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  • Expectations 🤦‍♀️

    OfficerAmanda seemed to have a good relationship with everyone, she was always talking to people. She really did fit in with our small-town folks. 

    Officer Amanda and I had a mutual friend, but I stayed cleared when she came around. It had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with her uniform. She tried talking to me a few times, I was quiet and off putting, but she never pushed me. 

    We did end up becoming great friends once I got to know her and explained my “triggers”, she is the reason I got past those triggers with police and I thank her for that! Just because you found two rotten apples, doesn’t mean the whole bag of apples if rotten! That’s how Officer Amanda described it and she’s right. There’s always a potential of all the apples being rotten because mold spreads, BUT you must look at each apple individually to confirm. 

    Ever heard the expression “Expectations brings disappointment“, me either but I believe it whole heartedly. You can have expectations for yourself, but if you have them for anyone else, you will be disappointed. I’m sure you are questioning this asking when, why, how and I will be glad to explain. First, answer a question before we get into it, “Who can you control?”

    Be brutally honest with yourself, if you are, the answer is “I can only control myself”. Years of trauma, triggers, depression, anxiety, and therapy all happened to me but I was still in control of myself in the end. Things could have gone differently so many times, but they didn’t. They happened to me and made me who I am today. Most people thank their families, parents, and I’m over here selfish as hell telling myself, “YOU GOT YOU HERE!”. 

    Yes, I can thank many people for being there when I needed them, but ultimately my choices, decisions, actions, etc. were in my control. I couldn’t control my mother to not cheat, couldn’t control Tyler be a decent father, and I can’t control my sons future. This is called acceptance and it was a rough road to get to, some days I take steps back. As long as I keeping trying, keep pushing forward, I will become an even better person.  

  • Triggers are real

    I went on about my life as much as I could, ignoring the trial and what my future was going to be. I just went through it numb, like it would be ok eventually. It did turn out the best for me, but even today it makes me ask why. I‘m not going to name all the “why’s” and it won’t matter, I will never know why that situation became such a disaster in a short amount of time. A lesson learned and still to this day don’t understand the “why” behind it. 

    I would consider myself a decent human being and thought that experience was done and to never think about it again. That’s not realistic though, triggers are real and can come out of nowhere and smack you into next week. I got pulled over by my small town police officer when I was 16 driving the family car, for expired plates. As soon as I saw the lights on come everything in my body wanted to haul ass to get the hell away from them. I couldn’t control my emotions and was hysterically crying and shacking trying to pull over. The poor officer came to my window and was immediately asked if I was ok and I needed EMT assistance. I could barely breathe, I could only say, “my dad is Jospeh Remington”, on repeat. The officer called his partner and had him go get my dad. 

    Once my dad was there, I started to calm down and breathe somewhat normal. The officer explained to my dad that he pulled me over for expired plates. My dad had told my brother to put the new tag on, but he left it in the glove box. So, all this could have been avoided, but it also showed me that the “triggers” my therapist tried to warn me about, are very much real.

    Triggers can come in many ways, mine became anxiety about police officers. I wasn’t proud of it but I was not ashamed of it either. I was not against the police, but I was not wanting their help either. That was until I met Officer Amanda, the only female police officer we ever had in our small town, don’t believe me, look it up, LeRoy, Illinois.

  • The results

    The usual procedure when you get arrest, strip down, squat and cough. Then came a camera? The woman walks in while I’m still naked and says she needs to take pictures. I was so drained and mentally exhausted I didn’t fight I just let them move me how they needed me to take photos. After that I was able to shower and placed in a secure room. The second I hit the quarter inch thin plastic mattress, no pillow or blanket, and crashed. 

    They put me on a suicide watch due to old scars and knowledge from my parents of my depression recently. I was already seeing a therapist, unfortunately, I had to see a new one. I don’t remember the reason to switch therapist but I do remember I had only met the new once or  maybe twice. They didn’t know me anymore than the damn judge did, I was screwed. 

