Phoenix Rising

A year and a half ago I bought a new laptop. My reasoning was that my daughter needed mine. I'd sent it to her because hers died. Plus, I love to write..so I felt justified in buying a new laptop so I could finish writing my memoir.
I haven't written jack in months. I kept moving my laptop around to different spots in my room, thinking if I saw it, I'd be motivated to write. I love writing so much that it's a treat to write! I almost feel guilty at times because it feels so great to do so.
So much has happened since the last time I wrote in my blog. It would take me 6 updates to fully explain. So..I'll just say..somewhere deep inside, I felt like a bad person. I felt guilty. Now that I know what I know, it makes sense that I would feel that way. I didn't write because I was punishing myself. Only now do I understand why I felt I needed to do penance.
I realized that I put the wrong man in prison, around Thanksgiving.

I owe the realization to Crime Watch Daily. I watched my interview with them. My cousin and I could not even finish watching the first few minutes. There were graphic crime scene pics, and none of us was prepared for that. The next morning, before work, I tried again to watch. I saw the mugshots. I had such a visceral reaction to Tommy Lynn Sells that I knew something was there.I walked to work that morning replaying that moment in my head that I saw his mugshots. I'd felt frightened, scared, horrified. I'd felt I had to hide in my home. I felt he might try to kill me.
I had no idea that he had been executed in Texas in 2014. What I did feel, is that the night my mom died, he was there, I was feeling, but my brain kept blocking exploring that thought.
"Do you remember what you remember, or are you remembering what you think you are supposed to remember?"
I did not know.

I watched the rest of the show at work that morning. Filled with anxiety, I knew that my life was about to change drastically. I didn't know how, but it felt like it was beginning to tip on it's axis. I spent a restless night or two unable to sleep. Trying to reach back into my memory proved to be tough. It was almost like the area surrounding the truth was a tangible membrane made of tar. It felt like every time I was near a realization, I would again be surrounded by muck. I could hardly move around in my own memory. I had set so many traps and walls to keep me from the truth.
I knew I needed to really think on what I knew, but I was so scared of the end result. I'd grown up reciting a memory that I was no longer sure was a true recollection. The ramifications were daunting.
My cousin came back from Thanksgiving with my family....
She tiptoed around it to get a feel for my mental state, and when she realized I would be ok, she told me things I never knew. And honestly it was such a freaking relief that I wanted to cry right then. My family always had doubts about Rodney's guilt. I was so fragile that no one wanted to talk to me about it. I was heartened by the loyalty and saddened that I was never strong enough to endure the truth.
I sat in the quiet of my living room that day. Relaxing was tough. I realized I was dealing with 7 year old me, the gatekeeper. The protector and truth teller. She felt she had to defend herself, her mom her sister. She was angry that she had told the truth, and all these years later, it was not enough. I had to tell her, the child, that it was ok. That I needed to go back. That it might hurt a bit, but the bad man could no longer hurt us. She visibly softened, and stepped aside.
I told her we were going to look, and it was ok to not see Rodney Lincoln in those memories. We were going to look back and whatever we saw was going to be ok. I felt like I was fighting my own self, which is weird, and akin to what it's like when I argue with my daughter, who is a mini version of me, lol.
That day was the last day I saw Rodney in my memories.
Because when I looked back that moment, I was incredibly heartbroken. Rodney was never there. How the FUCK did he get there? WHO put him there?
He was not in my home the night my momma died. He did not hurt us.
Tommy stalked around stabbing and stomping and brutalizing...viciously slicing us up..and destroying our innocence. He felt no shame or fear. He loved hurting us.

I didn't think about it..I contacted Rodney's daughter Kay on Facebook. She was so freaking kind it still makes me cry when I think about it. We talked on the phone. We both cried like babies.

I had to do the right thing. You can't be all about doing the right thing and NOT do the right thing yourself.
The horrible, horrible night mama died, it was awful. I still hear the screams. I still feel the pain, the hopelessness, the anger, the fear. I remember thinking I was going to die. I couldn't fix anything. I couldn't make it stop.
It is what it is.
It is the night that changed everything.
What I know for certain now is that I gave the police all the right information. When it didn't pan out, they focused on Rodney, because he was already in the system. My heart absolutely squeezes painfully when I realize I was misled. When I realize that the police chased a bad lead and made it the one they got a conviction from. When I realize I stole Kay's dad..and took him away from his kids, and put him in prison, where he was beaten, ostracized, caged, mistreated.
My heart breaks and cries spring from within the depths of my soul..they are now are coming from a place that remembers what it is like to be sad, ignored, dismissed, broken, lonely. I did that to another human being.

I snuck into the prison to see Rodney...I wanted him to know I KNOW he didn't do it. He says he forgives me, and that is so humbling. My gratitude is eternal, because I knew I had no right to expect it.
Still, I stole something from him he will never get back, and I have battled depression for over the last month. I have fought depression my whole life, and suicidal ideations too. Since discovering that I irreparably harmed Rodney, his family....I have fought them both. How do you make up for something so priceless? One's life..freedom, sanity..time...I cannot repay it. A month ago I wished I had the courage to jump in front of a train . I felt like the only way to repay is give up my own life.
My reasoning doesn't make sense to some. But his life was stolen..and omg....I feel so bad. Yes, I was a kid. Yes, I was traumatized. Gullible.
PTSD is a fucking blessing and curse. Because how I coped was to repress and compartmentalize. WHY did I not remember? Why did it take the show to remember? Why was I so fragile? Why am I still so fragile?
I KNOW it's not all about me, but this is my blog.
I need to get this out somewhere.

I went to the Circuit Attorneys office. I told them the truth, that Rodney did not hurt us.
I went to the prison to see Rodney.
I am sure I will fly back into STL soon, hopefully to see Rodney walk free.

Mostly, I have been dealing with personal issues about self expression.
My ADD and PTSD have had a severe impact on my writing, grammar and speaking skills. My short term memory is so bad now. I worry that my communication, or decline in skills will reduce my credibility. It's become pretty obvious as I get older that my symptoms are worsening. It makes me reluctant to talk, because of the obvious...
"The traumatized survivor is a hot, incoherent mess. Look at how she struggles to use basic terminology and look how she has become someone who used to be steady but now she's emotional and easily triggered. We can all stop listening now."
Can I just tell you how embarrassing that is?
Sitting down and writing all of this has been something I put off for months.
I will do everything and anything to avoid writing, because I feel I don't deserve the joy. I'm not looking for anyone to say I do. I'm just telling you that I lived my life feeling like a failure and a liar and only now do I know why. I felt like I hurt someone, obviously, I hurt a whole lot of them, because I didn't have the ability to turn the police back to Tommy Lynn Sells.
So an innocent man languished in prison for a horrible, horrible crime. I was adamant and an asshole about it...and he didn't do it. And I only realized it when I started having flashbacks after watching the show..
I can't give Rodney back what he lost..and I feel horrible. I grew up so twitchy and damaged after surviving that brutal night. I lost my mom. I know what it's like to have the priceless snatched away from you for no fucking reason.
If I live to be 200, it won't be long enough to fix what I broke. And it's not enough to bring my mom and sister back..and I feel so responsible.
I guess the good news is that the little girl inside me, the gatekeeper, realized she no longer had to protect things..and keep me safe, and she has begun to grow up.
I no longer wake up angry about Mama...and I don't fear so much.
I guess now is healing time.
Thank you for letting me write. More to come soon.