In the few days since I last posted, I’ve sat here and written and deleted several times. I pray for this to be the last time. I’ve considered going on in detail about specific experiences with Johns, and I’ve had to revise so many times that I’ve lost my train of thought entirely. I also realized that in the large scheme of things, knowing details about sexual and abusive encounters with disgusting men isn’t really relevant. It's not the point I want to make with this blog. It would make most better understand just how awful this shit was, but it wouldn’t make or break the message I am desperately trying to convey. There’s a possibility that down the road I may go there and allow myself to share that part of me, but tonight, I have other things on my mind.
If I were to go in chronological order of events, the next step would to elaborate on my Snapped post. To explain in detail the events that followed after I was informed of Angelo’s* actions so shortly after I’d been picked up by the police. You see, while I was speaking with an article writer this morning this event was brought up in the course of our conversation (although it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she wasn’t able to catch half the shit we talked about since my children decided to go effing exorcist on me!!) She asked me about why I was so angry and so willing to talk to the police about Angelo when they told me they’d found him in a hotel room with another girl. I explained to her in more detail than I’ve explained here: I was more than angry. I was a woman scorned. Well, a woman with all of the maturity of a 15 year old so, we can add a little temper tantrum in to the mix. When Angelo and I started out as pimp and “hoe”, I was under the sad misunderstanding that what we were doing was temporary. We were a couple. This was just a means to get the money we needed for that dream life. The night we drove into DC and he stopped and told me what we were doing there and what my job was….in my shock and disbelief, I think what convinced me to just get out and walk to streets was 1. My need to cry and figure it all out in my head, and 2. Because he told me in that moment, that this was temporary, and that we only needed to make enough money so that we could move up to bigger and better things.
I believed him, because I was fucking stupid!
Wait. Back up. I wasn't stupid-that's still how I FEEL about it today, but logically I know that I was a child and I didn't know better. That's the hard part in this. I am STILL stuck with that idea my mother drilled into me of “self inflicted injury.”
I honestly thought that we were Bonnie and Clyde, that everything I was doing was doing for US as a COUPLE. I had a role and he had a role. He painted the big picture for me and this was how we got there. When I found out that he’d been in a motel room with another girl it wasn’t just my boss or my pimp it was an emotional train wreck. It was heartbreak and betrayal and it was sudden realization that I was probably as dumb as they come. Tattoo DUMBASS across my forehead.
And that made me angry and vindictive. It made realize he wasn’t special at all. Period.
In the following weeks a lot happened. A lot of really important shit happened. I don’t remember all of it. I especially have no real emotion attached to what I do remember. So, how do I tell you what happened…without it sounding like a bullet point time line? I think that the shock of everything and the zombie like state I was in is really important. This is where the trauma was it’s at it’s worst and this is where I needed the most help. There are so many forms of trauma that piled into those moments that I'm not sure I can even begin to list them all. I had just “betrayed” someone who I thought I loved and even might love me back. I thought that I was THE most terrible person walking the Earth and I really didn’t think I deserved to live. I also believed this was MY fault. In the meantime the events from the moment I “handed” Angelo over to the moment I stepped of a plane in BFE Chautauqua County, New York, were overwhelming and they were chaotic. I was pushed from one place to another day in and day out, and the end result was worth it and NOW I can see that. The way I felt then was awful.
After I confirmed that Angelo was indeed my pimp the detective and FBI agent immediately changed their demeanor and became very sensitive and very comforting. They took me through the standard procedures for a minor who’s been picked up and they put me in a holding cell where I waited for my mother. Eventually, I don’t remember how long after, maybe 6 hours, she finally came and got me. She was pissed, she was judgmental, and she was full of “I kept you waiting, you needed to sit there and think about the shit you’ve done”. And I was uninterested in anything she had to say. I expected to go home, sit there a day or two then call Angelo and tell him to come and get me just like the first time I’d been arrested.
That's not what happened.
Instead, the same detective and FBI agent showed up at my mother’s door later that and served her with a subpoena. If I remember correctly, she was facing child endangerment charges if she didn’t make me cooperate with the investigation and trial. Of course, as per usual, she took it upon herself to make the situation about her, and how it affected her, and what would happen to her and what I was doing to her…and I sat there and gave no fucks because I was angry and I was hurt and I really did not care what the hell would happen to her.
Then she pulled the ultimate guilt trip on me.
She turned to me and informed me that if I didn’t cooperate and she DID go to jail, that my siblings and I would all go to foster care, we’d be split up and likely not see one another for many, many years.
I was too young, and too naive to know that that wouldn’t be a likely outcome considering my Grandmother already held physical custody of my siblings and if something should happen to my mother there were plenty of willing family members to make sure we didn’t end up in any foster home. But alas, I was stressed, and I was in shock and I was too young to know better. I believed her. So I cooperated. I went to a doctor and got a full physical and pap smear, blood panel, STD check, the whole God damned nine yards. And then I went before a Grand Jury and told them everything they needed to know about what had happened. The thing that got the most attention was The Lie. I had lied to Angelo. He thought that I was 17, when in reality, I was 15. This was a game changer. Once that bit of information came to light he chose to plead guilty. In my telling of what had occurred I included the fact that we had been intimate together. He now realized that he was facing serious statutory rape charges on top of the solicitation charges.
In the meantime, I had been put in contact with a therapist who would meet me wherever I chose and we would sit and talk. I only got a few sessions with her before we left. I don’t know that what little we got in really helped anything. Looking back I appreciate the opportunity to have talked to someone after everything and I know that, at the time, it was the very best anyone could offer me. Probably right as I began to feel comfortable with her, my mother decided to take that opportunity and use my circumstances as a means to make the government move us to New York on their dime “for our safety.” In reality, there was really no way they could argue that me being relocated was a bad idea. So, we packed our bags and tried to pack our past. We left Maryland and everything and everyone I’d ever known. I angrily stepped on a plane in Virginia and just as angrily stepped off of one in New York. Although she may be selfish, her forcing that move may have been the one and only move she ever made as a mother that counted for something. I still had a long journey of healing before me, but I got to start new and make a new life.