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Meghan's Law / Sex Offender Registry


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This is triggering.  This is long.  This has been written while intoxicated.

;)   :)   :P   :ninja:   :ninja:   :angry:   :D   :)   :ninja:

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A few nights ago, I watched a story on the local news about a sex offender. Blame me for watching the local news, because that's where this all started. I should have known better. Actually, this all started when my interest was piqued three or four weeks ago by a story in Seattle. A outlying suburb that is its own incorporated city passed a law banning certain serious sex offenders from living within most of their city limits (the offenders can live in lightly industrial or office areas, which is about 10% of the bedroom community). Personally, I have no problem with the law, but it made me realize something that I've always known: there is a registry. And somewhere, the offender who abused me had to be registered.

And I just couldn't fucking help myself. I tried to ignore it, surf away from the Meghan's Law site (where California offenders are registered), closed the window. Alternatively, I opened ebay windows and shopped for things that I can't afford. And amazon.com windows where my shopping cart (read: not wishlist, shopping cart) has grown to an impressive $238.59 in the past six days. I opened AIMs with people I haven't talked to in months, in a feeble attempt to keep my mind occupied on something else. My cell phone is dead and without it, I haven't had the normal circle of people I keep in touch with on a daily basis. And when all of those things failed, I decided to recklessly drink, drive while drunk (yeah. lecture me, please, cause I won't do that again), and pop pills like you wouldn't believe. Or maybe you would. Anything at all just to keep me from wondering, I did it. But I ran out of options.

He was the only one listed under that name, so from the moment I hit search my fate was sealed. Up appeared his mug shot, a current address, and a listing of his convictions. His mug shot took my breath away. It's been years since I looked at pictures of him. We "erased" him from the family photo archives, and most of the photos that exist of him are in a box under my bed at my mom's house, in case I want them someday. I burned one in a cleansing ritual on a summer night by the river a year and a half after he'd been convicted. I had been the most uncommunicative fucking useless witness ever, and through a series of very difficult interviews they'd only managed to pin him with three charges. Three. I rationalized it as one charge per year, and he got one year in prison per charge. Karmatically, I suppose the debt is paid: he took three years from me, I took three back from him. Balance, order, yin and yang and all that bullshit. I wish that at 15 I had been more able to talk about it. I wish that I had waited until now to prosecute. That bastard would be away for a lot longer.

His last known address, which he's required to register under Meghan's Law, took my breath away. The object of all this obsession lives less than two miles from my house. The house now shared by my mother and my new stepfather, and aunt and uncle, and my sister and the menagerie of pets they all keep. It's only eight miles from where I am right now (I'm staying somewhere else). It is two blocks from the house that my mother's mother owned, by the ice cream shop that my mother took me to after the rape kit. The rape kit I wouldn't let them do because there was no way I was being abused, because wouldn't I remember that sort of thing? Even though a used condom with his sperm mysteriously appeared outside my bedroom door between the hours of 1am and 4am, I talked my way out of the rape kit. Then I made my mom buy me ice cream and a CD so that my time wasn't completely wasted. Now the bastard lives around the corner from the ice cream shop so that even if I wanted to go in there, I wouldn't dare.

The thing I really want to do is drive over there and throw eggs or something equally as sophomoric. I am dissatisfied, displeased, enraged. It is, in fact, taking most of the willpower I have left not to go and knock on his door at this early hour and demand that he explain himself to me. I'm sort of drunk (shut up.) and so I won't get in the car, but believe me if I could I would.  Anger in me says to burn his house down, or shoot fireworks through the windows, or do something extremely destructive.  These visions in my head are paired with visions of a tearful How could you? or a forceful Why me?.

I know the answers already, though, and I have no idea what his reaction would be to me. I don't really need to know. But I want to. Badly. And don't I have the right to some answers? Don't I deserve at least that much?  To make matters even more interesting, my family has searched out this information themselves.  Separate from me, they searched the database and found out all the information I have.  I found out tonight about their search, and all of this is happening while I'm home for two weeks before school starts again.

