blackout

After the last court date I was advised by an attorney to go dark. No social media posting. No more writing on my website. The prosecution is trying to dig up some dirt and as usual, I’m too much and not enough. Seems like sound advise. I took it. Ish. For a second. But fuck it.

I’m not afraid. I know who I am. The person I am. The mother I am. So why is my heart beating so fast?

The next court date is September 11 and I have the judge’s ear, and from what I understand she’s a good, critical thinker with a fair amount of law experience. So my hope is she sees through all this nonsense. That the truth will prevail. That love will win.

I built a strong case. I worked hard on it. I stayed calm. I spoke well. And now I have to gather character witnesses for round 2. I just say, “Hey, would you be willing to show up and testify? Just tell the truth. Say what it was like, what happened and what it’s like now.” And I trust that it will work out in the end.

I had pulled down all my writing, but now I put it back up. It’s all out of order now but whatever. It’s there, everything except one.

Meanwhile the paddlers showed up for the last court — my coaches, the men’s coach, my gay guys, my friends. My mom actually got upset. She said, “I don’t know why you think that these new friends of yours are there for you more than the people who have known you your whole life.”

I was like, “It’s not a competition. Where were you? Where was our family? Why did only 4 people from our entire family write a letter of support? Why did no one respond to any of my emails or texts or calls? Feel free to show up! I’ve had 9 court hearings and no one was there. I looked for you, and I was alone. Where were you when I was spending 9 hour days in cell block using a peanut butter jelly sandwich as a pillow on the concrete bench?”

So here I am writing this at Kaya’s and the psych doctor walks in who tried to have me involuntarily committed on the basis of my being, “hypertalkative, hypersexual and a cannabis user.” This is all in writing, by the way.

They wanted the option of electroconvulsive shock therapy and forced medication. They forced medication. This is the doctor who pulled me off a very low dose of antidepressant, cold turkey, and put me on 5 different antipsychotics that set off a chain of events that would change my life forever.

“Dr. R,” I said, sitting down right beside him. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said, shifting in his seat. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Lucid. Listen, I was telling the truth. You ran with a lie, and I believe you got it wrong. I’m not backing down from seeking accountability for what happened. I’m taking this seriously, and I’m making sure the appropriate people hear my side of it.”

“Ok,” he said. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” and I went back to my seat.

Now he’s picking up his chai latte and sitting on the opposite side of the cafe avoiding eye contact, pretending to be terribly engrossed in his phone. Sound familiar? As he left I said, “Have a good day!” and he looked down, pretending not to hear me. This is how it goes sometimes.

Listen, the only case my ex’s attorney has to build is to discredit me and present me as an ongoing risk to myself and others. Dr. R wants to cosign that claim. But here’s the thing: I’m awake, alert, present and ready. I’m honest, and I’m showing up.

You can show up too. Up to you. Or not, and then guess what? We’re done. Not just for now. For all time. It’s not a punishment. The thing is, there’s so much ugliness in this world. Trauma, human trafficking, war, death, starvation, heartbreak, injustice. My job is to do what I can to clean that shit up. I’m pushing the ball forward. I’m coming in with love and light and truth, and I’m going to keep telling the truth about what happened here.

It won’t happen overnight. This is going to take the rest of my life. But I’ll tell you, it’s worth it. And I’m good to go.

No more black out. I’m stepping out into the light. Take it or leave it. I have nothing to hide.

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This is my fat work cat by the way. His name is "Drift," and he's wearing a bandana that says, "I bite," or something like that. Seems apropos.

What I wore to court - a thrifted black and white "French Connection," dress with an unravelling hem and a drop of red lipstick on one boob. And blue Chinese Laundry cork wedges.

What I ate for lunch today that has me feeling so good: everything bagel with pesto cream cheese, sprouts, onions and dark red tomato. Hell yes.