WHY? Darkness Hates the Light

 

I will finally answer the question that everyone keeps asking me.

What did you do that caused your husband to turn against you so viciously?

First you must understand the narcissistic personality disorder:

The information below is a collection of educational materials from different support group and awareness organizations:

·         Grandiose sense of self-importance

More than just arrogance or vanity.  Grandiosity is an unrealistic sense of superiority

Narc believe that they’re better than everyone else and expect to be recognized as such about their achievements and talents.  At work, he thought of himself as the star and everyone else is at best a bit player.

 ·         Lives in a fantasy world that supports their delusions of grandeur

Narcs live in a fantasy world propped up by distortion, self-deception, and magical thinking.  They spin self-glorifying fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, and achievements.

Anything that threatens to burst the fantasy bubble is met with extreme defensiveness and even rage, so those around must tread carefully around their denial of reality.

            I did not know that and that was my grave error.  So, I did not protect myself.

·         Needs constant praise and admiration

The occasional compliment is not enough.  A Narc need constant food for their ego.  If there is ever an interruption or diminishment in the admirer’s attention and praise, the narc treats it as a betrayal.

·         Sense of entitlement

Because a Narc consider themselves special, Narcs expect favorable treatment as their due.  They truly believe that whatever they want, they should get. 

·         Exploits others without guilt or shame

Unable to put themselves in other people’s shoes.  Lack empathy.  Looks and view people as objects to serve their needs.  Think nothing of taking advantage of others to achieve their own ends.  Narcs simply don’t think about how their behavior affects others.

Narcissists can be very magnetic and charming.  They are very god at painting fantastical, flattering pictures that draw us in.   We’re attracted to their apparent confidence and embellished accomplishes.  It’s easy to get caught up in their web thinking that they will fulfill our dreams.

Your needs won’t be fulfilled (or even recognized).  It’s important to remember that narcissists aren’t looking for partners; they’re looking for obedient admirers.  Your sole value to the narc is to fulfill the need for you to admire and confirm how great they are.

Notice the way a narcissist treats others.  If he lies, manipulates, hurts, and disrespects others, he will eventually do the same to you

• Unstable employment history.

If your partner can't seem to hold down a job for more than a few months, this often indicates sociopathic tendencies. Sociopaths have a tough time surrounding themselves with the same group of people for a long period of time.

*Narc’s tend to be superficially charming.  It helps them land a job, but many of them can’t hold down the same job for long.  The Narc can read the currents around them that they transfer or find something else before they can be fired.

            The following quote is my inspiration for why I am active in my support groups and the reason I became a paralegal to advocate for other women who are also victims:

 Quoted from Edmund Burke:

“The Only Thing Necessary for the Triumph of Evil is that Good Men Do Nothing … the delusion that he can do no harm if he takes no part, and forms no opinion. … The sin of doing nothing is the deadliest of all the seven sins.”

In my case:

I was completely convinced I had married an accomplished, successful man.  He had successfully convinced me by all his self-proclaimed accomplishments. During our engagement, he took me to all these events where he won awards stating he was nominated for all these awards.  The truth is he worked aggressively and applied endlessly for whatever awards he could get his hands on.  One time he even took me to his University he graduated from saying he was (supposedly) invited to be a guest lecturer.  Only 3 students showed up to hear him and no professor.  The look of defeated ego on his face should have been a clue to me.  One day he called to tell me he was selected to be a candidate for the astronaut program through the Air Force.  The truth is he applied and turned down because he did not meet the physical requirements.  He spent almost a year filing appeals for reconsiderations and paid for a second medical reevaluation.  Later claiming to everyone that his dreams to be an astronaut was put to a halt because the shuttle blew up and the program stopped considering new candidates.

Despite all this, I continued to believe his highly sophisticated and (on the surface) plausible explanations to everything that happened including his separation from active duty in the Air Force.  So we were married without him having employment.  I was told not to worry he had connections and jobs lined up.  After a few months, my brother helped him find an engineering position at a major aerospace corporation.  He continued being reassigned projects after projects and continued telling me fabricated reasons why that I continued to believe.  Until one day he was asked to find another job that the aerospace department no longer had a position for him.  He told me that aerospace was downsizing.  Found another position in the medical technology division and that department was later removed from the company and those engineers acquired the technology to launch a company and he asked to join.  For 10 years the company struggled and he fought to keep his job.

During those years I gradually developed an increasing amount of anxiety because nothing made sense.  He would constantly make statements that later were found not to be true.  He would convince me that I misunderstood and make me out to be crazy.  He did not share in the disciplining and setting boundaries and many times would override my decisions.  I thought I managed to keep everyone from knowing the truth and tried to hide my stress and strain until the panic attaches became overwhelming.  Thank goodness friends help me find a therapist where I was diagnosed with PTSD.

