I had another "Am I beating the dead horse?" moments a few days ago. The victim advocate had left a message with the judge's clerk telling him that we needed an actual dollar amount to set up the restitution order in the system.
So, did I really need to get a copy of the transcript of the sentencing? Wasn't that going to accomplish nothing but to send me spiraling over STBX's statement in court? You know, the one where he never said he was sorry?
(Hey, it's all water under the bridge, right? Cuz he loooooooooves me! Please excuse me, my skin just crawled off and is weeping in a pile in the corner.)
Yeah, like I said, spiraling.
But I did get the transcript.
And right there in the judge's own words is a dollar amount. Granted, it's just shy of $2000 (I guess that's the going prices for three years of tormenting a child) , but nonetheless, IT IS A DOLLAR AMOUNT.
It is a dollar amount that the victim advocate told me didn't exist. He told me he was going to check on it and when I called him back a week or so later, he told me that the dollar amount didn't exist. Yes, I was in the court room that day but frankly? I WAS A LITTLE DISTRACTED!
Which leads me to the conclusion that the one person in this entire equation who is PAID TO HAVE MY BACK, didn't.
I have hopefully left him the last message that I will have to leave him in quite awhile. I did my absolute best not to reach through the telephone wires and rip out his eardrum.
A wise woman once said "The bridge you blow up today might be the bridge you need to cross tomorrow." (I can't lie, I am that wise woman...why should Confucius get all the glory?)
I simply told him that I had bought (yes my lovlies, to actually check up on people in the justice system and see if they are doing their jobs, you need to BUY the transcript) the transcript and the non-existent dollar amount actually existed. I told him what it was and then I made a simple observation. "I thought we were both speaking English but obviously we are separated by a common language. I fail to see what the problem is here."
I have always had the sneaking suspicion that I've been patted on the head, placated with whatever they thought I wanted to hear, and then blown the fuck off. I honestly thought that it was just my own screwed up sense of entitlement that made me feel that way. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt because, are you ready for this? Because they seemed so nice.
No, please, don't do your job properly, just be nice to me.
I know that I am high maintenance. I know that when my phone number shows up on their phone, cringing ensues. The funny thing is, this is one trait that I have actively cultivated over the past ten months. Anyone who knows the "public" me would never have thought that this was a problem. I have always pretty much opened my mouth and inserted my foot rather handily. But not when it comes to the relationships that really matter. Not when it comes to people who I wanted to like me.
And that, my lovelies, is how you become a doormat in your own home. You never open your mouth and you swallow all your own opinions and you tell yourself that if you ever absolutely put your foot down that you will be hated and left in the cold.
Guess what? Just between you, me, and the fence post? That is a CROCK OF SHIT!
I am learning. I am learning to disagree without being disagreeable. I am learning that the only person that really has my best interest in mind is me. I am learning that just because someone is paid to be my advocate, it doesn't mean that they have the ability to even find their own ass with both hands tied behind their back.
Maybe they are overwhelmed in their job. It isn't a stretch to think that. However, don't feed me a line of bullshit when it's my life and my child's life that you're screwing with. I have a far higher opinion of the person that says "I don't know but I'll find out" than the person that coos platitudes in my ear and just desperately wants me to SHUT UP AND LEAVE HIM ALONE!
Yeah...I've had a lot of experience with men with that opinion.
It's getting pretty old.
Showing posts with label victims. Show all posts
Showing posts with label victims. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Those Who Live In Glass Houses
Oh Friday, how I have longed for your gentle embrace. I have soothed myself, secure in the knowledge that yes, yes indeed, this week really will end.
Unless I get hit by a bus or a meteor today.
I got to sleep in a little this morning. Perhaps I should rephrase that...I got to lounge in bed for a few minutes this morning and listen to the radio. For me, that is the start of a good day.
And then I heard this.
I've been living under a rock lately so perhaps I'm horribly behind the times. Apparently it was also discussed on Talk of the Nation.
I know this isn't anything new. It's been noted throughout history. It's been caught on tape.
What is it in a person that allows them to break free of fear of retribution so they can call the police? What is it in a person that would allow them to stand by and watch, perhaps cheer, perhaps take pictures with a cell phone, of a gang rape?
