NO MORE BAIL FOR SANDUSKY
jerry sandusky posted his $250,000 bail this morning, and has been released.
he has racked up more than 50 charges to date. he spent last night in jail.
he is now out. again. which is dumb.
::standing on soapbox for a moment::
i’d like to take a moment to tackle this “child sex abuse” terminology that has been rampant in the media concerning these allegations against sandusky.
CHILD SEX = RAPE
CHILD SEX ABUSE = RAPE
SEX ABUSE SCANDAL INVOLVING CHILDREN = RAPE
::stepping off soapbox::
Under the terms of his release, Sandusky will be confined to his home, subject to electronic monitoring and forbidden from having any contact with any witnesses or victims in the attorney general investigation.
Sandusky was jailed Wednesday on 12 new charges of child sex abuse after a grand jury report released details of testimony from two new alleged victims.
Sandusky was charged last month with sexually abusing 8 other boys over a 15-year span. He maintains his innocence. -via abcnews.com
crimes aside. rape allegations aside. child sex abuse charges aside… what chaps my ass at this moment in time is that sandusky has the option of bail. he continues to make bail and will continue to do so until bail is no longer an option for him.
the man should be behind bars, period. no bail.
and here’s why: no one is being protected with sandusky making bail. NO ONE. obviously his victims are not being protected. their assailant is confined to his home. those brave individuals who came forward (and are still coming forward) are not being protected so long as sandusky is able to post bail.
also, (and i personally couldn’t care less about sandusky’s safety, for the record) the truth of the matter is that sandusky is not being protected either. he is safer behind bars than he is on house-arrest.
bail should no longer be an option for sandusky. no one is being protected by offering him bail.
ps- dear media, call it what it is… IT IS RAPE.
remembering a muse
i had an english professor in college who, when i was 19 year old, was exactly who i wanted to be. she was crunchy and well-read. she hadn’t cut her hair in who knows how many years and had to move it over her shoulder so that she could sit… on her desk with her legs crossed and shoes off. she lived in a van with her husband who was a painter. we were allowed to call her by her first name.
i remember her crooked teeth. they were the cute kind of crooked. her teeth added to her eclectic nature and personality. she loved her job as a teacher. she made sure to tell us that nearly every day in class. i remember loving that she did that. it made me feel important, needed even, like she needed ME in her class in order to love her job.
her last name is one of my favorite words in the english language, inspiring in itself. i felt like it was meant to be that i was in her class, with her teaching me, with her badass last name, long hair, weird ensembles, van-living lifestyle.
i really looked up to her.
it wasn’t too long after that first semester of my sophomore year in college that i was raped. i had only been in her classroom for mere weeks before i took a week off in an attempt to figure out how the hell to go on with my life. i remember missing her class during that week. missing her. i remember worrying that she would think i was one of those slacker students who didn’t give a shit about english or any other class for that matter.
english was the only class i ever cared about in school.
in those few weeks of being in her classroom, i felt like myself. i felt like i was just beginning to tap into this writer that i longed to become. there had been teachers prior to this college professor who had impacted me and my writing in various ways, but this was different. i was an adult now, making my own decisions, figuring out who i wanted to be.
until it was all taken from me. i was taken from me. and i didn’t go to her class for a solid week.
i went to my other classes, for the most part. i didn’t care about those classes. i showed up for attendance and then stared at the dry erase boards until i was dismissed. but her class, i couldn’t make myself go. it hurt too much. i cared about that class.
eventually my fear of her thinking that i was a slacker student got the better of me and i showed up in her classroom. i didn’t participate that day, but i was there physically speaking.
i remember her asking me to stay after the rest of the class had been dismissed. it was clear she wanted to know where i had been. it was as though she knew i cared about this class and she was confused. as soon as the last student left the classroom, my eyes welled-up with tears.
i told her why i hadn’t been in class. i told her i was raped. she listened. she held my hand. she gave me tissues. she was the first person, aside from family and paul, that i had said those words to out loud.
it was real.
and when i was done talking, when i was more focused on blowing my nose than spilling my guts, she looked as though she had something to say. when she was certain she had my eyes and undivided attention, she said two words that have stuck with me for over a decade.