The last straw came when he announced to everyone that he landed a Texas contract that was going to save the company.  There were celebrations with business colleagues and wives.  The only problem was it was not true.  One day the company closed their doors and my husband was out of work.  Again, he was confident that jobs were waiting for him and he had prospects lined up.  This time months turned into a year and I continued to work with my therapist when I could.  She helped me to open my eyes and explore the truth, talk to people and read emails to fill in the holes and confusions. 

I slowly started realizing my husband lived in world of delusion and fantasy.  One day I asked him how the job search was going.  He smiled and said he was going to surprise me but since I asked he will let me know he is again being considered for the astronaut program a special program for middle aged engineers his friend a retired astronaut is recommending him for.  I searched the emails and found he had asked his friend to help him find an astronaut position.  His friend replied that he would send his resume to a person he knew but, he did not know how else to help him but told him that.  “they are retiring people our age”.

My therapist recommended several therapists to give my husband to go to.  He did not like any of them.  With lots of pressure, he finally agreed to find a therapist.  In the meantime, I found real-estate attorneys, with the help of friends, to save our home from foreclosure.

If you dare to question a narcissist or expose the truth about them, the Mr. Wonderful mask immediately comes off, and there is no level to which they will not stoop to in order to punish you.

As I presented my discoveries to my therapist she started becoming very concerned for my safety.  I did not understand why.  I never believed that my husband would intentionally hurt me.  When I was hurt by him I believed it was accidental and/or a misunderstanding.  I was in total denial.

I stayed in contact with one of the wives of one of his former coworkers.  Out of desperation, I asked if she could help my husband find a job at the company her husband was now at.  Almost two years after my husband’s company closed down, her husband was able to get my husband’s resume past the filters of HR and convinced his department head to hire him.  Concerned that my husband would repeat his past job behaviors, I decided to present the truths and the misrepresentations in a joint therapy session with hopes it would open a door for change, healing, resolution and prevention of future losses of employment. 

I will never forget the cold disturbing look in his eyes when I presented the truth and the evidences of emails.  To this day it brings chills to my spine.  After that day, he went on an endless pursuit to destroy me.  First, he went to friends and neighbors to plant ideas that I was mentally ill and used my PTSD diagnoses and treatments against me.  He started meeting with my youngest son privately and told him half-truths about me so that he would turn against me and no longer spoke to or respected me.  He started planting ideas in my son’s head that I was not safe to be around.  He started going to the police, I found out later, prepping them to believe I was unstable and violent and that he was afraid for his family’s safety so that by the he was ready they were primed to arrest me on his false accusations of domestic violence. It worked only up to a point.

The Jailbird Returns Home

After I was released from jail I spent the next month at my friend’s home until after the hearing in the family law court where my case was dismissed with prejudice. The court refused to sanction my husband’s attempts to get a restraining order against me and I finally returned home. My friend’s thought it would be a good idea to have an impromptu “welcome home” party to show my husband that I had friends who were supportive of me.

They all came over armed with food and drinks. My husband went up to our former bedroom and hid while they ate dinner with me. He neither spoke to anyone nor greeted any of them though he had known them for years.

When dinner was done, everyone walked up to my daughter’s former bedroom where I had been sleeping the past few years and were horrified at what they found.

They could barely open the door. In the brief space of time that I had been gone from the house, my husband had taken everything he could get his hands on and dumped it into that room. It was piled from floor to ceiling with crap.  It was just his way of making me feel totally unwelcome. It was literally Fibber McGee’s closet. You couldn’t even open the door all the way because it was blocked.

For the next several hours, my friends formed a chain gang and carried stuff out of the room and dumped it downstairs in the garage until there was finally enough room for me to walk in and the bed was cleared of debris. Every once in a while he would come out of his hidey hole and pass the chain gang cleaning out the room with a polite “excuse me” as if nothing at all were amiss.

The view from the door

The mound on the bed

Everyone was extremely nervous about me returning home, convinced that he would try to find some way to set me up to accuse me of domestic violence again. I was left with explicit instructions and pleas that I would never be caught alone with him in anyway and would stay in my room until he left for work and blockade the door with furniture at night. They called me each morning and each night to make sure I was okay and panicked if I didn’t answer. My son later confessed to me that he was seriously afraid that my husband would try to kill me or do me harm and was having panic attacks from the stress while at school. He acted as my protector and always stayed nearby me.

My stay there wasn’t to last. Despite all my heroic efforts to save the house through a government program (with the help of some real estate attorneys) the house was about to go into default because of my husband being out of work and not paying the mortgage in over a year. I was forced to move again.  Despite the fact that I had no money, he left all the packing and moving of a three bedroom house completely to me when it came time for me to move into my own place.