I think I've told the story before (damned if I'm going to search for it) of when I knew that I had to get out of my marriage. It was years ago. We were driving to the cities and as we drove south, in the northbound lane there were two cars pulled off to the side of the road. There was one guy lying on the pavement and another guy standing over him with a gun to his head.
STBX was driving and as we saw this I told him that he needed to call 911. He told me that he wasn't going to get involved. I was absolutely incredulous. I wasn't asking him to break up the incident, I wasn't asking him to go anywhere near it. I was asking him to call the police to deal with a situation that we obviously didn't understand.
"I don't want them to be able to find out who I am", was his explanation. He was always a conspiracy nut job, always convinced that everyone was out to get him (always playing the victim) and up to that point, I didn't think that there was any reason why he would feel that way. After years of being treated like shit, it took the revelation that not only didn't he give a damn about me, he didn't give a damn about society at large. (This incident has haunted me even more since realizing what he really was hiding. It also makes me think that there was probably even more that he was hiding.)
Not helping others, even actively participating by taking pictures or laughing, it makes me crazy. I suppose if you are unable to empathize and life and death are equal jokes, it really wouldn't be that big of a deal. It makes me wonder if they would have any expectations of others if they were in a similar position. In all reality, my guess would be no.
But I'm also thinking that there are people that are just too scared or too comfortable in their own ruts to allow for unexpected occurrences. I was on the city bus once when a young woman got on who had obviously been involved in a domestic assault. She flung herself onto the bus as her attacker screamed at her from the sidewalk. He chased the bus, continuing to scream profanities, as she stood in the aisle and scanned the crowd. No one moved. No one even acknowledged her. Including myself.
She then pulled the signal and the bus stopped, right in front of where the guy had stopped at the corner. She turned around and started to walk down the stairs.
I waited until she was halfway out the door to finally break out of my silence and holler to her. I told her that she didn't have to get off the bus.
She never looked back. She just walked up to him and as the bus pulled away, he was grabbing her by the hair and dragging her down the sidewalk.
I could have stopped that. Now, I'm ready. Now I know that I will look the person in the eye, tell them to sit down and let them know that they can rely on me to get them the help that they need. I now know who to call.
But it haunts me and I hope that it always will. I would hope that anyone who hears of a story in the news of bystanders that did nothing would stop and ask themselves, "What would I do?".
Figure it out now. You might not have time to figure it out later.
Unless I get hit by a bus or a meteor today.
I got to sleep in a little this morning. Perhaps I should rephrase that...I got to lounge in bed for a few minutes this morning and listen to the radio. For me, that is the start of a good day.
And then I heard this.
I've been living under a rock lately so perhaps I'm horribly behind the times. Apparently it was also discussed on Talk of the Nation.
I know this isn't anything new. It's been noted throughout history. It's been caught on tape.
What is it in a person that allows them to break free of fear of retribution so they can call the police? What is it in a person that would allow them to stand by and watch, perhaps cheer, perhaps take pictures with a cell phone, of a gang rape?
I think I've told the story before (damned if I'm going to search for it) of when I knew that I had to get out of my marriage. It was years ago. We were driving to the cities and as we drove south, in the northbound lane there were two cars pulled off to the side of the road. There was one guy lying on the pavement and another guy standing over him with a gun to his head.
STBX was driving and as we saw this I told him that he needed to call 911. He told me that he wasn't going to get involved. I was absolutely incredulous. I wasn't asking him to break up the incident, I wasn't asking him to go anywhere near it. I was asking him to call the police to deal with a situation that we obviously didn't understand.
"I don't want them to be able to find out who I am", was his explanation. He was always a conspiracy nut job, always convinced that everyone was out to get him (always playing the victim) and up to that point, I didn't think that there was any reason why he would feel that way. After years of being treated like shit, it took the revelation that not only didn't he give a damn about me, he didn't give a damn about society at large. (This incident has haunted me even more since realizing what he really was hiding. It also makes me think that there was probably even more that he was hiding.)
Not helping others, even actively participating by taking pictures or laughing, it makes me crazy. I suppose if you are unable to empathize and life and death are equal jokes, it really wouldn't be that big of a deal. It makes me wonder if they would have any expectations of others if they were in a similar position. In all reality, my guess would be no.
