Not Your Circus Freak
By God's Magenta Flame
When someone has a knife to your throat, you do what you need to do and say what you need to say to get away. You tell the one with the knife what they want to hear to keep yourself safe until you can get free. Life on the streets is alot like that. It is probably even more like that when you are a woman with children because it's not only a figurative knife at your throat, but the throats of your children. One bad decision can get you robbed, beaten, kidnapped or raped. You find yourself talking down strangers who presumptuously pick up your children in the most quiet and peaceful way possible. Then are criticized by self-righteous observers for being irresponsible for not making a big enough fuss and yanking your children away in a big scene. The last thing I needed was to anger and make an active enemy of someone who is not psychologically stable due to mental illness or drug addiction. So, a polite, good-humored manner was indeed the most responsible way for me, as a mother, to handle people picking up my children while availing ourselves of daytime services at the local shelter in Davis. It led to a private talking to from the employees there who questioned my judgement in "allowing" others to pick up my children.
I quietly observed daily the "banter" between shelter employees and those they were supposed to be serving. The shelter employees' "playful" tones were downgrading and ridiculing but some of these men actually lit up as if they were being treated as special. One man thought he was "in good" with the employees. he had once told me to let him handle them for me. He didn't hear how they spoke of him behind his back when he left. They are quite adept at eye-rolling. I definately got the impression that those employees showed up to work each day for the same reasons people pay to see circus "freaks". The homeless were their entertainment. I definately never once left there feeling as if I had been treated with common respect and human dignity.
But, I got off the streets and moved on contentedly.Then my abuser, who I had avoided for over a year, showed up in my bedroom doorway one day. The figurative knife was back at my throat again. Not being able to file police reports in the past and this time as well because , as the police told me, "it's your word against his", I did not file for a restraining order. On what grounds would I do that? Just because I had texts proving he was warned not to trespass didn't mean to the sherriff he didn't have the right to come onto the property to ask permission despite signs being obviously posted. (A law in Yolo County, California says first trespass is forgiven because a person has to actually speak to property owner to be denied permission, and to do that they have to come onto the property). And they seemed unconcerned that "to ask permission" he broke in the back door to do it.
Eventually,it became obvious our home had become unsafe. The police told me, once again, they could not file a report because no actual violence had happened. The officer said it was good I got the children out because otherwise they would have taken them away. However, he said, they could not help me find a place to stay. Upon calling the shelter in the next town, I was told there would not be room judging from the sign-in sheet from the night before. So, I called the local organizations and churches to see if we could at least get a motel room to buy me time to come up with a plan to get us out of there. I was limited by a custody order that required thirty days notice before any change of address and having the children available for paid, professionally supervised visits. Those churches and organizations are all linked together for the protection of their organizations so people can't "double dip". After what happened next, it felt like they were linked together just to be a gossip ring, in my opinion. They called the shelter in the next town that I had called then got back to me saying the shelter definately had room. I did not know what kind of game was being played or what kind of unstable people would tell me one thing then fellow social service "brothers" another. I was a circus freak again. Alone on the street with an abuser lurking was the knife to my throat. I was NOT going to entrust my children's security to such unreliable people as the social service organizations. So, I did what I had to do and said what I had to say to get my children out of there. The police were called (not by me) and with the help of the local district attorney's office, I was back in the shelter for victims of domestic violence.
I had applied for the housing program through the Davis Community Meals some time back and they had notified me that they had an opening. So, I made an appointment for an interview while in the shelter. I was questioned, all right. "Did the domestic violence shelter know I had gone back to my abuser?". "Were they serious?!" crossed my mind.I had once written them that I no longer needed their services, one reminded me arrogantly. Well, yes that was true because at that time I didn't. Picking up on their intentions because, believe it or not I am quite discerning, I plainly asked them: "You had no intention of letting me in the program". The reply was honest: "No, we can't protect you from your abuser". So, what was the point of the interview but to catch up on the street gossip and mock me? I spoke up for myself and told the one man in that room, when he had just finished speaking, "You. are. a. very. very. small. man.". I was reprimanded, "You can't talk to people like that" as I rose to walk out. while they might have perceived themselves as showing me out when I rose to leave, they were the ones who opened the door for me and I left at my own pace with head held high. In that moment, they became my circus freaks and their reactions to me very entertaining. In my mind, they became clowns not to be taken seriously. Their immaturity, insincerety, and pettiness was cartoonish.