Adding to the stress of the move were the emergency calls I would get because my high school son (at the time) was having disabling panic attacks at school. The school was very considerate and helpful to him. They referred me to the same toll free numbers for victims of domestic violence and support groups. The school also said that the district would provide counseling for my son at school if I did not get him one soon. My therapist soon referred me to one. After I made the appointments, I was shocked to find out that my husband had canceled them and forbid me to take my son to the counseling he desperately needed. My son was so frustrated. After counseling and guidance from his school, he made arrangements with a friend of his to pick him up from his home and left his childhood home and stayed with them until he could move in with me elsewhere. It took me months and hundreds of dollars to get a court order for my son to see a therapist in order to get treatment for his anxiety attacks. In the meantime I agonized while I watched him suffer, feeling totally helpless.

To this day, I do not understand, why, if my husband was so convinced that if I was this "abusive mother", he would try to stop professional therapy for his children. I finally got my court order and my son was able to get the help he needed but he really resented his father's interference.

Victim of Abuse or Abuser?

"It is in the quiet crucible of your personal private sufferings that your noblest dreams are born and God's greatest gifts are given in compensation for what you have been through." - Wintley Phipps

          I still recall the moment a few years ago when I was sitting on my jail bunk #614 in despair. I had been praying and asking God where in the world was He when a total stranger jumped on my bunk at that moment. 

          "Do you believe in Jesus as your savior?  So do you want me to pray with you?"  After she prayed she seemed to vanish.  I could not see her and could not find her.  To this day I still wonder if it was a real person or an angel…

          Once I was released I wondered, what was God’s plan for me.  What was I supposed to do with my life and my situation and my kids? How was I going to support myself? I had only worked part-time for over 20 years in order to raise my family and hadn’t really been in the work force for a long time.

          I am and will forever be grateful for my friends and Christian family who came to my aid and provided me shelter and love where I would have been otherwise homeless and bereft of all resources.  My husband had the courts put a temporary 10 day restraining order on me.  I could not go back to my home and see my kids.  When he was not successful in getting the criminal courts to charge me with a felony, he filed a Domestic Violence claim to the family law civil court.  My attorney told me I had to wait it out to see what my husband was going to file and accuse me of.  In the mean time I had nothing because he had managed to empty out the joint accounts.  I had no car, no access to money not even access to my own personal belongings that were in the house and I had to wait an entire month for the hearing.

          I was in my Therapist’s office for my weekly appointment when the court document he filed was finally revealed.  With my permission my lawyer faxed it to the office so I could go over it with my therapist.  As my therapist was reading it to me he stopped at one point and started laughing.  I was sitting there still shocked and confused as to why my husband filed this document with accusations that were not true.  He accused me of things I said and did that did not happen.  My therapist could not stop laughing.  He explained that he had been a therapist for 30 years and during those years he has testified many times on DV and child abuse cases and that he had treated clients that were court appointed to him.  

          "I am sorry for laughing but, I have never read anything so ridiculous in my entire career as a therapist". 

          I told him but," this did not happen".  He told me it does not matter if it happened or not.  This is not in any way domestic abuse or child abuse…YOU are the one that has been living with abuse."  He gave me information and educated me on Narcissist Personality Disorder.  I did not get it at first.

His official filing included:

1)   Suggesting in front of the children that he attend a men’s church retreat after church.

2)  Harassing him to get Christian counseling and recording our conversation without his knowledge.

3)     Firmly grasping belligerent son’s chin and telling him to stop disrespecting me.

4)  My making a comment about being relieved when the children would be all grown up and out of the house and living on their own so I would have less to deal with.

5)  My allegedly removing computer privileges from our son until he cleaned up his room (this was actually done by him).

6)  Calling the sheriff on him and having him removed from the home because he was making threatening accusations. 

7)    Claiming that I had “physically clawed” my daughter’s arms the day before she moved to UCI. (see photo below the day after ‘the incident’ by a family friend who was aware of what had happened.) She actually was the one that attacked me causing injury to my back.

No claw marks and no sign of trauma

          That November the case was quickly dismissed with prejudice which meant he could no longer accuse me again.  He was given a temporary order to pay me child support and spousal support.  I became terrified at his rage and could not believe how angry he got because he was so sure that his plan would work out. 

          A week later my attorney received scathing emails explaining the court was wrong and that he was not going to pay.  My attorney used those emails as evidence to have his wages garnished through the state.  As a result of his actions, we soon lost our home we had had for 20 years.  Because Matt had previously been out of work for 2 1/2 years we had used up our 401K retirement and the equity of the home and now his wages were garnished. As a result he could no longer make house payments.  I unfortunately needed to use a good portion of my support to pay bails bond, criminal attorney fees, family attorney fees and to start of a new life.  In a matter of weeks, 27 years of hard work in keeping a home and raising kids was completely destroyed and gone. 

