Sorry for not posting last night. Y’all are like stray cats I didn’t put food out for. I had other commitments. I did start my new job and it’s awesome. I don’t know how or when I’m going to fuck it up, but you know I will. “Consummate fuck-up” is a good descriptor for me.
{D}’s attorney requested access to the Google Drives today. I am not at all required to give her a fucking thing at this point, so I locked it down. Along with everything else. Here I share one of the texts — I believe he denied doing cocaine in paragraph four or something of his answer.
I think she spent a couple of hours on here today — or not, it came out of Vegas — but scrolled and read like a man and someone not at all tech-savvy. So I don’t know if it was her or not. Who cares.
I’m still debating whether to withdraw the default and go to trial. I want to. But I don’t know if it’s good for me, and maybe it’s best to just have it be over with. Plus, it gets him into treatment faster. I spent my last Christmas in rehab. This year it’s his turn. Maybe not Christmas per se — they have to do the psych evaluation first. And I don’t even know if the court is going to do that. They could tell me no and say, “Here’s $20 plus court costs.” Who knows what’s going to happen.
I do want a jury trial. I want him to have to hear me. Watch me bleed. See the results of his actions. And speak for his defense to this whole scenario.
I firmly believe the videos tell the whole story. I don’t think even the most callous judge could look at that and not see what it is. There are just too many places it’s clear: I didn’t consent to that, and I wanted it to stop.
I find the last video the most egregious. I’m not screaming anymore. I’m bargaining. I have respites where nobody is touching my tattered and torn vagina, and I’m not in as much pain. I so clearly fake an orgasm and then I’m like, “I came, I came — can we stop now?” I throw up a timeout hand signal. I kept telling them I needed a cigarette. {M} starts questioning whether I like it. I remember that moment — I looked at him because I was afraid to speak. I thought he would see the desperation in my eyes, and {D} shoved his fingers in my mouth and said, “She loves it,” as I started screaming. At the end, he is instructing {M} and me what to do, and I finally say, “Who put you in charge?” He responds in a low growling voice, “I did.”
Then they call me a champ, and {D} tells {M} that I told him he couldn’t fuck my ass earlier in the week and says, “So I took that as a challenge and I fucked her ass.”
Champ. I’m a champ.
I took {D} home shortly thereafter. And the rest is, as I always say, pending adjudication in multiple jurisdictions.
I wasn’t screaming in the last video because he told me the screaming was the part he liked.
I have to watch and annotate the videos again — the part where he tells me he loves me, because that is some predatory shit right there. I have to notate what’s going on in the last video.
I’m going to ask LawyerBoy if I can spend the night with him the day I do it — possibly Saturday. I just don’t want to be alone afterward. Just keep me entertained and hug me if I start crying. I asked him to be my touchstone through this. Just when I’m not sure if I’m being rational, let me know I am. And of course, let me fucking know if I’m being completely irrational.
Ugh. I just want it over with, I think. Representing myself is emotionally taxing. If I had an attorney handling this shit, that would be something else. Instead I will sit here along hitting play and rewind over and over until I get all of it down on the record. Every motion and movement and millisecond of it. I need them to know what he did without a reasonable doubt. I need them to know. It's on video. Play and rewind.
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