I left Davis California on a small private airplane and ate first class all the way to my next destination where I left by bus. I was treated with common human decency, respect and dignity. I was no longer Davis' Circus freak, food for gossip, judgement and criticism. Charity work can be done respectfully. So, now I will tell you all what you did not know about me. I was raised with money and political influence. I was groomed to live in it and use it. I excelled at all I did and had parents who wanted desperately to ride on my coattails. But I know it's dirty little secrets and that is why I shunned it in my own life. I had aced my bussiness and accounting classes in college. I never had trouble managing money or being responsible with it. I was simply never inspired enough in any direction to use my talents. I once organized a convoy of 100 vehicles in response to a shooting and protest over how the courts were handling it, which made the news worldwide. I always excelled in english courses, especially in writing. I know how to use words to move people with what honestly comes from my heart, to action if needed, I learned organizing that convoy. That, in it's self is a power. I have the potential to do something very big with my life. I may have fallen down due to a lack of direction and insecurities from an abusive upbringing, but I have skills, knowledge and understanding. Now I know how I want to use them. I have been working on starting my own charitable organization. God willing, every single person I meet in my daily interactions will go away having been treated with as much warmth, love, affection, common decency, respect and dignity as possible in every given moment. Even if that means occassionally, calling human beings on their behavior, there is a time and a season for everything. And in the manner of a circus ringmaster, I give a grandiose bow of gratitude to the social organization employees of Davis: thank you for showing me exactly what I NEVER want to be.I may have done the same to someone else somewhere in my past, and for that I am sorry. I can only pray my soul has learned it's lesson and I never let it happen again.
By God's Magenta Flame
When someone has a knife to your throat, you do what you need to do and say what you need to say to get away. You tell the one with the knife what they want to hear to keep yourself safe until you can get free. Life on the streets is alot like that. It is probably even more like that when you are a woman with children because it's not only a figurative knife at your throat, but the throats of your children. One bad decision can get you robbed, beaten, kidnapped or raped. You find yourself talking down strangers who presumptuously pick up your children in the most quiet and peaceful way possible. Then are criticized by self-righteous observers for being irresponsible for not making a big enough fuss and yanking your children away in a big scene. The last thing I needed was to anger and make an active enemy of someone who is not psychologically stable due to mental illness or drug addiction. So, a polite, good-humored manner was indeed the most responsible way for me, as a mother, to handle people picking up my children while availing ourselves of daytime services at the local shelter in Davis. It led to a private talking to from the employees there who questioned my judgement in "allowing" others to pick up my children.
I quietly observed daily the "banter" between shelter employees and those they were supposed to be serving. The shelter employees' "playful" tones were downgrading and ridiculing but some of these men actually lit up as if they were being treated as special. One man thought he was "in good" with the employees. he had once told me to let him handle them for me. He didn't hear how they spoke of him behind his back when he left. They are quite adept at eye-rolling. I definately got the impression that those employees showed up to work each day for the same reasons people pay to see circus "freaks". The homeless were their entertainment. I definately never once left there feeling as if I had been treated with common respect and human dignity.
But, I got off the streets and moved on contentedly.Then my abuser, who I had avoided for over a year, showed up in my bedroom doorway one day. The figurative knife was back at my throat again. Not being able to file police reports in the past and this time as well because , as the police told me, "it's your word against his", I did not file for a restraining order. On what grounds would I do that? Just because I had texts proving he was warned not to trespass didn't mean to the sherriff he didn't have the right to come onto the property to ask permission despite signs being obviously posted. (A law in Yolo County, California says first trespass is forgiven because a person has to actually speak to property owner to be denied permission, and to do that they have to come onto the property). And they seemed unconcerned that "to ask permission" he broke in the back door to do it.