But I'm also thinking that there are people that are just too scared or too comfortable in their own ruts to allow for unexpected occurrences. I was on the city bus once when a young woman got on who had obviously been involved in a domestic assault. She flung herself onto the bus as her attacker screamed at her from the sidewalk. He chased the bus, continuing to scream profanities, as she stood in the aisle and scanned the crowd. No one moved. No one even acknowledged her. Including myself.
She then pulled the signal and the bus stopped, right in front of where the guy had stopped at the corner. She turned around and started to walk down the stairs.
I waited until she was halfway out the door to finally break out of my silence and holler to her. I told her that she didn't have to get off the bus.
She never looked back. She just walked up to him and as the bus pulled away, he was grabbing her by the hair and dragging her down the sidewalk.
I could have stopped that. Now, I'm ready. Now I know that I will look the person in the eye, tell them to sit down and let them know that they can rely on me to get them the help that they need. I now know who to call.
But it haunts me and I hope that it always will. I would hope that anyone who hears of a story in the news of bystanders that did nothing would stop and ask themselves, "What would I do?".
Figure it out now. You might not have time to figure it out later.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The Ups And The Downs
To follow up Thursday's discussion on forgiveness, let's continue on with today's discussion: Revictimization.
I think the majority of crime victims will probably agree that what ever restitution was ordered for them wasn't nearly enough. I'm going to hazard a guess and say that for many people, money is quite a ways down on the list. I'm going to guess that most crime victims want what was taken from them. They were violated and given back a lifetime of anxiety, fear, depression, sadness, low self esteem, loss of a loved one, health, ability, and being made to "feel like a victim".
Go ahead and place a monetary value on that. I'll give you this form and you need to show receipts to support your answers and please, make sure you use a black or blue pen and I'll just let you sit here for the next five minutes and finish it because I actually should have given you this two weeks ago but I forgot so now I have to go and file it with the court by 4:30 today. OK?
That feeling that you get as you sit there and stare at the clipboard and the pile of receipts and doctor's reports sitting next to you, getting progressively more illegible because you seem to be leaking tears all over the place? That's called revictimization. That is the day in and day out feelings that the system and our society put on a victim of crime. Perhaps you're getting blamed for being in the short skirt at a bar at midnight, I mean, when a woman is raped one of the first things she's asked is "What were you wearing?"
Do you think they really are asking her what she was wearing because they were interested in her fashion sense? Or is she being asked this because hey, who wouldn't give permission for five frat boys to gang bang a pretty girl in a short skirt?
It can be as overt as that or as subtle as a trip to the courthouse for an order for protection and being treated by an officious clerk as if you were the stupidist human being ever to walk the face of the earth. What do you mean you don't know how to fill out this seven page form in which you are asked to detail every intimate aspect of your life and why you are now terrified of this person and please describe in detail the perpetrator and what do you mean you didn't bring a photo of him? How do you expect us to know what he looks like if you didn't bring a photo??
Yeah, just a little bit of personal experience there. Put that experience on top of having two or three children at my feet, having to have ridden the city bus there, and not knowing where I will take my family because if I go home, he will find us all and kill us.
That's the journey that victims of physical abuse go through. And what do their friends say to them? "Why didn't you leave sooner?"
And what do people that I've met ten minutes earlier say to me? "How could you have NOT known what was going on?"
That was a question posed to me a couple days ago. I then spent fifteen minutes explaining some of the tactics used by pedophiles: lying by omission, manipulation, taking advantage of situations where one spouse works one shift and the other spouse works a separate shift. In the middle of it all, I wanted to stop and ask: Are you with your husband 100% of the time? Do you ALWAYS go to bed at the same time? Do you ALWAYS get up at the same time? Do you NEVER let your husband and your kids spend time alone together?
What would be their answer? "Why, of course they spend time alone together but I TRUST him. He would NEVER do that."
And then I will lean across the table and say "Welcome to my word. By the way, you are full of shit."
But of course, I didn't do that. I did the dance that society dictates that I do. I gave my report in blue or black ink and I did it in fifteen minutes so that it could be turned in to the powers that be because it was up to ME to justify that something had been done that was wrong.
I am tired of playing this game. I am promising myself that the next time this happens, I won't explain the MO of pedophiles. I will explain the concept of revictimization.
And then I will tell them to shut the fuck up.
A little musical interlude anyone?
