moving on. Not being stuck in the same place, doing the same thing anymore. Sacramento has given me alot, but... I'm not sure where it is I belong now.

What is my path?