Crazy settles in Reno

Yesterday morning, I received an email for a speaking op in Reno, NV. Didn't take more than the city name to know this was for the beautiful 19 year old Brianna Denison, who was kidnapped, raped and murdered by what police officials think is a serial rapist. I reached out to the contact who is organizing an event on safety and awareness in honor of Brianna and to support a community who is afraid to leave their homes. The free event is on Sunday, April 27th in Reno and is open to anyone who wants to learn more about safety, awareness, DNA evidence, or simply to be there for Brianna. Believe me, just being present goes a long way.
It will happen a million times over and I'll still be blown away by people's generousity. These folks are well on their way to a very comprehensive and crucial event for a city frozen in fear. I am proud to be a part of the day and am working on getting some additional support and connect to Brianna's college. Two cities hurting by the loss of one girl her mom nicknamed "Breezy" because she was "like a breath of fresh air". My heart hurts. I was pinning together a recycled vintage dress when I spoke at length to the organizers. My pinning stopped; my plans for the evening and for the next month took a very different turn. Some people take vacations to sunny places. I live in a sunny place and take vacations to bring some light to darner corners. At least I hope that's what I'm doing.
I talk a lot about media perception versus the real world. In the real world, 1 in 4 women will be assaulted by the time they graduate college. There will be many who will say, or think, "Oh I wouldn't have done that! Whatever that is: go out alone, forget to lock a door, or in my case, walk home from work. Really? I'm not saying you shouldn't be aware of your surroundings, but you will never know what you will do until it happens to you. These are false perceptions that it can't happen to you because you are stronger, smarter, quicker, savvier than others. Pray that it doesn't. Start by stopping - the cycle of blame, the myths, the people who prey. Get their MO: we've got their number. Call it.

When the media writes

graphic courtesy of Takebackthenews.com

The first time I really broke down after the trial was when I was trying to go public with my story. I have a lot of media friends and friends who's friends are producers for CNN, Paula Z., The Today Show, etc. One producer is from my home town. I was lead on, ignored, and lied to by many (journalists, not friends). While waiting for the verdict at the courthouse, a close friend put me in touch with a non-profit publicist who said he was "thrilled to help me me go public". We exchanged calls, emails and then he stopped writing; I never heard from him again. This happened when I was spending my days in a NYC courthouse. When I called the NYC AP desk, I was transferred to a writer who said to me, "Why now?" I naively thought he meant what brought me to the point in my life where I wanted to share my story in a very public way. What he really meant was, "What's the news in this? It happened over a month ago, lady." The irony was so thick, like black smoke expelled in my face, that I could hardly breathe. I'm not being overdramatic. I didn't really cry during the trial; I cried when I was mistreated by the media.
The irony is that during the trial "my story"--the one I wasn't allowed to comment on-- was in every g-d damned newspaper from here to South Africa--every day. Now Riker's Island Number ##### was able to say his piece, the people representing the case said their share, but for us, we were asked to remain silent: a contridiction in terms for unlocked survivors. I understand that since we were "witnesses", it wasn't the best time to speak to the media. But in between the time of the verdict and the sentencing, legislation pressing to overturn NY State's archaic statue of limitations finally made it to Albany. My case had been cited by Robert Morgenthaul not once, but twice in effort to correct the law as it applies to present day. Still I couldn't speak, and nothing would have brought me more solace during that very difficult time then to help overturn a law that would bring us some justice and hope for those cold case DNA hits like mine. I was a witness in my own case, which I found out, wasn't really my case at all. And so it was only a month later that I was able to contact the media to which they collectively replied "too late". So I--my story--sold newspapers for them every day---but no one was interested in hearing my story a month later? Really?

I decided that going public by the media's terms and conditions would be a double edged sword: I'll comment on things and be interviewed for specific causes, laws, events that are meaningful and relevant to my story and helping others, but I won't give my story away like a virgin. Living in Los Angeles, I know all too well how stories get turned on their heads. For once I wanted to control and own "my story". So I took it back. I'm now writing in a medium that I have control over (here, and in a much bigger, silver form) The story will be told, on my terms and conditions.
I am thinking about the media and it's irresponsible reporting on the tragic death of Heath Ledger. Speculation, feeding the masses, selling papers: our American greed is once again spiriling out of control. It will be 10 days until his death is determined and every day there will be more speculation, rumours, random religious freaks coming out of their comas to comment on his death. Mixing prescription medicine is a "hot topic" as is how we treat depression. Journalists and media reporters have a responsibility to report on the known facts of an event. A sassy tagline that has clickability about someone dying is irresponsible and shameful. Karma, in the form of a computer with a sad face, can be messy. Kind of like a pen exploding in the bottom of your bag, except far worse.
To those who are camping outside the Broome Street apartment, and were there to "greet" Michelle Williams, it's a horrible thing that you do. It happened to me back in 1996 and no one could go home. We were displaced by the media. Gee, thanks. This has happened to other survivor friends of mine. Do you realize that your "need" to get the juiciest details, the sharpest photos, have forced survivors out of their homes? Just thought you might want to know.
There are many responsible journalists, and there are also organizations that are on to the ones who aren't. Take Back The News is a fantastic organization that gives survivors a place to tell their own story, calls journalists out on misrepresentation, speculation and erroneous information, and raises awareness so that more accurate reporting will lead to more survivors coming forward, seeking help, pressing charges, and debunking the too too many myths that exist today. Not 40 years ago, today.
One last thought: remember Princess Diana. For a moment I will speculate and say that she would most likely hope that no one else suffers the same fate that she did.

