Fucking fairy tales and shit

Look, I'm going to be totally honest, here. I stopped writing for a while. I was really unsure of my perceptions for a bit. In the past three years, I have gained so much confidence, a feeling of being really sure about what I had to say. I was sure about the perceptions and experiences that led me to feel safe to speak.

And then last summer happened. I'd been disillusioned for a while, but in June, my innocence went up in a Mafia hit style explosion. I'm still finding pieces here and there.

I still look back and wonder what the fuck happened. Why did it happen?

Many things in my life, I knew for sure for many years. I knew it with my whole heart. I knew what happened to me. I knew what happened to my mom and sister. I knew what it was like to grow up poor, unwanted, an orphan. I knew what it was like to be abused, sexually exploited, brainwashed, blamed, and yet alternately, invisible.
What was certain to me was that because of my experiences, I didn't really fit in anywhere. I never really would. Those things I knew were certain.
I had a bond with black folks long before I realized what bonded us. Now I realize, two hearts, two old souls, will recognize that facet long before words are exchanged. We knew that bad shit happened in life.

Because of my experiences in the judicial system were mostly positive in the beginning, I had wrongly categorized many who were cycled in and out of the system. Naively, I felt that these situations would be remedied, because who, with a clear conscious, could know an innocent person was being persecuted, and not do anything.
I assumed that many had integrity.  I assumed much of the world operated in the same manner I did. Try to do the right thing. Be honest, no matter what it costs you. Stand beside the underdog, speak up for those who cannot speak. Right the wrongs.
Because I assumed that anyone with a job in the legal system operated the same way, with some exceptions, I assumed like a WHITE person, that people aren't normally targeted, mistreated.
Not really sure when I began to wake up, but it was around 2002 or 2003. First, there was an article about me in a Missouri paper, a written finding about my mom's case, by students. I was annoyed that these green little idealists, who operated on the CSI effect, could comb through my life, my mother's life, make statements and judgements based on very disjointed information.
I realized that many people talk shit about people they don't know. They make assumptions about lives, about lifestyles, based on information that was probably very innocent to begin with, but twisted up by the right person, can make a martyr into a whorehouse madam.
I found statements about me by strangers that were so cruel, I wanted to hunt these people down and put my foot up their asses. I wanted to shake them until the portable meth labs fell out of their underwear.

I had held tightly to my belief that a person with discernment, with integrity, with common sense, could see how the public was being played by an extreme sociopath. I held tightly to the belief that most people in the judicial system woke up every day seeking to make a difference. I believed that most would do the right thing over the popular thing.
And then, there was my introduction to the Midwestern Innocence Project. The guy who runs this gig is an attorney. He runs a foundation that helps the wrongfully convicted. Surely, he knew that for all those who were truly innocent, that he would come into contact with a psychopath on occasion, who would stop at nothing to be liberated.
I called him. Or emailed him. I don't remember the first contact method. But I do remember speaking with him on the phone and asking him to consider the damage he was doing to my family. He told me so calmly "We're not here for the victims."
He didn't need to elaborate.
For all the good this foundation does, don't lie to yourself. The payday these guys reap from suing a city after a wrongful conviction is the motivator for most of them. It's not much different. Money motivates, but a good cause to lubricate the process always helps. And that pisses me the fuck off. You have an innocent person in prison who has not been helped because the Innocence Project totally took the bait on this one.
Douchebag.

This man, Barry, was the first of may contacts in adulthood that worked at opening my eyes. I was asleep for many years. I truly wanted to believe, despite what I had seen and heard, that he world was mostly fair, that people were mostly kind, that honesty was still a mainstay.
I had other experiences, from being in the Navy to working for the DOD. I saw that people could have a million college degrees, but could still be allowed to be sexist, racist assholes. I saw people get railroaded. I saw utter disrespect and abuse.
I already had issues from the case reopening. I was obviously not as useful. I got laid off from my cushy government job.

