Emotional Trauma

In March 2000 I get a call from the Brea police at about 3 in the morning. My friend is in the emergency room and can I come down right away. They give me no details. I get dressed; get in my car and I go.

I had met this girl, at the time of the call my GF, in a coffee shop the previous fall. She was a part-time student at Cal Poly and did some modeling on the side. We went out a few days later. Again a week later, and again the following week.

Soon it went to 2 or 3 times a week. Soon after that it was every night and all weekend.

Early on she told my about her crazy ex that she had testified against for crimes that he did. He was part of a criminal network. He was put away for a couple of years but had recently been paroled.

I don’t remember being overly concerned for our safety. We were having a great time together.

At the emergency room, the police greet me. She’s been raped and beaten. Later on she gave me the details which I almost immediately forgotten

Passing through the curtain I see her on the bed in the ER. Worse moment of my life. Just a shell of a person, almost lifeless. She sees me, reaches out with her right hand. I take her hand and sit beside her. She squeezes my hand like a vise grip the next two hours, or so.

She said nothing and was motionless most of the time, while she was staring at the ceiling, blinking once in a while to shed the tears welling up in her eyes. She made no sounds accept occasional sniffles. Tears ran softly, hers and mine. I’d wipe her tears and her nose when she turned her head and looked at me, and I’d sit back down when she turned away.

She’s transferred to County USC, downtown, where all poor people go, because she has no insurance. An already traumatic morning gets exponentially worse. That ER was completely nuts. Eventually she is transferred to a room. I recall about a dozen beds in her room. Reality was starting to settle in and she checked herself out, against doctor’s orders.

We stopped by her apartment and gathered some things. We then went to my place, where I nursed her for the next four months.

She finally felt comfortable enough with her appearance to go out in public after about a month. She was still very beat up looking. Knowing she modeled, the ************ beat her there the most. I’ll never forget how people would look at her, and often look at me as if I was the one responsible for her appearance.

By the end of June she was feeling and looking close to “normal” again. I didn’t think either of us were going to be normal again. Back to school and work she went.

Neither of us went to a counselor. We counseled each other. It was a third strike for the ************ and he was put away.

I was seriously affected emotionally and physically at the time. Still am to a degree, emotionally. Caring for someone after an assault like that was completely draining every day during that period.

Not sure why I chose today to share this. I had previously told only one other person.

She never told anyone as far as I know, any family or friends her terrible experience

Whatever I was thinking about last night lead me to recall this event. Could not get it out of my head, and will probably stick with me awhile again, a few days, usually.

The pain that I felt at the time was about the size of a basketball. Now, it shrinks and grows between the size of a ping pong ball to a medium size orange.

I’ve been a lot of places. I’ve done a lot of things. Thankfully, a great majority of those events are positive things with people I love. *sigh* Going to bury this under all that good stuff, again. It will pop up in another week or two. There are too many triggers on this memory.

I haven’t talked to her in years. Our relationship continued for about a year after that moment. As far as I know, she’s off the grid, as I have tried to find her recently.

I promise tomorrow to write about 2 of the best days of my life. Let me preview one of them that ended with: “Where’s the watermelon?” “That’s the fruit!” 😀

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s