"BRITTANY, PLEASE CALL."
After a long day at work, finding a handwritten note from an investigator for the Criminal District Attorney's Office wasn't what I was expecting.
What.the.fuck.
It couldn't be a mistake. The man had written me a note on his business card, used all caps, and identified me by my first name. Although I've never been in trouble for anything other than unpaid speeding tickets (I was THAT person); a personal visit from the DA was making my head spin!
To ease my anxiety, I did what any millennial would probably do. I googled the investigator prior to calling him. I'm not sure what I was looking for but I searched his name and his Linkedin profile was the first thing that popped up on my phone.
Jonathan Wakefield- Senior Sgt Criminal Investigator, Cold Cases- Sexual Assault/Homicides
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
They say time heals and while this is true no one really talks about the scars that are left behind. I mean, healing itself is such a slow and complicated process. I told myself I was healed years ago because I had done the work. I joined the Rape Crisis Center as a victim first and then as a volunteer. I can openly talk about my experience. I can listen to other women tell their stories about similar situations. I don't have nightmares anymore, etc.
Healed, right?
On the outside, sure. But there was a little (big) thing called trauma that had been eating away at me and indirectly grabbing a hold of my life.
In 2009 I was sexually assaulted by someone I considered to be my friend. What started out as a normal night with friends ended in confusion and pain. I don't think about that night often anymore but as I looked at the investigator's Linkedin Profile, I thought about that night again.
We had all been drinking. "Shots" was my nickname because I loved to host house parties and greet people with a shot at the door. Classy, I know. On this particular night, myself and two of my girlfriends were invited to hang out with a group of guys whom I had known for years. One of them I had actually dated.
Our night started as it normally did... games, laughs, and drinks. We had taken several shots before one of my girlfriends got a call from her mom and had to leave. I was staying with my aunt for the summer who lived just 5 minutes away so I stayed with the guys who agreed to take me home later when I was ready. That was the last thing I remembered before waking up around 6am with my pants off.
Trauma Pathology 1. a body wound or shock produced by sudden physical injury, as from violence or accident.
After waking up, I was in such disarray that I was damn near carried to the car. I could barely walk. I don't remember even asking questions, I was so out of it. Although my aunt lived just 5 minutes away, I was instead taken to my girlfriends house which was a much longer drive. When they dropped me off, I remember my girlfriend coming out and looking at me as if I were a ghost. The guys explained that we had a crazy night and that I had fallen several times. As I walked inside the house, my girlfriend kept asking me what happened. I knew I had been drinking all night and was confused at why she kept asking me the same question over and over again.
"Have you looked in the mirror?"
Actually, I hadn't. As I turned on the bathroom light and stared at myself for the first time that morning, I remember how naked I felt in that moment. The dizziness faded and my body began to shake. A busted lip, a bruised eye and cuts on my leg indicated that something happened to me and at the time, I hadn't the slightest idea what. That is, I didn't want to allow myself to acknowledge it.
Trauma Psychiatry 1. an experience that produces psychological injury or pain.
I'll never forget the look on the nurses face as the doctor examined me at the hospital. She looked terrified and as she squeezed my hand for what seemed like an eternity, I felt her sympathy. I wish I would have gotten that nurses name so I could thank her.
My first time in an ambulance was not by choice. Protocol was that I be transferred in an ambulance to Parkland Hospital, the only hospital at the time that had rape kits. Rape?? Oh, but rape wasn't enough for the ones responsible. I also needed surgery. There was something, a plastic object, that was shoved so far inside of me that it needed to be surgically removed. All I remember thinking in the ambulance was, "Keep it together, Brittany."
Heal 1. to make healthy, whole, or sound; restore to health; free from ailment.
As I woke up from surgery, my entire family was there including my dad who apparently made it from Oklahoma in record time. So many questions and I didn't have the answers. The days that would follow were filled with bits and pieces of my memory that were coming back to me from that night. One in particular, was of me not being able to breathe as a hand covered my mouth and much of my face. There was another of me fighting to get out of his grasp, so much that my leg went straight through a window. These memories became recurring nightmares and I met a new friend, anxiety.
There were three men with me that night. One of them I actually dated. I used to wish it were strangers with me that night. I kept telling myself this would be easier if I didn't know anyone involved but the truth is nothing would have made this easier. The emotional turmoil I was in put me in a state of shock. In the coming months, I would not return the investigators phone calls. I turned in my clothes from that night to the police but I never pressed charges. I wanted to forget about it. And that was the problem. Every single day after as I had to take giant HIV prevention medication, I was reminded of what happened to me and chose to push it even further away. I let fear convince me this was my fault.
Heal 2. to bring to an end or conclusion, as conflicts between people or groups, usually with the strong implication of restoring former amity; settle; reconcile
For me, healing was a two step process. The first was physical and that's where time helped. The second, was all mental and time didn't seem to help at all. I had never dealt with the trauma which resulted in the next ten years of my life being a cluster fuck of incomplete goals, bad decisions and insecurities. Don't get me wrong, I've always been a hustler, a go getter- it's the PARKER in me. However, I found myself making lists and not crossing anything off. Disappointing other people is a let down but when you disappoint yourself, that can be debilitating. I was no longer proud of me.
Self doubt kept me from conquering my goals. Fear made me hesitant around people. Lack of trust turned me into an introvert. Insecurity created an unhealthy, pre-diabetic me.
Fast forward to January 2020. Turns out, the investigator was on a special units team along with others to handle cold cases like mine. For years, my rape kit was never processed. In fact there are thousands of women in Dallas and all over the United States who have unprocessed rape kits sitting on a shelf in police custody collecting dust. Even if I would have pressed charges, the likelihood of my rape kit being processed in a reasonable time was slim to none.
As I left the police station, 11 years later, I remember how light I felt as if all the weights I had been carrying were suddenly lifted. 11 years later, I was able to give my statement. 11 years later, I recounted what happened that night and was able to identify the man whose DNA matched after my rape kit was finally processed. Some of you are probably wondering how this is even possible given how long it's been. What about statute of limitations?
Nothing is impossible with the God we serve. In 2019, the Lavinia Masters Act was passed. The new law was named after Lavinia Masters, who was raped when she was 13 years old. By the time her rape kit was processed, literally decades later, it was too late based on the statute of limitations and she never had the opportunity to press charges. Lavinia made it her personal mission to fight for similar cases, past and present, as she became an advocate for sexual assault victims and was so aggressive that she grabbed the attention of Victoria Neave, a Texas House Representative who put together a Dallas task force to analyze how the legal system handles sexual assault and harassment. It didn't take long for them to find discrepancies in how these cases were being handled. This would lead to Texas Governor Greg Abbott signing the act into law on June 4, 2019.
The Lavinia Masters Act prohibits law enforcement agencies from dissolving rape kits related to uncharged or unsolved cases before the statute of limitations ends or 50 years pass by—whichever of the two is the longest. Statutes of limitations for sexual assault and aggravated sexual assault cases are also delayed until rape kits are tested. It also proposes prolonging the time the Department of Public Safety holds on to a rape kit from two to five years in cases where the victim chooses not to pursue charges.
Bingo. I am forever grateful to Lavinia who I personally reached out to a few months ago. Since giving my statement to the investigator in January, I have been able to move forward on personal goals that have literally been on my list for the last 10 years, including this blog.
So what can you take from my story? I encourage you all to truly deal with your trauma. Identify the problem and find resolution so that it doesn't marinate your thoughts and manifest into your daily life. It's only then that you will be able to walk freely and boldly into your purpose. Your destiny awaits and it deserves to have all of you.
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