Eventually, I went back to school. I got my Criminal Justice Degree. I had policemen and women as instructors. I spoke to police quite often. They were awesome folks.

I also interacted often in minority communities. I saw, firsthand, how differently people are treated.  I saw how rare justice was, when minorities were involved. Observing several trials one year, I became depressed. Shit was pretty damn uneven. Between attorneys who were lying, drug-using, palm greasing power crazy morons and shitty judicial bias, it was getting to be overwhelmingly obvious who benefitted from judicial corruption.
It certainly wasn't black folks.
Or the poor.


I'll save you the sob story, but 2 years or so ago, I lost my damn mind. That shit kind of happens when people get fed up. It happens when a person who has been screwed over has been screwed over one time too many. No one heard my fucking calmly stated words about living with corruption, surviving homicide. My participation in these events to bring awareness told me I wasn't alone, but also, not a lot of fucking people cared about victims. It was obvious..only those who cared about justice were in attendance.

I was in a meeting with my business manager. I sat talking to an analyst about IT process flow, and discussed my manpower needs. I gave an update about the center and employees I supervised.
The manager went to get coffee and I saw on my phone an email from a friend. He had attached a link from the paper. He wanted me to find out from him.
It was inflammatory.

For me, it was simply, the last straw. I stood up, walked out, drove downtown to the Circuit Attorney's office to Victim's Services. I spoke with the violent crime therapist.
The next day, I walked in and quit my job.
All my life I'd fought to not be a statistic, but I knew, if I didn't get help, I was going to snap. I knew that this anger that was pent up inside me was toxic. I knew that if I didn't release this pain, I'd be a danger. By all means, fuck with me all my life, but I can't respond, right? I have to be thoughtful and eloquent.
This is the curse of being a victim. You are expected to be calm.
Again, no one listens to the soft cries or speech. They only respond when we act a damn fool. If I'd lost my shit and decided to skip around in rush hour traffic in downtown STL, only wearing a Cardinals hat and wielding a samurai sword, I'd be dead. We won't talk about what made me nuts.
Fuckers.
That day, I realized, I was going to have to leave St. Louis, eventually.

I was so fucking sick and tired of hearing about goddamn Rodney Lincoln. He tried to kill me like, 33 years ago. He was a snake, a predator, and he still is the most convincing liar. I ask you, how much does a victim have to deal with a lack of closure before it's acceptable to become looney tunes? How much does a victim have to endure skepticism, disbelief, dismissal, discrediting? How fair is it to focus on the victim, and not the person who hurt them?
Let's ask black folks how they've dealt with it, because they were born into it. Born guilty, born only a citizen by law, where justice and equality is merely an optional and gentle suggestion, but not the actual fucking law.
I think I became strong because I lived for so long, and still am, with proof that the judicial system benefits white men. It benefits everyone but us. I became accustomed to thinking I had rights, but knowing they were nothing compared to his. I understood that although I lived decades with torturous flashbacks and physical and mental pain, that many would feel he was the one with a life sentence. They would continue to feel sorry for him. They would listen to him.
Had he been black, he probably wouldn't even have served two years in a mental institution the first time he killed someone. He would have been executed.

My friend has two cousins that were tossed into the Mississippi River in the 90's. RIP Julie and Robyn. But tell me, why was Reginald and the other guys executed, and the white guy, not? Why is a man who murdered a man, raped and murdered a woman, and savaged two little kids with a knife, even considered a credible person? Tell me what black man, convicted of those same crimes, would even be alive, much less allowed a fucking meet and greet with his groupies at the courthouse after a hearing?

Not a fucking one.
I tell you, this shit is twisted.

I'm fucking fed up. It's why I no longer live in St. Louis.

I think my biggest struggle has been with the police I have known on good terms, vs, the dickheads I have run into.