Giving Birth To Yourself

photo from http://www.orangebeautiful.blogspot.com/

Last Thanksgiving, I was hanging out in San Diego with families in their wet suits frying turkies on charcoal grills on the beach. I once read a "tip" in Real Simple or some such magazine to send cards out for holidays other than the winter ones. So I sent a bunch of Thanksgiving cards, as the holiday that year with spending Thanksgiving morning at The San Diego Zoo (?) seemed fitting.
I received an email reply from an acquaintance of mine who had become a friend via email. She said "Happy Thankgiving" and in other news, she had just been assaulted by someone she knew. I stood there in disbelief, and then in further disbelief that I was so suprised. Did I think that because my situation has been "settled" in a court of law that no one else in my life would ever be assaulted? I guess I kind of did. I guess I thought that if I kept telling my story, volunteering, giving myself to others that those others were protected. Not so.
I wish I could tell you all the details of how lovely and talented this person is, and how quickly I loved her heart. It colors everything she makes. Just recently she filled me in on what she had to do to get her life back and have some semblance of normalcy. I am so proud of the decisions that she made, and as difficult and as challenging as they must have been, she's pushing through the black.
Some days I get emails from strangers and they shake me to the core. And then there's a Thanksgiving when I open email from a friend and I feel like there is the world that we talk about about and pretent to live in, and then the world where our bodies are taken from us and there's no sign of it stopping any time soon.
With no support from our society, we are rebuilding our homes over and over again and under every layer of paint is another yellow wallpaper . If you know/remember how that story goes, in 1892 the story was rejected by several editors, one of whom supposedly claimed that "the story made him feel "miserable", and therefore did not want society to be subjected to similar feelings." That could have been written today.

where greenwich and christopher split

I am working on a work deadline and my thoughts drifted to Kristin. Even though it's only been a few months since we've spoken, we are light years apart-again. She got married in September; I wish I had been there. I will always be the reminder. It's a sad person to be. I love her like the sky and the moon, and yet when I hug her I feel like I will burn a hole right through her.
If you want to know what will bring me to tears faster than a funeral, it's a rapist stealing everything I knew and loved: stealing family from me. I just had that burn inside my face when you are about to cry. We desperately need some rain out West; I have plenty of it in this heavy head.
Here we are above in our grown up work headshots-so similar yet so very far apart.
And why did I think of her while working on a deadline? I didn't realize I was listening to Fiona Apple's Tidal. It was playing in my ears when I was attacked. The disc dropped out of the player and rolled along the wooden floor. That's where her wave crashed.

I guess one may ask why I would ever listen to it again. Remembering the way things were is important to me: not just for the loss but for all that I had in my imperfectly gorgeous 22 year old world. I listen to it because I own this memory; it does not own me. I listen because I make choices. It is not my choice to have these memories; it is my choice to own them.

Most of all I listen because it reminds me of Kristin in her bellbottom pants and platform shoes. She was always a celebration: full of color, kindness and biting wit. We were branches of a strong, wise tree. We were both women's studies minors, she took self defense classes. We had things under control.
Don't ever live your life in fear, but don't think it can't happen to you.

like singing the song that made you lose idol

stiff stuff by me

mixed media on chipboard, 2006

it's been that kind of day. last night there were flashbacks so bad I couldn't even bring myself to talk about it. It's still there, hanging around like a suspicious stranger near your front door with all the signs of danger. He could walk away, but where did he go? And even if he left, he's still with you behind your back, in the closet, underneath your eyelids.
Today was too much stress about not enough space. The missing piece ISO the big O; clearly not finding the right pieces that fit together.
What do you do when you don't want to ruin a moment? When you don't want to bring him into the house but you can't shake it?
You just go on. Sometimes it's all you, singing the song that made you lose in front of 11 million viewers. And you try to be graceful even though you are singing way out of tune. You try to smile, but it looks worse than a frown. But if you don't try to be good, to lose gracefully, they'll slam you and say, wow, she's so ungrateful
I haven't spoken to a group in a little while. It would help to sing for those who already know the words, and know just how painful every note can be.