        The losses to our family as a result of his "decisions" and "disorder" resulted in the bankruptcy of his business, being unemployed for over two years, the loss of our home, the loss of our savings, 401K, and worse the damage to the relationship between me and my children because of his lies about me. I still cannot believe a well-educated man with 4 degrees (BS in engineering, MS in engineering, MBA, and Ph.D in engineering) and a part time adjunct professor at a local University could be so capable of such poor judgment in every area of life. 

     I needed clarity and answers to the questions everybody kept asking me.  

    "How can he get away with this? If there was no evidence, why did the police take me away?"  I had no idea.

So, I went to the police department to find out.  I was shocked at what I learned.  They sent out a detective to talk to me who was very nice and sympathetic and very apologetic.  He read my arrest report and explained to me that after the O.J. Simpson case Orange County changed their procedures on how to handle DV accusations.  Also, the policemen had to make a decision as to whether it was safe for me to remain there.  My husband was agitated and was very determined to be rid of me.  They knew I would never be charged for a crime from the DA and felt it best to remove me.  He then gave me numbers to call.  They were phone numbers to organizations like Laura's House, Human Options and other support groups for women that were victims of Domestic Abuse. 

          I was so confused at the time. I told them, "No, you misunderstand he accused me of DV, I never accused him."  

          "Maam, we see this all the time now."

          "What?"

          "Spouses falsely accusing their spouses of a crime to get rid of them in hopes of not having to pay spousal support and child support."  

          "If that is so, why did I have to spend 3 days in jail?"

          "Mam, please call these numbers and get the help that they will give you."  

          I was so angry and remember thinking what kind of help is this?  I had a lot to learn.

          My church was so kind and provided counseling services through Celebrate Recovery and I finished their 12-step program.  Step by baby step I began to start my life all over again at the age of 54.  

          Leaders from CR gave me those same numbers to call that the detective gave me.  I realized that maybe I should call and find out why.  So, I called.  Appointments were made.  Human options set up a series of therapy appointments.  Laura's House set up a series of appointments to vet me and assigned me to group therapy.  My first visit with the counselor was a shock.  She asked me if I was aware that my name was already in their data system.  I asked why.  She actually told me that it had been put in there more than once and that the first time was over 2 years ago.  I asked why.  "Someone called us - we cannot say who for confidential reasons- but feared you were a victim of domestic abuse."  Do you have any idea why someone would do that?"  I was stunned.  That was the start of my education and comprehension of what abuse was and what Narcissist Personality Disorder was and what I had been enduring for over 25 years and what caused my PTSD.  I was finally ready to come out of my denial.

  I was able to get funding to go back to college full time and work part time.  I learned how to get additional funds for 2 of my children's college tuition.  My son at USC and another son at UCI.  (I am so proud of them for doing so well.)  

 (to be continued)

Free at Last!

My number was finally called again. My friend had come to see me and she explained to me what had happened. She wanted me to know that if I chose not to be bailed out, I will have a hearing on Monday morning. If I chose to be bailed out, I would have to wait several weeks for my hearing. That is when I would know if my case would be dismissed or if I would be charged. If I was charged I could ask for bail then and would not have to come back.

If I knew then what I know now; it would have been cheaper for me to stay there. I had no idea what I was being charged with. For all I knew my husband could have taken a knife to himself and blamed me for it. I was scared to death; not knowing what else he was capable of.  I looked at my friend. “Please just get me out of here.” I cried.

The bail bondsman came through. I met with him. He told me that it would be another 8-12 hours before I was out. Because I had gone through the process before, it was now a bit easier to tolerate. I finally walked out of the jail at 2:00 am Saturday morning. I had been in the jail since Thursday night but it had seemed like an eternity.

Upon my release I had to turn in my bedding and had to go through the identification process all over again. They walked me up to a particular point and told me to walk along this long hallway. When she opened the door, I saw a hallway that looked a block long and it was very dark. I began to walk but the further I went the slower became my gait became. It was getting darker and I could feel panic beginning to set in. I was so exhausted I had trouble walking. I finally got to a door but was afraid to go through it without permission because I had now been trained to not do anything without permission. I was afraid of getting into trouble again. Finally after a long wait, the door opened and a female officer started yelling at me.

“What the hell took you so long? Do you want to stay here?”

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait here or open the door.”

She looked at me with disgust. “You want to leave don’t ya? Geez! Go into the room and sit there until your name is called.”

I did as I was told, sat down and was told to go through some plastic bags that had my clothing and underwear in it and to sign off that everything was there.

“Go change back into your clothes, then go sit in that room and wait until your name is called!”