    To make a really long boring story short, I was in Juvenile Detention Center for two weeks and was released right before Thanksgiving. Once my parents found a lawyer, the judge ordered me to go home and back to school during the trial. The original judge I had made me stay for two weeks, after reviewing the charges against me. My lawyer, fortunately, was affiliated with the first judge and we were ordered a new judge. 

    The Juvenile Detention Center could hear me screaming in the background for help. They took pictures of me from the buries and marks I had on me. They testified against Office P and Chief, as they told the court they called multiple times with more and more charges on me. Multiple people at the center had answered the phone and heard my screams. The pictures justified me being rough-housed by the officers, as I was only 70 pounds. All charges were dropped after over a year long trial, and both officers were terminated. 

  • Just keeps getting worse

    In the mist of court with the boys, I got into another situation that ripped my family of the holidays. I say that due to never putting a Christmas tree up again until the grandkids were born. I guess you can say at age fourteen, I grew up pretty damn fast. Months after the charges against the boys, I got into an argument with an ex-friend of mine, we’ll call her H. She had been spreading lies about my brother Nick and I was going to get her to stop, so I thought. 

    We all walked to the Pool Hall during our off-campus lunch when I saw H and decide to confront her. We started yelling and were asked to leave the Pool Hall. We walked across the street where everyone saw and heard us arguing, people driving by instigating a fight. Out of nowhere, my friend Jamie came up behind me and pushed H so hard it knocked her down. I can’t recall why Jamie wanted to fight her, or maybe she was sticking up for me? Anyways, that push set H off to the police department a block away. 

    Jamie and I decided to head back to school when an officer pulled up and told us to go the police department. As we walked there, Jamie was worried she would get into trouble. I wasn’t worried, I never touched her. They split all of us up and I sat at the front door with my dad. I explained everything that happened to my dad and he asked the gentlemen at the desk if he could bring me back later so I didn’t miss school. The gentlemen said we would have to wait for the officer. Well, after a while my dad got frustrated and told the gentlemen that he would bring me back after school and we walked out. 

    We’re almost to the car when an Office P, we will call him, came out and grabbed my arm. He shoved me back towards to police department. Of course, my dad didn’t like they way he was handling me, as I didn’t either from the “molestation” I was going through emotionally. My dad got in his face and told him to watch how me handles me and told me not to say anything at all. That’s when Office P pushed me inside the station and told my dad to leave and the shut door in his face. 

    Officer P took me to a back office and handcuffed me to a chair and left. As soon as he left, I was sitting in an office, with the door closed, staring at a man in ripped jean shorts, no shirt no shoes, with scratched all over him. He asked me how old I was and I immediately picked up the chair, opened the office door and starting yelling for them to put me somewhere else. That’s when I met Chief, he instructed me to sit back down and I refused asking to be put in a different room. He pushed me down in the chair, I was still handcuffed to, about 3 or 4 times. I would get up each time telling him I can’t stay in this office with this older man.

    He then took the cuffs off the chair and placed it on my other hand. He pushed me down again in the chair and said I didn’t have a choice. The older man in jean shorts told the Chief that he could not handcuff a little girl and asked where my parents were. Now the chief had both of us wanting to be moved. He hollered to Officer P and to come help. Chief grabbed my shoulders and Officer P grabbed my legs to carry me into a back room with a couch. They proceeded to handcuff me to the couch and Chief laughed and said “let’s see if you can move the big old couch”. I can’t really explain what I was mentally going through, I just knew I wasn’t safe, I had no one there to help me, and I was determined to get the hell out of there. 

    I started pulling the couch out of the doorway when I got pushed down and held down by Officer P, Chief, and a woman to put me in shackles. I had a pair of handcuffs on my writs already, a pair on my ankles, and another pair connecting the two. So, my hands are connected to my feet so I can’t stand or sit, all I could do is lay in the fetal position. At this point, I was defeated and accepted whatever was going to happen. 