I think the majority of crime victims will probably agree that what ever restitution was ordered for them wasn't nearly enough. I'm going to hazard a guess and say that for many people, money is quite a ways down on the list. I'm going to guess that most crime victims want what was taken from them. They were violated and given back a lifetime of anxiety, fear, depression, sadness, low self esteem, loss of a loved one, health, ability, and being made to "feel like a victim".
Go ahead and place a monetary value on that. I'll give you this form and you need to show receipts to support your answers and please, make sure you use a black or blue pen and I'll just let you sit here for the next five minutes and finish it because I actually should have given you this two weeks ago but I forgot so now I have to go and file it with the court by 4:30 today. OK?
That feeling that you get as you sit there and stare at the clipboard and the pile of receipts and doctor's reports sitting next to you, getting progressively more illegible because you seem to be leaking tears all over the place? That's called revictimization. That is the day in and day out feelings that the system and our society put on a victim of crime. Perhaps you're getting blamed for being in the short skirt at a bar at midnight, I mean, when a woman is raped one of the first things she's asked is "What were you wearing?"
Do you think they really are asking her what she was wearing because they were interested in her fashion sense? Or is she being asked this because hey, who wouldn't give permission for five frat boys to gang bang a pretty girl in a short skirt?
It can be as overt as that or as subtle as a trip to the courthouse for an order for protection and being treated by an officious clerk as if you were the stupidist human being ever to walk the face of the earth. What do you mean you don't know how to fill out this seven page form in which you are asked to detail every intimate aspect of your life and why you are now terrified of this person and please describe in detail the perpetrator and what do you mean you didn't bring a photo of him? How do you expect us to know what he looks like if you didn't bring a photo??
Yeah, just a little bit of personal experience there. Put that experience on top of having two or three children at my feet, having to have ridden the city bus there, and not knowing where I will take my family because if I go home, he will find us all and kill us.
That's the journey that victims of physical abuse go through. And what do their friends say to them? "Why didn't you leave sooner?"
And what do people that I've met ten minutes earlier say to me? "How could you have NOT known what was going on?"
That was a question posed to me a couple days ago. I then spent fifteen minutes explaining some of the tactics used by pedophiles: lying by omission, manipulation, taking advantage of situations where one spouse works one shift and the other spouse works a separate shift. In the middle of it all, I wanted to stop and ask: Are you with your husband 100% of the time? Do you ALWAYS go to bed at the same time? Do you ALWAYS get up at the same time? Do you NEVER let your husband and your kids spend time alone together?
What would be their answer? "Why, of course they spend time alone together but I TRUST him. He would NEVER do that."
And then I will lean across the table and say "Welcome to my word. By the way, you are full of shit."
But of course, I didn't do that. I did the dance that society dictates that I do. I gave my report in blue or black ink and I did it in fifteen minutes so that it could be turned in to the powers that be because it was up to ME to justify that something had been done that was wrong.
I am tired of playing this game. I am promising myself that the next time this happens, I won't explain the MO of pedophiles. I will explain the concept of revictimization.
And then I will tell them to shut the fuck up.
A little musical interlude anyone?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Nightmares
So, what does the perp talk about when he is finally caught after imprisoning a child for 18 years and forcing her to have his children? The first one when she was 14?
Why, he talks about how he's not that man anymore.
Why, he talks about how his life was changed by the birth of the two little girls that he got from raping a child.
Why, he talks about how he NEVER touched the two little girls.
What seems to be missing in all of this is his first victim. The girl he abducted and raped and impregnated and imprisoned for 18 years. The life he ruined for his own personal gratification. That doesn't seem to matter.
To think, this man was a convicted sex offender and had a parole officer. He had a wife and neighbors and a supposed life.
I can't even imagine what a story like this does to families with missing children. I know that I can listen to this man's rambling justifications and just shake my head.
I've heard this crap before.
He thinks this is a heartwarming story.
I guess he doesn't think that there is anything wrong here.
The victim is once again the "black hole". It's like they are pixelized in the perp's mind. They don't exist. They don't have feelings. They are simply a means to an end.
And a question I'm just waiting for the news media to ask? Why didn't she escape...
It will come. It will be put back onto her. It will be an expectation of a society that has no concept of what this poor child went through that she should have escaped. She should have figured out how to get away.