Eventually,it became obvious our home had become unsafe. The police told me, once again, they could not file a report because no actual violence had happened. The officer said it was good I got the children out because otherwise they would have taken them away. However, he said, they could not help me find a place to stay. Upon calling the shelter in the next town, I was told there would not be room judging from the sign-in sheet from the night before. So, I called the local organizations and churches to see if we could at least get a motel room to buy me time to come up with a plan to get us out of there. I was limited by a custody order that required thirty days notice before any change of address and having the children available for paid, professionally supervised visits. Those churches and organizations are all linked together for the protection of their organizations so people can't "double dip". After what happened next, it felt like they were linked together just to be a gossip ring, in my opinion. They called the shelter in the next town that I had called then got back to me saying the shelter definately had room. I did not know what kind of game was being played or what kind of unstable people would tell me one thing then fellow social service "brothers" another. I was a circus freak again. Alone on the street with an abuser lurking was the knife to my throat. I was NOT going to entrust my children's security to such unreliable people as the social service organizations. So, I did what I had to do and said what I had to say to get my children out of there. The police were called (not by me) and with the help of the local district attorney's office, I was back in the shelter for victims of domestic violence.
I had applied for the housing program through the Davis Community Meals some time back and they had notified me that they had an opening. So, I made an appointment for an interview while in the shelter. I was questioned, all right. "Did the domestic violence shelter know I had gone back to my abuser?". "Were they serious?!" crossed my mind.I had once written them that I no longer needed their services, one reminded me arrogantly. Well, yes that was true because at that time I didn't. Picking up on their intentions because, believe it or not I am quite discerning, I plainly asked them: "You had no intention of letting me in the program". The reply was honest: "No, we can't protect you from your abuser". So, what was the point of the interview but to catch up on the street gossip and mock me? I spoke up for myself and told the one man in that room, when he had just finished speaking, "You. are. a. very. very. small. man.". I was reprimanded, "You can't talk to people like that" as I rose to walk out. while they might have perceived themselves as showing me out when I rose to leave, they were the ones who opened the door for me and I left at my own pace with head held high. In that moment, they became my circus freaks and their reactions to me very entertaining. In my mind, they became clowns not to be taken seriously. Their immaturity, insincerety, and pettiness was cartoonish.
I left Davis California on a small private airplane and ate first class all the way to my next destination where I left by bus. I was treated with common human decency, respect and dignity. I was no longer Davis' Circus freak, food for gossip, judgement and criticism. Charity work can be done respectfully. So, now I will tell you all what you did not know about me. I was raised with money and political influence. I was groomed to live in it and use it. I excelled at all I did and had parents who wanted desperately to ride on my coattails. But I know it's dirty little secrets and that is why I shunned it in my own life. I had aced my bussiness and accounting classes in college. I never had trouble managing money or being responsible with it. I was simply never inspired enough in any direction to use my talents. I once organized a convoy of 100 vehicles in response to a shooting and protest over how the courts were handling it, which made the news worldwide. I always excelled in english courses, especially in writing. I know how to use words to move people with what honestly comes from my heart, to action if needed, I learned organizing that convoy. That, in it's self is a power. I have the potential to do something very big with my life. I may have fallen down due to a lack of direction and insecurities from an abusive upbringing, but I have skills, knowledge and understanding. Now I know how I want to use them. I have been working on starting my own charitable organization. God willing, every single person I meet in my daily interactions will go away having been treated with as much warmth, love, affection, common decency, respect and dignity as possible in every given moment. Even if that means occassionally, calling human beings on their behavior, there is a time and a season for everything. And in the manner of a circus ringmaster, I give a grandiose bow of gratitude to the social organization employees of Davis: thank you for showing me exactly what I NEVER want to be.I may have done the same to someone else somewhere in my past, and for that I am sorry. I can only pray my soul has learned it's lesson and I never let it happen again.
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