I have never done a blog. I hope it’s not too obvious.
At some point I realized that I was waiting to begin blogging when I felt bulletproof. Since that day is never coming, I am starting anyway.
When I was a defendant, writing was one of the few ways that I got through the unknown, the injustice, the hurt feelings, the sacrifices, the huge learning curve and the exhaustion. I would scream into a journal. No filter. No judgment. I usually felt better afterwards. There was a time or two that a few pages were ripped out.
I kept a journal for the entire six and a half years of my case. I didn’t write all the time, but often so that when I re-read most entries those same facts and feelings come flooding back to that very moment. There were times that I didn’t want to memorialize what was happening or how I felt. Too numb. No words to describe it. Too overwhelmed to move. If I wrote the words, they must be true was a mentality I wrestled with.
Luckily, there were times when I would write and even with all the chaos, I had hope. No one could take that away from me, but I could give it away if I wasn’t careful.
Hope that this ordeal would end soon. Hope that justice would be served. Hope that I would learn and be able to use my experience. Hope that my kids wouldn’t be adversely affected. Hope that I could make good long term decisions. Hope that one day, it might make sense.