I waited for what seemed like another half hour. Finally my name was called and I was given one last bag to check which contained my cell phone, driver’s license and a credit card. I was finally escorted to another door down another hallway. I went through another door into a dark waiting area with all kinds of seats and a payphone I could use to call. I called my friends, Arlene and Stewart who said that they had been waiting for my call for the past 24 hours. They immediately rushed over and picked me up.

By the time I got to their house it was around 4:00 am. I didn’t have any clothes to change into.

“Do you have to be at work today?” My friend asked.

“Yes, I have two classes that I have to teach  today.”

“I think it would be best if you didn’t let anyone at work know what happened. Let’s go to a garage sale, and get you some clothes so you can go to work.”

Despite my exhaustion, we hit pay dirt and found clothes that I could wear to work. I finally got to take a shower and reported for work on time. I taught my classes having not slept since the Wednesday night before.

When I arrived at work, my friend and supervisor confronted me. Her face was stricken with worry. “Rhonda! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for three days!! I worry sick if I can’t get ahold of you!”

I hesitated. A year earlier she and the store manager had discovered copies of my husband's journals that I had been hiding in my teacher’s cabinet. Unsure of what they were, they had read a portion of them and grown very alarmed. They were so concerned that they had even sat me down and talked to me about it, urging me to leave my husband.

“Just as you feared, my husband did do something to me. He accused me of a crime, a felony and had me arrested. I’ve been in jail for the last two and a half days.”

Her face went pale. “Oh my god! I told you! We tried to warn you, Rhonda! We knew he was going to do something like this!”

“How did you know?”

They just stared at me. “Rhonda, I’m going to have to talk to management about this.”

Because I taught children sewing, I had to have a background check and be fingerprinted every two years. I was concerned that this incident was going to have a bad impact upon my work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to corporate and HR on Monday,” she assured me. I went to my classroom and taught for the next 6 hours. I thought I was going to die of exhaustion. I was in a state of trauma. Throughout that day, my supervisors continually checked in on me to make sure I was okay. At the end of the day, using my friend's car, I drove to her home and collapsed. I wasn’t allowed to go back to my home because my husband had put a ten day temporary restraining order on me.

Jail Brawl

Another hour went by and then we were filed into several other concrete rooms one at a time. I was told by my friends that it would not be much longer and that soon we would be going upstairs. We were finally lined up and we were getting prepared to go upstairs. We would all be issued a bag. Do an inventory of that bag because when you are released, if anything is missing, you will not be released; you will have to stay upstairs until everything is found. I looked inside. I saw a blanket, a sheet, a towel, plastic miniature tooth brush (no tooth paste) and a black comb. We were told that we would be assigned a mattress. We filed upstairs; it was like we had to go through the same crap all over again. Picture taken; finger printed…after a few hours we were assigned a number (I was given 614). Six hundred of the 614 was the cage I was assigned to go into. #14 was the bunk I would put my mattress pad on. We were told that we will no longer be known by our name but by the number we had been assigned. I was no longer a person…I had been stripped of my humanity. I was a number; like I was in a concentration camp.

The inmates that had been there for several months and even years were very interested in the newbies and wanted to get to know who we were. I sat on my bunk and took out all the bags of food I had stuffed in my pants. I looked up. “Does anyone want any of this food?” I was tired of carrying it in my pants.

One inmate looked at me. “I will give you my hard-boiled egg for your cookies.”

“I don’t want to take your egg; if you want the cookies I’ll be glad to give it to you.”

She looked absolutely astonished. The next thing I knew, about 6-10 inmates came over to me and said. “Honey, don’t worry – we will take good care of you. What are you in for?”

“My husband put me in here.”

They all laughed. “Half the women in here are here because of a man!”

I gave them what food I was going to eat.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you honey. You just let us know what you need and we’ll take care of you.”

One woman said. “She’s not here right now but you need to meet Brandy Newman.  She’s on the phone right now with her attorney. You need to hear her story. Her husband did the same thing to her.”

“Okay,” I said wearily.

A woman came into the cage. “Brandy,” they called. “There’s someone here you have to meet!”

She sat down next to me. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. When you get out of here, don’t go back to your house. Move out immediately and get your kids out later. Because if you go back he’ll set you up again. When I moved back, my husband made sure he had something set up to get me arrested again and now I’ve been here for three months waiting for trial.”

Oh my god, I thought. How is this possible? I was in shock.

She looked at me. “I once lived in a million dollar home in Anaheim Hills. Now that I’m here, he has his girlfriend moved into my house and is raising my children.”

“How can he get away with this?”

“He has lots of money and lots of friends.”

At one point, I finally decided I had to use the bathroom. Upstairs the bathrooms were a little bit better. There was an open bathroom but it least it had a little short door which afforded a bit more privacy and they were clean. I was approached by someone who wanted to know who I was, what my name was; trying to befriend me.

