I sat on the edge of my bed, awash in despair and tears. I'm still hurting even though it's been more than a month since I last saw him. I hate him for what he did to me. I miss him most of all. I obsess on what he did to me. He loved me, he said, and yet it was so easy for him to say good-bye...
Not only did my ex abuse me emotionally and sexually, when I went for help to get rid of him six months earlier, I got my ass kicked. The police officer behind the counter signaled to the PERT Team that I was accusing him of rape. Why would I do it? I wouldn't. Never in a million years. I said that he was harassing me and badgering me for sex all night. No matter how much he got he always wanted more. I was stuck in an abusive situation and because he was a doctor, an officer at Escondido Police Department and buddy of his in the ER, lied to protect him.
I was interrogated, yelled at, and my purse was snatched. My wallet was emptied. Officer Bond took my driver's license so I had to come back to get it the next day. I was accused of "trying to destroy the career of a prominent physician" and Naomi Cooper snatched my phone and said she was going to call my abuser. "No!"
When they returned, I was told to stand up and put my hands behind my back. Why?
"You are trying to set up a prominent physician."
"Why would I? Michael needs help."
The officers closed in on me and I pressed myself against the wall. "You're as bad as he is," I cried. And as the cuffs were snapped onto my wrists by Officer Bond, I cried out Michael's name.
I was taken to the hospital where Michael worked and still is, I believe, occasionally a consultant. I was afraid he'd be there because Cooper made the call. I was waiting in a room all by myself after submitting blood and urine. On the other side of the room, a door opened and an older man with gray hair and blue scrubs entered the room. I thought it was Michael. I almost fainted. I trembled and my brain swam in my head. What was he going to do to me?
Michael is diabolical. He'd never be the guy who puts a gun to your head and pulls the trigger. He's the kind of guy who'd sneak into your room in the middle of the night and inject you with a fatal dose of something awful.
Just when I thought I couldn't cope, I realized the man in scrubs wasn't him. Thank God! But now I sit alone and the question is why? Later, I logged onto the PERT Team website and read that not only are PERT Team members supposed to conduct respectful and professional interviews, if hospitalization is necessary, a team member will sit with you until the social worker comes. And no one is here with me (Thank God again), but then why was I there on a 5150?
Because doctors have more power than mere mortals. Because life isn't fair.
I was grateful when a social worker said I could go home. But even she knows that something is fishy. Why didn't she ask who the president was? Why didn't she ask if I knew what year it is? She didn't ask because she could see I was oriented. She knew I didn't belong there.
So now I sit on the edge of the bed, reliving the events for the one hundredth time that day. Michael is probably out making millions of dollars and probably won't even think about me today.
When I'm at the end of my rope, when there is nowhere else to go, no one left to ask for help, I always find comfort in my angels. I close my eyes and call to them...Archangel Raphael, Archangel Michael, any angel out there, please come to me.
I suddenly feel tranquilized. The nausea has gone away. I settle back on the bed and snuggle into the blankets. I feel so warm and comforted. My little dog, Daisy, curls up by my side. I am tranquil and serene. When I look up, I see angels above the bed. There must be seven or eight. They are wrapped in robes of rose and indigo blue and have their tiny hands held out in strategic places above my body. They are giving me a healing!
I feel the energy flow through me. The tension and stress fade away. For the first time in months I feel whole again. And until the effects wear off a few hours later, I'm happy.
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