    Not knowing how long it had been since they left me on the floor shackled, when I hear my mother walk in and gasp at what she saw. Her and my dad were being led somewhere else by Chief. Once they finally came out, I can’t remember anything being said, but I’ll never forget the look on my moms face, she was pissed and dad was scared. I knew whatever the officers had told them it wasn’t good. They tell me I’m being arrested for multiple counts, I can’t literally remember all of them. Let’s just say if I was convicted and sentenced, I would still be in prison today 26 years later. 

    The drive there was weird, the officer taking me was not the Officer P or Chief I had previously met, unofficially. This officer was in a good mood, signing songs that were on the radio. I remember once I got there I was exhausted from the whole situation. All I wanted to do was lay down anywhere and disappear. 

    This is where I think I might have taken “karma” a little too serious. I had convinced myself that I was being punished. Karma for the first boy that got  a charge I didn’t think he deserved. Being quiet and not expressing my true honest feelings and I must be punished.

  • Real shit

    Therapy can help anyone if they are wiling to put the work into, just like life is! I started seeing a therapist when I was 14 years old. I had situation where a man forced his hands where he shouldn’t, and since I was underage, it was called child molestation. I didn’t feel that was what they did, but law requirements call it that. When I started seeing the therapist, I wanted to help the man not get into too much trouble. I didn’t tell anyone at first because I was scared and embarrassed. Until I was put in another situation that could have been worse. 

    I had left school late, can’t remember why, and walking in the rain. I had stopped under an awning when a familiar truck pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride home. Mind you, I grew up in a small town, twenty-three hundred population. Everyone knew everyone in that town and you couldn’t get away with much, gossip is like a wildfire for us small town folks. B, we will call him, senior in high school, on the football team, and I knew him and my brother Ben hung out once in a while.

    I made the decision to get a ride, feeling uneasy but knew it was the other situation that could be “trigging me”. The therapist kept telling me that, even after weeks of no issues. That changed quickly when he missed the turn. I politely told him he missed the turn and he laughed and said, I know where I‘m going, relax”. I tried telling him my dad was waiting for me, I was already late getting home as it was, he will be worried. Nothing I said made him turn around, instead he parked at the public pool, unzipped his pants, pulling out his on-eyed friend, grabbed my hair and forced my head down. I fought with everything I had, ended up head-butting him in the face and ran like hell.

    I ran all the way home, took a shower and went to bed. I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t know what to say or if some how I could get into trouble. I was willing to get into his truck, I could have said no. I guess you can say, that’s when the depression really hit me hard. I no longer wanted to hang out with friends, missed volleyball practice, missing assignments at school, etc. This went on for a few weeks when finally my parents had enough and demanded I tell them what was going on with me. 

    I wanted to just avoid all boys and ignore it all together. I didn’t see my therapist much after that, I hated going to court and having to see them again. I just wanted it all to go away and everyone just leave me alone. I don’t remember what happened to either of them. I felt guilty about the charges on the first boy, but they did force themselves after I made them stop. Yes, I felt guilty for pressing charges on the first guy, it was so close to the second situation with B that made me spin out of control. 

    I didn’t consider the first boy to be charged with “molestation” more of a “you know better than to touch young girls, you’re dad is going to beat your ass”. Me expressing my concerns were unheard, no one cared how I felt about what I put the boys through. Yeah, I said that, I could only think of what the boys (17 and 18) were going through, not myself. What their future will look like, did I screw them up?

  • Me vs Brothers

    I was always a daddy’s girl at heart, but wanted to be just like my brothers, my mother had other plans. She always putting me in fancy dresses and tell me not to get dirty. That was torture for me. There were times I made her happy and wore the damn dress. Then there were times, probably more, that I would get it  dirty just so I wouldn’t have to wear it.