An older woman with tattoos all over her body who had promised earlier to protect me, approached this woman as I was leaving the bathroom area and addressed her. “Stay away from her; leave her alone; she’s my friend.”

The other woman got mad and issued a string of curses at my protector. She left then got into an argument with another inmate. Then a fight started.

My friends came over to me. “Rhonda! Go back to your bunk right now! Go!”

The fight turned violent. The women I shared my food with, got up and circled around my bunk and made themselves into a human wall as the fight raged on. I looked out at the guards beyond the cell and motioned to them. What are you guys going to do? Are you just going to stand and watch? They motioned for me to turn around and mind my own business.

One woman grabbed the other by the hair and bashed her head against the metal bed bunk. She screamed in pain and outrage. They kicked, pushed and body slammed each other all over the cage. They were having a total, knock down drag out fight with their fists! Getting arrested was like nothing what I had seen in the movies!

The guards watched the fight until one of them was knocked unconscious. They finally came in, carried her out and handcuffed the inmate that beat her up and told us to clean up the mess. There was blood everywhere.

After that it was another long wait. Every couple of hours my number would be called. I would walk out, get finger printed again, asked questions then told to go back to my cell. When you’re number is called. You have to stand in the middle of the cell with your hands behind your back at attention. There is an electric buzzer that goes off. The guard inspects you outside the cell. The buzzer goes off, you walk out and you’re told where to go. I was so tired and had been trying to fall asleep but every time I began to doze off I would be summoned. I was so frustrated I voiced my complaint out loud. “What the heck is going on?”

One of the inmates came up to me. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re being processed; somebody posted your bail. You’re going to leave tonight. It takes 24 hours to be processed out once you make bail.” You’re finger printed, DNA-swabbed from the inside of your mouth several times then you’re examined by a nurse who draws blood. They check you for any injuries. What was so frustrating was that my friend had gotten a bail bondsmen but something with the transaction didn’t seem right to her and she had canceled it. Once that happened I had to go through processing all over again for the second time. I finally went to my bunk, broke down into tears and cried. To this day, I don’t know who it was that sat beside me, hugged me and asked “Do you know God? Do you know Jesus Christ?”

“Yes,”

“Let me pray for you.”

She prayed for me. That’s when I realized that God had been with me the entire time. I had felt so alone and abandoned for the past few days. She prayed for God’s protection and the Comforter and I felt the Holy Spirit comfort me.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Living a Nightmare and The Guard with the Pink Handcuffs

I could tell that my blood sugar levels were bad. I have Type II Diabetes and was not allowed to bring any medication with me. I found myself falling asleep standing in line only to be screamed at and threatened by the guards to within an inch of my life.     “ARE YOU STUPID?! STAND UP STRAIGHT! STOP BEHIND THE LINE!” At one point my foot was touching the line and I was screamed and threatened that if it happened again there would be dire consequences.

At one point, after I don’t know how many hours had gone by, I began to wonder why I had not yet been bailed out. The door opened and the guards came in to do an “inventory”, confirming where everyone was against the list that was posted on the outside of the door. I looked up and addressed the guard. “My friend is getting a bails bond, when will I know that I have been bailed out?”

The guard got into my face. “DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK? DID I??!”

“No.”

“I DON’T WANT YOU LOOKING AT ME EITHER.” She pointed her finger at me. “Now you’re on my list.”

I watched her leave. She turned around and scowled at me in a menacing way. “Why are you looking at me? DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

I glanced at Lindsey. She had a panicked look on her face. “Look down; put your head down. Look down at the floor.”

Clarissa elbowed me. “Look at the floor,” she hissed. We all waited until the guards left.

Lindsey glared at me. “I told you! Don’t speak to the guard with the pink handcuffs!”

“I didn’t notice she had pink handcuffs.”

“DON’T LOOK AT HER! The last time I was here she put me in the hole (isolation room). You.do.not.want.to.go.there.”

I suddenly realized that I hadn’t completed the booking process; my hell was just beginning. “How long does this take?”

“Oh it can take days,” they replied. “Just close your eyes, keep your head down when the guards come by. Just pretend you’re asleep; that’s the best way to handle it when they’re around.”

Another hour went by. One of the young girls in the cell was really struggling. I thought she was having a panic attack. She was shaking, she was on the floor, curled up against the wall. I looked at Lindsey. “Is she having a panic attack?

“No, it’s the drugs. She’s coming off of drugs. She’s having withdrawals.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“We can’t worry about it; we can’t get involved; you’ll just get into trouble.”

After a while the girl was shaking so bad, it looked like she was having convulsions. She began to scream for help. The guards ignored her. She began banging on the door. Two guards came in (the one with the pink handcuffs). Lindsey motioned to me to put my head down and avoid eye contact with them.

The guard with the pink handcuffs screamed at the girl. “SHUT UP OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES TO PAY!