I just wish any of this was easy.  I wish I hadn't looked in the first place.  Of course, after what my family told me tonight, I'd have looked.  So, I guess what I want isn't possible.

[edited to add trigger warning]

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I wish I had something really helpful and eloquent to say, but I don't....

Just don't go anywhere near this bastard! He took three years from you- DON'T LET HIM TAKE ANYMORE by wasting your life away hating him! He'll take EVERYTHING if you let him. He stole your virginity and your innocence- don't let him steal your life and self-worth too.

I have fantasies about what would happen if I gathered up all my family and said, "Hey, remember Grampa? Yeah, THE BASTARD RAPED ME WHEN I WAS EIGHT FUCKING YEARS OLD." I want to go to his grave with a sledgehammer and smash that marble that proclaims him a war hero.

Uhm, so basically, I know how you feel.

If you do decide to go totally sophmoric, wait until no one's home, then plaster his house with wet tampons. Strawberry syrup makes convincing blood. Have fun, and don't ask how I know this.

~Diamond~

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Hi:

  I can't even begin to say I know how you feel. Because I don't. I have PTSD. But it has a different source. So, I know the triggereing effects of the stomach in the throat, the shakes, the cold skin out of nowhere, the tears that just start, but believe me, it isn't from anything violent like you have suffered. And I don't for a second want to diminish what you or the "thousands of yous" have been through. Because I can't even begin to imagine it.

  But there is a solution. A therapy for PTSD that does work. It is called EMDR. I recommend that you read about it. It is becoming more mainstream. I have done the thearpy for other issues, but it was designed for PTSD, and now that I have it, I am going to make arrangements to do this as soon as my EMDR therapist returns from vacation.

  Here's the cool thing about this therapy. It's fast, it works, and you are the witness to the event. You do not participate. You will find the answers to your questions inside yourself. You won't need to confront him. Like Hoof beats said "he took three years, don't let him take your whole life".

  Look into EMDR. It really is a wonderful therapy for PTSD.

  Feel free to pm me with any questions you might have.

Breeze

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I haven't anything wise or profound to offer you, though I wish I did.

I can only imagine how awful that discovery must have been for you. I know that I would be horrified and terrified to find someone like that lived nearby -- fortunately, I left mine in another country.

Don't let this take over your life again. The only way out, alas, is usually through. The harder you try to deny all of your feelings the worse it will get. So feel them, but don't dwell on them, so you can move on. Do you have a therapist you can discuss this with? Even one you haven't seen in a while but could have just a couple appointments to help you handle this?

My opinion is that there's nothing to be gained from any kind of confrontation. You aren't going to get reasonable answers out of him, or even any answers. He may not be completely sure himself of the answers, and whatever he has probably won't satisfy you. As has been said, don't let him steal any more time from you!

Fiona

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ok this is dumb post

look at you! you're amazing! look at what a stellar human being you have become.

let's review the facts.

he is - a sad fuck who has to be registered with the authorities because he is a stain on humanity.

you are - a pretty much intact person with an appropriate stress response who has the brains to operate a computer, have the guts to face up to a empty hearted demon and then talk about it.

the only thing that you can do is have some dignity. be the one that gives him an evil smile if you ever run into him, and then walk away. he'll be pooping his pants wondering what you're cooking up as revenge. he'll be pissy because he wanted power and now you're the one with it because you have his details, you put him away, you have it in the record books that you were the one who stood up for your rights, however unwillingly, and made him pay for his crimes. no they're not even crimes, they are atrocities.

and spending $$ on ebay - wasn't that fun? a couple of hundred dollars is nothing compared to getting trashed, and trying to take your own life, or worse, actually taking it. if it meant you got trashed, spent some money, frantically tried to find some support, and are now living to talk about it with other people, people who value what you say and who you are, then i'd say that was a fair deal.

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