Hope

If one were to read the transcript from my police interview, they would see a part where I say, “No one will do anything.”

The police pushed back on that and said they believed me and they were talking to me, weren’t they? But I said, well, no one else will.

I was right.

The thing that gets me is the arrest. That is the moment that changed things in my mind and shifted things. It was criminal, and he was going to be going in for a felony arrest. Like, that’s not something you fuck around with. And I believed it, and I was told a second time it was happening.

That is the only reason I shifted to thinking he should be arrested. They told me he was going to be. And that was such a fucking good feeling. I was so relieved, and I felt heard and like I was worth something.

Then, of course, they took it all away.

It’s hope.

That’s what gets me every fucking time: hope. That is the worst thing you could possibly give someone like me. Hope. The arrest. Hope. The disbarment. Fuck, he gave me hope.

Why you gotta give me hope? That shit is not fair. Look at me now.

If the police had never called, this would be so different. Just if they had never called and talked to me. None of the last two years would have happened.

Because that turned into me talking to Wolfson, and Wolfson is what made me angry and started the grudge. As my family calls it, Irish Amnesia: you forget everything but the grudge.

So never give me hope. Keep it measured. Always tell me the worst-case scenario because if the best-case scenario ever happens, which it doesn’t for me, never has and never will, it’s a pleasant surprise.

Just don’t give me that hope bullshit. I don’t want to hear it.