“But I’m sick; I need to go to medical.”

“You look fine to me. If you leave here you’ll go into the hole.”

“I need to go to medical,” she insisted. She began to settle down a little bit but then 30 minutes later she couldn’t take anymore. She began banging on the door again. The guards returned and they were really angry. They threw the door open, grabbed her, pushed her against the wall, handcuffed her and pulled her out like she was garbage.

It was a nightmare. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. The guards behaved like animals. I had no idea that the law enforcement officers in our jails treated people with such cruelty. She was only asking to see a doctor.

Clarissa encouraged me to put my head down to try and get some sleep. “It’s going to be a long while before we are processed and get upstairs. We’ll get a bed upstairs.”

I did manage to dose off, sitting against the concrete in a corner. When I began to dose off, I began having flashbacks to the beginning of my courtship with my husband. I had no idea how much had passed when suddenly the door opened, the guards reappeared and yelled at us to line up.

I stood up, hoping that the nightmare was finally over. I looked at Lindsey and Clarissa. “Do you think the bail bondsmen have come?”

“No, it’s going to be a long time for that. They’ll come after we go upstairs.”

I wondered what’s upstairs. We lined up. “So what are we doing now?”

“SSSH! DON’T SPEAK! SHE’S HERE!”

The guard with the pink handcuffs was there.

We were ordered to put our hands behind our backs and to follow the line out the door. When they say stop, we are to turn and face the wall and not look at anything except the wall. We stood there for what seemed an eternity as they took away one person at a time. I had no idea what they were doing. I turned to Lindsey. “What are they doing?”

“Sssh! We’re getting x-rayed.”

Why were we being x-rayed? I turned my head to look and I got caught by the guard with the pink handcuffs.

She got close to me. She spoke in a menacing voice.“What is your problem? Can’t you follow directions? Did I tell you to turn your head? Did I tell you to speak?”

I didn’t know what to do. If I answered her I would get in trouble so I just stared at the wall.

“This is your last warning. If you do it again; that’s it!”

I faced the wall and could hear her walking back and forth behind me. Finally she moved on to yell at someone else. Every so often we would get orders to turn right, walk a few steps and face the wall again. It took hours. I had no idea I was dozing off.

A guard startled me by shouting. “Your head is not supposed to touch to the wall. Get it off the wall!”

All of a sudden there was a horrible, almost haunting scream in our room. Male and female guards came running down the hall with Billy clubs and chains. I could only see peripherally. I wondered what was going on; the scream was so terrifying. The screaming got louder. I looked slightly to the side. I saw the guards carrying a woman over their heads who was completely bound in a straight-jacket type of clothing. She was struggling fiercely to get away.

I whispered. “Oh, Lord, what’s happening?”

Clarissa whispered back. “Don’t worry about it Rhonda, she just had ‘shit up her ass’.”

I was so tired it was hard for me to think straight. I had no idea how many hours had gone by and I had yet to use the stainless steel toilet in the middle of the floor. I whispered to Lindsey, still clueless. “Were we supposed to have a bowel movement before we get x-rayed? Doesn’t everybody have ‘shit up their ass’?”

“Sssh!” Clarissa hissed. “You’re going to get us in trouble!”

Lindsey waited until the guard were further away. “No, some people put their dope in a baggie and shove it up their ass.”

We were finally x-rayed and processed. Then we had to line up in another area where we were interviewed and asked questions. I had to confirm my personal identity and verify or mug shots that were taken earlier.

“When am I going to get bailed out?”

The person behind the desk was very kind. “Word of advice…this is just the beginning of a very long haul. Just don’t worry about it; don’t talk and you’ll get through this.”

I finally resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be there for a long time and that I would have to listen to the advice of my new found friends. I was put in another room and finally given a meal. They were cold in individual brown bags in a larger plastic bag that people had to grab and dig for like rabid dogs. Most of the food I couldn’t eat because of my diabetes. Since I didn’t have my medication, I decided to just eat what little protein there was and save the rest. Many of the other women were very, very hungry. They came up to me. “Are you going to eat that? If not, can I have it?”

Clarissa looked at me. “Word of advice…if you’re not going to eat your food, start hiding it inside your pants.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You can sell it upstairs for your protection. It may come in handy.” 

It sounded ominous.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Treated like a Criminal

After a few more hours of waiting, the door opened up to our room where we were now all crammed in like sardines. An officer shouted out instructions:

“LINE UP! Always when you leave the room, keep your head down and your hands behind your back! Follow the line on the floor and keep against the wall.”

When we are all out, more instructions were shouted. “Turn around!  Face the wall and don’t look at anyone!” If anyone dared to look to either side they were screamed at by the guards. And we stood there…and we stood there…and we stood there for about half an hour for no apparent reason other than their sadistic pleasure.