    The boys were never forced into dresses and made to sit while getting their hair curled. What I did not know then, that I would always be treated differently than my brothers. All my growing up, I had my mom tell me how I should act and dress and my dad telling me girls don’t mow the grass or work on cars or do boy things. Even our times to be home, boys could stay out past dark at the same age I was, but I couldn’t. I would always get upset and ask why, my dad would simply say, “because you’re a girl”.

    Those four little words would burn through my skull, just rage. If I ‘m anything I am tenacious as hell and will try to prove them all wrong. I’m not sure when my dad finally gave up and just let me be round and help the guys with stuff, but I loved it! I remember helping my dad and a friend of his tear off shingles off our roof. I can’t remember who helped my dad but he wasn’t used to girls helping either. He was always watching me and telling me to be careful, like I’m fragile. At one point I decided to take a break and sat on the edge of the roof to dangle my legs. My dads friend came up from the other side of the roof and yelled, “get away from edge, you’re going to fall”. I turned around thinking he’s talking to my dad, when he comes to me and picks me up. My dad walks over the placed his hand on his friends shoulder and said “she’s fine, she knows what she’s doing.” The man stood there, I can still see his face, he looked confused and tried saying something else when my dad cut him off and said, “she’s always helping me around here, I trust her.” That right there I will always remember. My dad trusted me to help him and he finally accepted me for me. 

    Allow me to explain, as a little girl, I had been told “No, because you are a girl” so many times it makes my blood boil, just like it did when I was younger. I hated my dad for a long time for him saying that to me all the time. Even if he was being truthful and honest, no explanation needed when he said that. I could never argue that and that’s what drove me crazy. He was right, I was a girl, and things are different for us. 

  • It continues…

    That was not the reality though, the first time he walked right up asked, “where are the boys?”. He didn’t seem happy at all, then he took the sledgehammer from me and told me to go inside. I did and went right to my room and cried. He wasn’t happy I was out there doing what I could, he was upset the boys weren’t there. I felt like he didn’t want my help, only help was good enough from the boys. That didn’t stop me from doing it again the next day and the next. Every day after that I would be out there busting the concrete to the best of my ability. Every day dad came home, if the boys weren’t doing it, he told me to go inside. If the boys were actually helping he never said a word to me. 

    I guess that’s when it became apparent to me that if I wanted to be like the boys, I had to be with the boys! Nick and I were always closer than me and Ben. Nick and Ben had their rooms in the basement right next to each other. You couldn’t put two more people that were complete opposites together. Ben, first born and “the favorite one”, was calm quiet and took after my dad with building and fixing things. Ben had a Lego city he kept in his room, eventually make-shifting a door to keep Nick out and from destroying the city. 

    I don’t know why they didn’t have doors, but Ben made a door, out of a piece of wood my dad in the yard probably, and placed a padlock on it. You think I‘m lying, ask Ben, he will tell you! Ben and Nick fought a lot due to being complete opposites and their rooms next to each other. Nick was hyperactive, always on the move and didn’t want to slow down for anyone. 

    Nick was more my friend because he did all the exciting things, while Ben played legos. Nick and I always had a good time, shooting Barbie’s off the ledge in the living room, climbing trees, shooting Bebe guns. It was always an adventure with Nick, even sneaking out of the house at night just to walk around and hide from cars, it was a game to us. We never did anything too bad, but we were always pushing the limit, especially our parents limits. 

    I don’t recall the age I was, but I remember telling my parents I love them before bed. My dad would say “yeah, me too” or something close to that. One night I told them good night and told my dad he had to say the words “I love you too” before I leave to go to bed. I pushed and pushed him to say it. First time, I’m pretty sure he made me cry because he yelled at me to go to bed. But every night after that I would say it to him and wait for him to say it back. 

    One night he did it, he actually said the words “I love you too, now go to bed”. In that moment I was so proud of myself. I broke my dad’s habit, and he finally expressed his love with words. My dad was always caring and loving, he just couldn’t express his feelings until now. My mother on the other hand was an emotion disaster. How could two people be complete opposites and be in love? They don’t, it was all a lie. We will get into that later.