At that point, the media will need to be dragged out back and beaten with a stick.
I will gladly donate the stick.
Why, he talks about how he's not that man anymore.
Why, he talks about how his life was changed by the birth of the two little girls that he got from raping a child.
Why, he talks about how he NEVER touched the two little girls.
What seems to be missing in all of this is his first victim. The girl he abducted and raped and impregnated and imprisoned for 18 years. The life he ruined for his own personal gratification. That doesn't seem to matter.
To think, this man was a convicted sex offender and had a parole officer. He had a wife and neighbors and a supposed life.
I can't even imagine what a story like this does to families with missing children. I know that I can listen to this man's rambling justifications and just shake my head.
I've heard this crap before.
He thinks this is a heartwarming story.
I guess he doesn't think that there is anything wrong here.
The victim is once again the "black hole". It's like they are pixelized in the perp's mind. They don't exist. They don't have feelings. They are simply a means to an end.
And a question I'm just waiting for the news media to ask? Why didn't she escape...
It will come. It will be put back onto her. It will be an expectation of a society that has no concept of what this poor child went through that she should have escaped. She should have figured out how to get away.
At that point, the media will need to be dragged out back and beaten with a stick.
I will gladly donate the stick.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Script This
Having worked in both ER's and on ambulances, I absolutely, unequivocally hate hospital and ambulance shows on tv (except Scrubs, that show is more realistic than ER ever was).
I also hate rubber neckers at accident scenes. Tragedy is not entertainment. Get that through your head.
I'm now discovering that I have the same visceral reaction with police and court shows on tv.
My daughter and I were flipping through channels awhile back and she landed on some police drama that, every single minute, seemed to spell out our own life in excruciating detail. First she would sigh heavily, then I would sigh heavily. Finally we both burst out in exasperation and fought for the remote to change the channel.
Tragedy is not entertainment.
Television writers need to realize some facts:
These things do not resolve themselves in sixty minutes, fifty if you count commercials.
Pedophiles do not always look like pedophiles.
Pedophiles can manipulate many people into protecting them. How about convincing a teen rape victim who is now an adult that he really is a sweet guy? Yeah, write that into a television show and people will be throwing up their dinners, but that's a part of STBX's story.
Pedophiles are better liars than any politician.
As long as a pedophile can play the "I'm a victim" card, they will always have someone on their side.
This is not entertaining.
I also hate rubber neckers at accident scenes. Tragedy is not entertainment. Get that through your head.
I'm now discovering that I have the same visceral reaction with police and court shows on tv.
My daughter and I were flipping through channels awhile back and she landed on some police drama that, every single minute, seemed to spell out our own life in excruciating detail. First she would sigh heavily, then I would sigh heavily. Finally we both burst out in exasperation and fought for the remote to change the channel.
Tragedy is not entertainment.
Television writers need to realize some facts:
These things do not resolve themselves in sixty minutes, fifty if you count commercials.
Pedophiles do not always look like pedophiles.
Pedophiles can manipulate many people into protecting them. How about convincing a teen rape victim who is now an adult that he really is a sweet guy? Yeah, write that into a television show and people will be throwing up their dinners, but that's a part of STBX's story.
Pedophiles are better liars than any politician.
As long as a pedophile can play the "I'm a victim" card, they will always have someone on their side.
This is not entertaining.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Culture of Shame and Blame
It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I had a startling revelation.
As I've stated before, being the victim of sexual abuse myself and having a mother (actually the aunt that raised me) blame me for the abuse and not the perpetrator, made me know how I wanted to treat my daughter's situation. Exactly the opposite of how I had been treated.
The hardest part of my childhood experience was that my aunt was the person who took in other people. She was the one who tried to be supportive of other people when their lives hit the skids. People respected her. People didn't think she had a bad bone in her body.
So it took a long time for me to realize and admit that she was wrong. A child is never to blame for abuse. An adult is never innocent when they abuse a child. Sounds like a rather obvious statement, doesn't it? That simple truth was never spoken to me when I was nineteen and telling her that her boyfriend molested me when I was a kid. She called me a slut. Thus began a long decent into depression for me that encompassed her diagnosis with terminal cancer and eventual death. Even though I realized she was wrong before she died, I couldn't bring myself to go to her hospital room and lay out all the dirty laundry. Instead, I tried to commit suicide. It seemed like the easier way out of a shit load of pain. Thankfully, I was unsuccessful.