We were split into smaller groups and transferred into another concrete bunker and the concrete felt like ice. By this time it was 3:00 am. There was no place to lay down. Each room had a stainless steel toilet in the middle of the room; open for everyone to see you doing your business with a roll of toilet paper on the floor. I thought to myself there is no way I’m going to use that toilet! I’ll just hold it until I get out of here! It seemed like we were there for another couple of hours. At this point, I started asking the other inmates questions.

This is when my education began. Clarissa was a middle-aged, white woman with blond hair. She looked tough and haggard at the same time. She told me, “It will probably take at least a couple of days to get out of here. It depends upon how long the booking takes. The bail bonds process has to wait for the booking process which can take 24-48 hours.” My heart plummeted at this news.

“I will I know when the booking process is over?”

“When you’re sent upstairs,” she told me.

A police officer came into the room and lined us up again and we had our mug shots taken which took a good hour while answering personal questions. I found myself again standing on the line, facing the wall, waiting for my name to be called. Then I had to walk into yet another concrete room. It was like ships passing from one levee to another in the Panama Canal!  We waited there for several hours. At this point, I was starting to doze off from exhaustion. Finally a guard came in and explained that we would be processed into the shower area and would be given bags that we would put our clothes into and issued prison clothing. I was in shock. I could not believe it. I was going to be put into a navy blue prison outfit! I went into the shower area. There was a glass door. My name was called. I stripped and put my clothes in the bag and stood there naked in front of everyone. Even though the guards were all female, some of them looked like men.

I was given soap. I was told how to wash when the water comes down from the ceiling. It was ice cold. Then the female guards put on latex gloves.

“Bend over.”

I felt fingers probing inside my inner thighs to drugs. I was given a tiny towel to dry off and was issued my prison underwear, clothing and socks. Paper thin like hospital clothing. The top had to be tucked in straight, not baggy. I was lined up again and told to walk along the line and screamed at if I strayed an inch to either side. I was taken into another concrete room.

Some of the girls who had been through this process before began to mutter amongst themselves. “Is she here tonight?” They sounded worried. “Have you seen her?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The guard with the pink handcuffs,” they whispered.

I was confused. What was the deal with pink handcuffs?

I asked a guard. “I have some friends who are getting a bails bond for me, how long does that take?”

She looked at me. “I can’t answer any questions.” She shooed me away.

It finally hit home. I was a prisoner. In prison clothing. I have no idea what day it was or what time it was. We were given food in brown paper bags that were thrown into the room in a large plastic bag onto the floor. Several of the inmates lunged for the food. I was in shock, watching these women grabbing at the food, and stuffing it into their faces like animals.

Clarissa gently handed me a bag. “Here Rhonda, you better eat because there’s no telling when we will get fed again and you will need your strength.”

I sat back and remembered the conversations I had with my friend a few months ago, warning me how my husband was going to set me up. How he had told her that I had been abusing the kids for years and that I needed to be removed from the home. I was now officially accused of domestic violence. I had no idea what his “injuries” looked like, if they were self-inflicted, or how successful his plan was. Was I going to rot in jail and never see my kids again?

That’s when the panic attack hit me. My intestines started cramping into knots. My heart starts pounding to the point where it hurts. I forced myself to take deep breaths to stop the pain. I began to tremble uncontrollably. It’s getting hard for me to breath but I force my breath to go in…and go out. It’s a terrifying feeling. The cramping started moving up into the diaphragm area to the point where it feels like I’m not going to be able to breath anymore.

Clarissa looked at me with concern. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer.

A beautiful young girl who was 19 years with drug scars all over her arms and legs came over to me. Lindsey looked at me. “What shit are you on?”

I took her literally. I looked down where I was sitting. “What?”

“What’s your dope? What do you use?”

I didn’t know what she was talking about. I looked at her, confused.

She explained. “Do you take drugs?”

I finally understood. “I’m on Celexa.”

She scrunched her eyebrows. “What is that?”

“It’s an anti-depressant drug but they wouldn’t let me bring it in.”

I doubled over in pain, gasping for air.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I have PTSD and I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“You’re not in here for drugs?”

“No!”

She came close and sat down next to me. “I’ll help you through it. I’ve had anxiety attacks before.” She rubbed my back, breathed with me and talked me through the entire attack.

Clarissa looked at Lindsey as I began to calm down. “She’s green; she’s never been through this before.”

“Oh, then why are you here? What are you in for?”

“My husband wants to get rid of me. He doesn’t want to pay me alimony or child support so he had me arrested.”

Lindsey groaned. “Oh I have to introduce you to Brandy upstairs! Her husband was a rich guy and he did it to her too. He had a girlfriend on the side. As soon as she was arrested he had Brandy arrested and moved his bitch in. Does your husband have someone on the side?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

TO BE CONTINUED