“me too.”
and then she wept. and i wept with her. i wasn’t alone. she wasn’t alone.
that week was her last week of teaching our class. she said that she had some demons to deal with and she quit without notice. for a while, i worried that it was my fault she left.
it wasn’t. who knows how long she had buried her story… a story she hadn’t even shared with her husband. her story needed to be told, but gently and in time. her story needed her full attention. it wasn’t my fault that she left. it was just time.
i wonder about her a lot. i hope she has made her peace. and i really hope she is happy.
when bloggers actually have souls
WARNING: this is when i get really angry, nay… disgusted with people. feel free to close your browser now.
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i received an email yesterday from a woman, offering money in return for placing her ad as a link in one of my previously written posts.
i get a lot of these. all bloggers do. and typically i just delete them and move on. this email, however, struck me as odd because she referenced the post in which she wanted to place her ad.
she specifically requested this post i had written back in february. i’ll let you take a minute to read the post to understand why my curiosity was peaked when learning that someone wanted to place an ad link in that particular post.
odd, no? who requests and ad link be placed in a post like that?
so, i wrote her back and simply asked for specific details.
this was her response…
The link would be to www.types-of-nurses.com/forensic-nursing
And we’d like it on this post http://www.mybottlesup.com/2011/02/create-the-mold-of-a-rape-victim/
All you would have to do is edit the second paragraph to read: “..i’ve sat with them in emergency rooms while a forensic nurse collected evidence, and i’ve sat with them in SARC…”
Then make the words “forensic nurse” link to our site
And that’s it. As soon as the link is in place we can immediately pay you via PayPal. Let me know if you are interested and if we can work something out. Thanks!
to say i was flabbergasted does not even touch it. i was astounded. disgusted. enraged. i was hurt and disappointed.
i told paul about the brief email exchange i had with this woman, and as he shook his head in disbelief, i let my anger out. i said nasty things, cursed humanity, and told paul where i would like to see this woman go. i was so mad that i cried. i got up off the couch, went to the bathroom, and cried.
how dare she! how dare anyone! what is wrong with people?!?!
but i made sure to write her back first…
Dear __________,
No. There is no amount of money anyone could PayPal me to place ads for forensic nursing programs in my posts regarding rape and sexual assault.
Nic
i know just as well as the next person does that the blog world can get ugly sometimes. i know that there are bloggers deemed as “sell outs” for accepting money for posts, ads, etc. ya know what though? i also know that people need to make a damn living. bloggers need to put food on the table just as much as anyone else does.
have i “sold out” and accepted payment for posts? sure. will i continue to? possibly. if the opportunity is the right opportunity.
and yeah, there are times when i cringe at certain offers, the inner starving artist inside of me yelling DON’T GIVE IN TO THE MAN!!!
but there are times when i feel overjoyed and grateful for opportunities (paid and unpaid) that are offered to me as a blogger.
what you won’t see me do is accept any form of payment for placing an ad link in a post i have written about rape and sexual assault.
isn’t the subject taboo enough? isn’t there enough controversy surrounding abuse, rape, and sex crimes? what do you think offering bloggers money for ad links in rape-related posts will do? get you more clicks? traffic to your site? no. it won’t. all it will do is make the association between consumerism and sexual abuse.
use that money that you were going to paypal me and give it to a sexual assault response center. donate it to the Joyful Heart Foundation and work to end the backlog on rape kits.
don’t offer that money to someone who wrote a post months ago in the hopes of being heard and making a change. that’s just insulting, and makes you look like an asshole.
sometimes you won’t know your own triggers
i couldn’t watch 127 hours. i tried. but i didn’t even make it 45 minutes into the film before i had a full blown panic attack and asked my husband to turn it off and place the DVD back into the netflix envelope.
**********
years ago, when i worked as a rape victim advocate for the state of florida, my boss at the time (and fellow survivor) told me, “sometimes you won’t know what it is that triggers you.”
since i was raped, there have been the “obvious” triggers that a rape survivor suffering from PTSD may experience. these include but are not limited to an unending list of things, ranging from the sound of ones voice, to the touch of another human being, to the color of a shirt.
**********
my boss was right. it’s been over 10 years since i was raped and a little over a month ago, i found myself in the midst of a moment filled with panic, anxiety, rage, and uncontrollable emotion… because i watched a movie where the main character had zero control over what was happening to him, and i could relate all too well.
