August 23, 2019
I felt surprisingly enraged after my run in with my past at the state park. After sobbing a few moments, I felt compelled to go on social media and say, ‘I was abducted at a bar in Denver 5 years ago. The place gave some lame excuse that the surveillance tape had ‘been eaten.’ In other words, they would rather protect their reputation from word getting out that an abduction happened in the first place, then to help the police solve a crime. This is what the detective signed to my case told me at one point. Who in the world would buy that establishment’s excuse? I certainly didn’t.
“Well, fuck you.” I was having a delayed reaction by over 5 years. I didn’t say or write that, but I sure thought those words over and over until the words burned. I quickly pressed delete of those other things I wrote on social media and felt some sort of relief in expressing my thoughts.
Within the next few days, I told my divorce attorney that I wanted my police report. The police station had given me a summary of my account a few years ago, but I wanted a copy of my actual handwritten statement. The detective said he could not give it to me because “it could compromise my case.”
My lawyer said, “That’s bullshit. Just tell him that you need a copy because it was a traumatic experience and you need to see the words, so you can heal.” I told my lawyer how I had done that before and the police department sent me a summary.
He leaned forward towards me, pressing into his desk and said, “Call him again, and tell him what I just told you.”
So, I called Detective Baumgarten.
I had given up checking in to see if there had been any leads in catching the guy years ago, because the call usually ended up disappointing. When, we spoke again, I felt surprisingly assertive. Anger must have been still percolating through my blood more than anything from the previous days. I clearly stated what I wanted. My tone probably sounded like I wouldn’t take, ‘no’ for an answer. I felt prepared for any argument or that he might try to divert me.
After getting all worked up inside, he simply said, “Okay, I will send it to to you in an email.
And, he did.
That was a few weeks ago. I have not opened that email until tonight. That’s not really too surprising. The assault was fresh on my mind when I was making the police report. I remember easily writing certain details, but I also know, much of that night’s experience was lost due to some sort of substance I was given. God only know’s who gave it to me.
I realize now that I missed a lot of those details, dialogue, when I tried to flesh out a scene that I recently wrote in my Journal
The police report was actually pretty loaded with a lot more than words that described a night that actually stole the last five years of my life. Those words that I wrote in the police department made me realize my life that I had carefully created with the big house, two kids and husband was about to be ripped apart. There would be no fucking way I could remain married to him after that experience. I had a vague understanding that I was on my own now, which is what I always wanted, but I did not need to be knocked down to the degree that I was.One month before all of this, I had this silly photo shoot done for this website that turned out to be more extravagant than what I had expected, but it was too late to back out. So, I went a long with it.
When I look at these pictures, I am reminded that the person looking at me on this website is no longer here. Not to sound too melodramatic, but she is dead and so is that life she led. Someone new has come from the carnage, and I don’t always feel strong, but I am better then where I was when this all went down, but I’m not where I was five years ago either.
I AM a work in progress.