Lawyer and psychiatrists 

  
The battle lines are drawn. I received ‘intel’ today (that’s what they say in Sons of Anarchy – sounds cool) that the offender has hired his legal team. Just in time to enter his plea. It brings it back to the fore of my mind. This legal company sell themselves on their ‘discretion.’ Seems he might be ashamed of word leaking out. 

It’s legal team against legal team now. My lawyer also asked some more information – personal. He just flicks me an email asking things like I flick my husband a text asking him to grab milk and bread on the way home from work. Only in the early hours of the morning when I see this email waiting for me I am sent straight back there. It’s bullet fast, a painful strike to the chest. Takes my breath away. My eyes see whatever picture his words have left as though I’ve walked through a Polaroid picture. I am not a mother, I am not in New Zealand, I am not safe. Im exposed, ripped open, vulnerable, broken, scared, alone.

The emails can never be straight forward emails. Legal correspondence, fact gathering missions, queries, confirmations, statements. They are all my kryptonite. My darkest pains, the reason my soul aches, the screams of my nightmares. Each communication exhausts me. But I have to see each one as a necessary evil. A chance to fight my battle. A long game pay off.

  
Following on from my unexpected start to the morning, I met with the next covering psychiatrist. She was from America, but had a thick maybe West Indies accent. Not used to the accent I struggled to comprehend a lot of what she was saying. Compounded by the fact I was not inclined to discuss my history with yet another temporary fill in, and she kept dropping papers and getting confused with medication and dosages. I just wanted the prescription and to get out. The room was tiny and she had heaters on full heat, and as I don’t really feel the cold too much, it was like a sauna in there. I could feel claustrophobia settling in. Then the questions came, which apparently are standard in the US, was I suicidal? Homocidal? Had access to guns? – if it wasn’t so uncomfortably hot and I wasn’t so stressed from the morning, I might have made a joke at this point. But I just shook my head. I’m sure her questioning will adapt soon enough. She was keen to ‘get to know me’ but I really just wanted that prescription filled. And then I had to wait while she buggered about working out what the drugs equivalent in the US would be. Could have been homework on that long flight over – just a suggestion.

Finally home again. Have two kids at home again. But it’s the last time, I’ve told them they must be back in the holiday program from tomorrow until the end of the week. I’m absolutely sick to death of tidying up after them all day. When I’m the one doing the favour letting them stay at home.

I’m so tired again. Sick of not sleeping well. Tired of being a grumpy cow!

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4 thoughts on “Lawyer and psychiatrists 

      1. Well, you have won. I wouldn’t expect those that are traumatized so much, hurt so much, to put themselves through it again. Anyone hurt like that and working at living full life in spite of are winners and hero’s.
        The way women are treated in such trials, or just for speaking up? Why traumatize oneself again.
        But those that do, something in them that allows no other way but to go forward such as you are? A hero and a winner, and leader for us all. No matter what. You speak your truth, and others will listen. My admiration. My great admiration.

        Like

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