The men I loved all my life, were the two police officers (detectives) who walked me down the court halls, they told me I was safe, that if the bad guy came after me, they'd kill him. They talked about their cases with love and respect. Black or white, those victims were important. These men had integrity.
One, although retired, still seeks the identity of a black little girl beheaded. She haunts him. She is someone's child.
I have a current friend, who is an officer. He was the only officer that came to my vigil. I know he is a good man. I worry, what is happening to him now.  I thought if I kept speaking out about what I know and feel, that he would feel disrespected. I talked to him at length about it.
You know, he supported me then, he supports me now. He knows that sometimes inside the bubble, we become insulated. We are tricked into believing we are safe, valued.
I realized that if he was my friend, he'd understand why I talk. Why I'm honest. True friends don't wrap shit up in tinsel to make it look pretty. They tell the fucking truth. Sometimes he gets mad at me, but I told him, I don't hate police.  I hate that there aren't police like the ones I loved, anymore. I hated that anyone who starts out to be like them, will be molded and shaped into soulless robots who will sell their soul to keep that job that feeds their family. They are more afraid of being blackballed than a human sellout.

Shit like that.
I also lost my best friend last year. She was on board for a decade when I spoke about my experiences, corruption, racism. I must have been too generic...because what I said wasn't threat enough. Or she felt that I was beating a dead horse, and maybe I should learn to shut up now that the cloud of blame was finally drifting over her neck of the woods.
Either way, she'd always been tolerant.
It was obvious because she took Michael Brown very seriously.  Not because he was a young black man who'd never grow up, having had the chance to make mistakes and grow.  Nah, she suddenly felt like she had to apologize for being white. Or maybe she realized her bias.
I was grieving, because I had a child a year younger than Mike. He could have been my child. He had a mama, a family.
She was grieving, because angry black folks might disrupt her trip to South County Mall. The fucking truth is so inconvenient. Some of us don't have the ability to check out. I lost respect for her.

I remember fighting with her. Race was always personal to me. She knew I was called racial epithets most of my life because of my features. She knew I'd been targeted for speaking up about bias and injustice. She knew I didn't give a fuck about popularity. She'd always had my back.
Until Mike Brown's death put a mirror up to her face.

Although a white man killed my mom (and I'm Native American and Dutch), no white person ever apologized for what happened at the hands of a white man. People still assume he's black when they hear his name.
But what the fuck ever.
Black men have never hurt me.
It was only white men. I was taught to trust the wrong people.
And this is why I don't give a fuck anymore.
I've always tried to do the right thing.
I've tried to be that person for years, but suddenly a young man's untimely death is more about how offended white people are by the mere hint of the truth of racism.  Fuck all of those who can't see it for what it is.

Last year, as a victim, I needed the help of police. The asshole admitted to SOCO STLPD  police that he was menacing and threatening. I wasn't allowed to file charges. I was made fun of.
Police like them are the ones everyone hates. These are the ones who are a dick, just to be a dick.
They tell you not to try to fix a situation yourself, just call the PD.

Yet, STL pd thought my PTSD was funny. Mind you, part of my problems are from corruption in that fucking city. I'm a survivor. Someone they profess to care about. Let me tell you, honey, that if victims are treated like I was, good fucking luck getting anyone to come forward.
I've seen how minorities are treated in that city. I lived on Humes. I went into Ferguson a lot. I saw people getting fucked with over stupid shit. I also saw white guys walk away with no charges, and black folks charged with bullshit.
And..I have a spotless record. Imagine, a white lady with a spotless record has not only had run in's with human tampons like these douchebags above, but has also witnessed the fuckery sponsored by douchebag police who'd rather be a bully than use their brain and people skills.
They have no emotional currency, no goodwill banked with the citizens, and this shit is what happens.
Last summer, I learned to not misplace faith, because the information existed in this now obvious odd gray area. This gray area proved to me that nothing is certain in life, except that most things are uncertain.Everything I was taught can just be tossed out..
It was all a fucking lie.
And we wonder why people are pissed?
Fucking fairy tales and shit.
Happy New Years, ya'll!