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may is National Mental Health Month. if you find yourself feeling alone, like you are the only one who thinks the way you think or feels the way you feel, please head over to Band Back Together. you’re not alone… not by a long shot.
intake
i share my birthday with a very special person.
the day i met her, almost five years ago, she had come in to my place of work with her mom. the two of them sat out in the lobby, while i was in my office at my desk. my coworker and fellow rape recovery team victim advocate poked her head into my office.
“are you in the middle of something important?”
“nah, not really. what’s up?”
“there’s a victim out in the lobby with her mom. the rest of us are in the middle of SAAM planning with donors. she wants to talk to an advocate, learn about her options, but she wants to do it without her mom present. can you do her intake?”
“yeah, no problem. i’ll get the paperwork.”
“great, thanks. debrief with me about it this afternoon.”
i closed the documents that were open on my computer, locked the screen, and grabbed the intake paperwork from the drawer of my desk.
before my coworker got too far down the hallway and back into her meeting, i called after her and quickly jogged towards her.
“where’s the paperwork from the night of the call? i didn’t have the pager the night of her rape.”
“ah shit, sorry. it’s in d’s top drawer of her file cabinet. key is under her mousepad.”
i got the victim’s name and then went to d’s office to get her file.
all of us had locked file cabinets, paperwork that had been filled out in confidence, that was respected. always.
flipping through the pages of her file, i learned a bit about the victim… the girl… young… too young… i learned about her assault, who responded to the scene, and what protocol had been followed in order to provide the victim with support, information, and resources, should she choose to use the services that we, as victim advocates, provide.
i took her file, along with my intake paperwork, to the front of the building and introduced myself to both the girl and her mother. the mother began speaking very quickly and with total disregard of the fact that we were in the lobby where others were clearly within hearing distance. her daughter stared at the floor and flicked her fingers at the buttons that were on her yellow raincoat.
once i was able to escort the victim back to one of our counseling rooms, i clicked on the sound machine that was kept at the bottom of each door of those rooms. this was to assure whomever we were meeting with, would be respected and met with total confidentiality.
amongst the paperwork and questions about her rape, from both my end and hers, there were times of basic human interaction. i remember her telling me that she liked my shoes.
she then asked me how old i was… and then she corrected herself.
“i’m sorry. i probably shouldn’t be asking you that.”
“no. it’s fine. i will be 25 in a few weeks.”
“i’ll be 17 in a few weeks. you seem really young to be doing this kind of work.”
“i am.”
we both laughed.
after the intake process was complete, i explained the options she had in terms of services that she would be receiving. (this can fall along the spectrum of legal information, to obtaining safe shelter, to establishing free counseling sessions that were provided at my place of work.)
she took a deep breath and asked if she had to share all of the information i gave her with her mother. i told her that what she chose to share with whomever was entirely her decision to make, but i encouraged her to speak with someone, even if it is not her mother.
she then told me why she felt she couldn’t talk to her mother.
her assailant was her stepfather.
the amount of time i spent with her for this intake ended up being more time than i spent during any other intake i had done as a rape victim advocate. there was something about this victim, this girl, that i couldn’t quite put my finger on. but i knew that i wasn’t ready for our time together to end, and i got that feeling from her as well.
for a while, we just sat there and talked. about normal things. because survivors are capable of doing so… talking about normal things.
when i looked at the clock that hung above the door to the counseling room, i grimaced and told her that we should probably wrap things up. i asked her if she had any other questions, if there was anything i had discussed with her that she needed clarification on.
“yeah, i have one question and then i’ll go…”
“absolutely. shoot.”
“how do you know? like… you have sat here and nodded with me for over an hour… you like ‘get it.’ how do you know?”
“i was raped too. a long time ago.”
she hugged me, thanked me for my time. she took the folder of information that i had for her. i compiled her intake forms. we opened the door and i bent down to turn off the sound machine.
when we walked up towards the lobby, where her mother was waiting, i told her that i wished her well and to remember that she was not alone.
her mom saw us and got up from her seat to approach her daughter.
i wished the girl a happy early birthday, and when she did the same, she asked me what day mine was on.
“may 3rd.”
“mine too.”
she smiled and clutched the folder i had given her tightly to her chest.
not a single birthday has passed for me, since that time, when i haven’t thought about her as i blow out the candles on my cake.
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april is sexual assault awareness month. if you or someone you know is in need of support, resources or help, please visit RAINN. the national sexual assault hotline phone number is 1.800.656.HOPE
Have a Sip