It wasn't until I was at a work meeting a few weeks ago and we began to discuss the whole culture of blaming victims and shaming people into thinking that they are wrong for things that were perpetrated against them that I had my entire life laid bare. For as long as I can remember, the shame/blame game (say that fast three times) has been the nexus of my life. Growing up, I was told that being seen naked by any man meant that you had lost your virginity. When I told my aunt that since I was delivered by a male obstetrician, I lost my virginity on the day I was born she was less than impressed by my humor.
I was actually a good kid growing up and I know that my aunt spoke highly of me to her friends but somewhere between the darkness and the light, there was a constant shadow of assumption on her part. I MUST be doing something wrong...I MUST be up to something...I MUST be a bad kid somehow.
This constant noise in the background of your mind makes you start believing the shame and blame. It makes you carry it through your life like a yoke around your neck.
Then you get into relationships and in retrospect, you realize that you have replayed the scenario for years. People that want to shame and blame others have a tendency to hook up with willing partners. I sat in the meeting at work and realized how I was the perfect spouse for my husband.
Ignore me.
Talk down to me.
Treat me like I'm stupid.
Be condecending to me.
Ignore your children until you decide to molest one of them.
Blame everyone for everything that you have ever done wrong.
I was just replaying the role that I knew so well.
When I told one of my relatives what had happened to my daughter her first question was
"And you didn't know this was going on???"
Her second question was
"Why didn't she ever tell you???"
This is me. Right here, right now. This is me saying "Enough".
The blame and shame stops here.
Perhaps the operative question should be, "How could anyone do this to a child?"
As I've stated before, being the victim of sexual abuse myself and having a mother (actually the aunt that raised me) blame me for the abuse and not the perpetrator, made me know how I wanted to treat my daughter's situation. Exactly the opposite of how I had been treated.
The hardest part of my childhood experience was that my aunt was the person who took in other people. She was the one who tried to be supportive of other people when their lives hit the skids. People respected her. People didn't think she had a bad bone in her body.
So it took a long time for me to realize and admit that she was wrong. A child is never to blame for abuse. An adult is never innocent when they abuse a child. Sounds like a rather obvious statement, doesn't it? That simple truth was never spoken to me when I was nineteen and telling her that her boyfriend molested me when I was a kid. She called me a slut. Thus began a long decent into depression for me that encompassed her diagnosis with terminal cancer and eventual death. Even though I realized she was wrong before she died, I couldn't bring myself to go to her hospital room and lay out all the dirty laundry. Instead, I tried to commit suicide. It seemed like the easier way out of a shit load of pain. Thankfully, I was unsuccessful.
It wasn't until I was at a work meeting a few weeks ago and we began to discuss the whole culture of blaming victims and shaming people into thinking that they are wrong for things that were perpetrated against them that I had my entire life laid bare. For as long as I can remember, the shame/blame game (say that fast three times) has been the nexus of my life. Growing up, I was told that being seen naked by any man meant that you had lost your virginity. When I told my aunt that since I was delivered by a male obstetrician, I lost my virginity on the day I was born she was less than impressed by my humor.
I was actually a good kid growing up and I know that my aunt spoke highly of me to her friends but somewhere between the darkness and the light, there was a constant shadow of assumption on her part. I MUST be doing something wrong...I MUST be up to something...I MUST be a bad kid somehow.
This constant noise in the background of your mind makes you start believing the shame and blame. It makes you carry it through your life like a yoke around your neck.
Then you get into relationships and in retrospect, you realize that you have replayed the scenario for years. People that want to shame and blame others have a tendency to hook up with willing partners. I sat in the meeting at work and realized how I was the perfect spouse for my husband.
Ignore me.
Talk down to me.
Treat me like I'm stupid.
Be condecending to me.
Ignore your children until you decide to molest one of them.
Blame everyone for everything that you have ever done wrong.
I was just replaying the role that I knew so well.
When I told one of my relatives what had happened to my daughter her first question was
"And you didn't know this was going on???"
Her second question was
"Why didn't she ever tell you???"
This is me. Right here, right now. This is me saying "Enough".
The blame and shame stops here.
Perhaps the operative question should be, "How could anyone do this to a child?"
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