Nothing More, But Everything Else

I keep coming back to this.Not because I haven’t said it before. I have. I look at all of this from a dozen angles. I used to think this would have a finale, it would be finished. That somewhere there was a final version of this argument, and once I found it, I could stop. I don’t think that anymore. I don’t think of this as a wound as much as it is a mission now. Each pass shows me something the last one missed, like a part that fell on the floor, and it was found later in another pass. I told a friend of mine, when you get your teeth knocked out, and your jaw broken, it takes time to put all the pieces back together. It takes time, not just to learn how to talk, but to articulate, to find clarity. So here it is again, from a new angle, closer to the bone than I’ve gotten before.I’ve written so much about my experiences over the past decade, though admittedly, the images grow smaller each day, fading as I age away from it. I guess I wouldn’t write another word of it had any of those who did this been charged for their deceits. It does at times feel unseemly, that I complain about four days in jail. It was Scott County after all, and while it was unnerving and unpleasant, it’s not Riker’s Island. Four days in a tiny cell is nothing in the grand scope of things, it’s an uncomfortable inconvenience. It was expensive, too. With all that it cost in legal expenses, investigators, experts, lost income, my savings were gutted, my career was shot in the head. But, you know, I was acquitted and I’m free. Am I though?I get the argument. Moving on is supposed to be an important psychological step. The experience was once fluid, but now it’s turned to plaque and chipping away can be tedious. I was told by a “good friend”, that walking away from it isn’t hard, it’s just one small step in front of another. But, that’s the same pattern when walking in circles. The relief isn’t walking away from it, it’s carrying it with you when you go.I don’t want to give up this conversation, because the machine, or rather, the mechanics of accusations, both false and “real,” involve similar parts and similar problems. Given the damage to those wrongfully accused, and the danger to those who have experienced sexual violence without recompense it feels like a worthy pursuit. But, this thing is forever and always a problem of proof and the challenges of evidence. Given it’s a crime that goes unseen, this is the central challenge for those seeking justice, and those seeking protection from vicious falsities. I keep picking at it, like tugging at scabs. Being accused, particularly in the humiliating limelight of public news and social media, means that no matter the outcome, you’re either metaphorically, or literally, in jail forever. False accusations mean you’re never really cleared, you’ll always be wearing an invisible ankle bracelet that can, without warning, be tripped. Go to lunch with a friend, someone sees you and posts on social media. See someone that recognizes you, and they can’t flee fast enough. Want to work, forget it, someone will eventually recognize you and the cycle starts all over again. “Guilty, f*****g slime,” I was called that only a few weeks ago. I don’t give up in part because they don’t give up. Being found guilty would have meant no ambiguity, but that also comes with a lengthy prison sentence (they were asking for more than 20 years in my case). My attorney told me that if I was found guilty, she would file for a mistrial, or an immediate appeal. Both would mean I’d still spend time in prison. Being found not guilty seems should have cleared my name, but it didn’t. Without a full confession from my accuser, you see, she’s still a victim. The ambiguous outcome didn’t clear my name, but at least I can go to the movies whenever I want, spend time with my wife, take a piss in my backyard. Because, freedom.I’m pissed off that my accuser walks away, while victims of sexual violence often don’t get justice and 6 figure settlements. I complain about how brutal it all was, but, victims of sexual violence will carry the unforgiving scars of everything that follows such an assault. The raw emotions can become infectious, and over time turn gangrenous: shame, guilt, fear, depression, anger, and sadness. It’s not an easy road. If a victim goes to the police, she’ll have her parts probed and swabbed, and answer ugly questions that on any other day would seem obscene. If she’s fortunate enough to get a female investigator, she’ll need to be prepared to talk about every detail: where did it happen, what was she wearing, how did it start, did he use his fingers, where did he put his cock, did he cum, did he smell, what did he say before, during, and after. Fill out forms. Sign here. That’s just the first round. She’ll do it again for the DA. And if she’s lucky (meaning he was c