God Carries You

On September 21, 2016 at 12:45 p.m. a legal sheet of paper was placed before me to sign and date. I was officially expelled from college. A “NO TRESPASS ORDER” on all MCCCD Properties was a part of the legal process. I added, “requesting legal aid.”

SHOCK.

Today is August 7th, a Monday morning. I have been working through loss, grief in long-term trauma which involves a complicated process towards healing, recovery.

I have been progressing through a grief cycle. I have to begin to actually touch things, organize all these “things” tied to an internal place inside me that feels like shards of glass, broken into a thousand pieces. How do you put that back together? Can it be “put back at all? so much is disorganized, and I am passing through “protesting” and “accepting” what occurred.

I have had so many questions in all the wounds.

https://www4.bing.com/images/search? Grief wheel

It is hard to know help and support never came. What does that really mean? When I was asked to leave my college classroom, political science class, I went alone peacefully with two security officers and a dean of students to her office to go through something I had known for weeks was coming for me. I was a journalism student who began a long research and interview process looking for effective solutions to very complex problems especially funding and safety areas; by accident while investigating, I found myself uncovering unethical corruption and illegal behavior. And, now, on that day, they had me on trumped-up, fabricated “evidence” in regards to student misconduct; the pattern in all the horrible lawsuits I had been looking into was scapegoating from the top down. District Office had already threatened me months ago.

I had been frantically darting this way and that to escape and resolve areas for over two years; however, in the end, I was like some rabbit being chased down by a few, cunning, big-bully kids having fun tracking down and shooting a creature who had no ability really to defend, free or protect myself. I had lost, and now I was more broken than ever. When rabbits do not get away, manage to escape, they often become mangled small animals, and that is exactly what I looked like on the inside even if outward appearances could half-fool most.

Two days later, on a Friday morning, after speaking to a specialist, I checked myself into Banner Thunderbird Medical Center; I went through the emergency room intake where I was admitted to the psychiatric ward for an official evaluation. I was to ask for an MRI and a check-over to verify my mental stability and emotional competence.

I had to remove all my clothing and place each item into a bag. Then, I had to remove any jewelry and place it also into a smaller plastic bag. As I stood naked, arms out straight and legs two feet a part, my whole body was checked, evaluated and screened. I was given hospital clothing to put on. I then went into a room where I had my blood taken, where I was asked to provide a urine sample and formally assessed by a few professional staff. I had elevated blood pressure.

A few hours later I was released. I was given instructions to follow up with my regular doctors to provide further help and schedule an MRI. They found no reason to keep me; that I posed no threat to myself or to others. That I had no illegal drugs in my system, and the results were sent to my medical doctor, practitioner. I could obtain an official copy of their report by requesting it through their records department.

College will begin soon, and God is still carrying me. Each day is one more forward, inching along.

I asked so many people for help. No one listened, but quite a bit of abuse and depraved indifference was their repetitive choice. I talked about peaceful ways to progress using procedures, policies and their own stated belief systems.

Trust is shattered, hope is gone, and what remains is how do I go forward, how to rebuild my life and find a support system and belonging among a network of caring people? After tests were done, formally by experts, I am in a two-year, at least, recovery program. The hard part is that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, so those four words make it almost impossible to be safe in any community. Labels and prejudice and all other judgmental behavior is too hard for me to navigate currently. I am too wounded, broken inside. Where can I rebuild trusting relationships? Where can I ask for help without getting more victimized?

I do not require admittance into a behavior health facility; although, that is the typical response from others who are “uncomfortable” and “ignorant” and just hurtful.

Stereotypes, born from people’s fears hinder recovery options for me. Normal is an area that is hard to come by for people like me, yet it is necessary for recovery.  It seems impossible. Yet, even in my frustration, disappointment and anguished talks with God, He continually reminds me that nothing is beyond Him even when my faith is sad, broken-hearted, weak.

Thus, God is carrying me still. He will make a way as I trust in His faithfulness and promises.

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