Back to normal?

I usually don’t write first thing in the morning, yet I have to clear my mind. The last few weeks have been hard on me. Anyone that actually has been reading along might have seen a difference in the last few articles I’ve written.

It’s all about the audience- communication that is, what do you say, to who do you say it, to get the response you desire? How do you get a guilty person to confess to a crime you can’t prove?

I knew I couldn’t risk exposing my hand until I knew how to win it. So, I exposed a hand I’d already lost to see if it is as easy as making an accusation. Well, it’s not and I knew it wouldn’t be and I didn’t know how it would be. So back in January, I finally reported the rape the occurred against me on my 16th birthday.

Well, some issues there too- I couldn’t prove it other than my own testimony, it was thirty years ago (before my TBI’) and without direct evidence of guilt, the police could not compel her to talk.  And that’s what happened. My rapist lawyered up and refused to speak (and yes, I do support her 5th amendment.) Also, being way past the statute of limitations, the prosecutor had his hands tied with more pressing matters (and yes, I do agree with his proper utilization of public resources.)

I learned a few things there… 1) my thirty year old memories were flawless. 2) my father admitted to police that he knew he could have “turned her in” 3) You can’t force a person to incriminate themselves. 4) The police accidental forgot to block her name out of redacted report they gave me, it had been changed.

So what did I do? Well, if you’ve been reading this story.. you know I’ve walked and prayed, and struggled and pray and I have learned that I am a calm and patient person.

See, I could have walked up to shag at the DZ (I was there last year, twice or three times to visit- guess who never said “hi”) and made the same accusation and what would he say but “no”. Liar gonna lie, duh.

So how on earth could I communicate the need for him to tell a story about his “innocence”? I wish I could say this was my plan all along, yet I’m just writing this story one day at a time… how did I do it? Well I wrote my story and posted it very publicly and let my very human skydive friends (few that I personally know, this is the nation-wide group) verbally slaughter my story and myself.

It still didn’t work, so another post to that group to keep the fire hot and to keep building the public pressure.

Well, between the public side plus a number of private conversations that I am aware of, and or perhaps nothing to do with any of that… My canopy coach on my last jump chose to publicly post his confession.

The timing, Gods own gift to me, moments after I’d typed about learning who feeds the birds, and thinking what it might mean to feed the sheep, His sheep. I had tabbed over and was scrolling the Fun Jumper group, not certain what my next typed words could be.

Oh Lord, sometimes I pause great lengths from one word to the next. And sometimes, as the intent observer might notice, things and people affect me, whether in reality or my imagination.

Conversations I’ve had and hope to continue, like a game of Chess, over distance and time.

Calling out from inside, rising, forming remembering and filtering. I may be wrong about everything I believe and I am willing to die for what I know to be true and I will not stop my stories until the penalties are due.

I’ll be you a hundred dollars your name is in my blog. That is a bar bet I will win the rest of my life. Some people will jump at the chance, whether a donation to my fund or to come share a new story with me.

Others, well other might wish I would remove their name from my sight… what friend wouldn’t help out another if they could? How loud does one need to beg?

Next week will begin the open letters. First I’ll need to find the old one to GoPro to get back online, as I have another one in mind, then the final task. Assemble the package for Polk County. My gift to the prosecutor, with a perfect wrapped bow.

This was it, I am poured out. Re/reading my last posts, I can barely describe the spent emotion, raw and visceral. Reliving that moment over and over again, reading and feeling the connection with that moment and now knowing I figured it out.

I am still waiting for my case of beer. A three day offer of grace and mercy seems appropriate, a three day deep rest; Monday, a new world, a printed book, my authorship.

I knew I had to be me at the end, I had to tame the raw beast. Back on the good drugs as soon as I can re-up, time to get back to normal, no more need for this provocateur.

Time to rest.