The truth of what REALLY happened on that cruise. (Warning: STRONG language. I mean, strong.)

This post was originally written in late February of 2013.  I have not altered the original post in any way, shape or form; this is exactly how I was feeling at the time.  I will only say that these are the words of a scared, frightened, stressed-out woman that had no idea of what was going to happen.

The only reason that you are reading this right now is because the legal case has been dropped, or settled.  You will now understand what stress and horror I have been living under for the last three months.  I was ordered not to discuss this, for fear it would jeopardize the case - but now it's over.  And now I'm going to scream it to the skies.

Grab some popcorn.  You're about to take a ride on the crazy train.

By the way?  The case was judged as nolle prosequi - which means that "the plaintiff has dropped the charges".  Well, well.  Maybe because you're a lying douche that never had a leg to stand on, huh?

~~

It's been more than a couple of weeks since our aborted vacation; you know, the cruise to Jamaica that we were supposed to go on.  I've been putting off explaining what happened, partially because of shame (though why, I do not know!) and partially because I was afraid that a legal case would be jeopardized because I discussed it on Facebook.  More details about that are below.

The short story is that Greg was arrested, on-board the ship, by the Broward County, Florida Police Department AND by the United States Border Patrol.  He was arrested for, and I quote, "battery and tampering with a victim/witness".  Apparently there was a warrant out for his arrest that was dated from September of 2011.  In that warrant, it was stated that "Mr. Osman has violent tendencies". 

Wha-wha-wha-WHAT???  Fucking WHAT??????

Now, if you guess that it has to do with the crazy-assed bitch of an ex-girlfriend that he literally escaped from in Florida... you would win the new car and a year's supply of Rice-a-Roni.

This fucking cunt - and yes, I say the word cunt, I do not use this term EVER, but that's exactly what she is, so that's what I'm going to say - actually put out a warrant on Greg for supposedly abusing her.  Uhhuh.  That's why he had visible bruises on his body when he fled to my house in June of 2011.  Sure, bitch.  He abused you.  Get... fucking... REAL.

Greg was a victim of domestic violence in that relationship.  When he arrived in Baltimore, he and I actually went to the House of Ruth to try and get him to be seen by a counselor.  That's how much "he abused her".  She broke his glasses - and I do mean shattered them.  But HE "abused her".  Right, got it.  He walked around here for months like a whipped dog because he was so fucking afraid that someone would hurt him - but "he abused her".  Right. 

And she actually dared to use the judicial system to put out a warrant for his arrest. 

The result was that Greg was arrested, in view of over 3,000 people, on the Liberty of the Seas on Monday, January 28, 2013.  Needless to say, I was absolutely hysterical.  We had no idea that there was a warrant out on him, because if we had known - we would have freaking taken care of it!  Also, think about this - if we had known there was a warrant out for his arrest, what makes these idiots think that we'd even come back to Florida to begin with?????  Do they think we're that fucking stupid?

He was unceremoniously hauled off of the ship in handcuffs.  I'm throwing clothes into suitcases, sobbing hysterically, not understanding anything of what's going on, what I need to do next, anything. 

Do you believe that they actually asked me if I wanted to stay on the cruise?  Say the fuck... what?  What makes these idiots think I'd just take off to Jamaica by myself while Greg's in handcuffs over false domestic violence charges?  Do they really think I'm going to just leave him in the Broward County Jail while I hightail it off to the fucking islands?  GET.... FUCKING....REAL.

So I get off of the ship, with those same 3,000 people watching me.  The ship is late taking off, you see, and we're the sole reason for that.  So, yeah, I was totally humiliated.  No doubt about it.

No thanks to the Broward County Police Department, I found a hotel to stay in.  Of course, it's 130 dollars a night, but I was so hysterical that I didn't care.  I'm in a city that I know nothing about (Fort Lauderdale), I'm stranded, my fiance's in jail and I don't even know what the fuck is happening.  So, let's see... we lost our cruise vacation for sure.  That's 800 dollars.  Plus the hotel, so that's another 130. 

Want to keep tabs with me?  It gets better.

I call my mother in absolute hysterics, who in turn calls my brother in absolute hysterics.  He calls me, not in hysterics but visibly rattled.  He dispenses advice - call a lawyer, stat.  Good idea, I think, so I start looking up lawyers.  I'm overwhelmed by the choices.  Call a few, no one answers, it's 9:00pm.  I pull up the website of the jail - I see Greg's booking picture.  He's got visible tears in his eyes.  I totally fucking lose my shit and sob, curled up, on the hotel floor.  What the fuck.  What... the... fuck.

I toss and turn all night.  Can't sleep.  Dry-eyed.  Can't eat anything - I throw up what little I can get down.  I take my blood sugar levels - it's 214.  Only 36 more points and I get to go to the hospital.  Yay.  Great vacation so far.

Dawn arrives.  I wait until the latest hour I think I can before I start calling lawyers again.  I reach one's legal secretary - I spill out my story.  I end up crying again, I can't help it.  She puts me through to the lawyer himself.  I repeat my story.  He agrees to take the case - it's 1,000 dollars for a retainer.  I call my mother, begging for help.  She agrees and pays the retainer for me.  He promises to get over to the courthouse, in the meantime, can I come down there?  I'm on my way.

Now we're up to 1,930 dollars.  Keep counting, boys and girls.

I take a cab to the office because I have no idea of where the fuck I am, and even if I did it wouldn't matter, because I still don't have my driver's license.  So that's another 20 bucks.  I get dropped off right in front of the courthouse - nice, everything's laid out nice and convenient.  Lawyers here, courthouse there, jail across the street.  Big business, I see.  I'm totally disgusted.

I enter the lawyer's office.  Small, plain, white walls, Latina secretary.  Greg's been granted bond.  2500 dollars.  Charges are felonies.  Wonderful.  I start panicking again.  The secretary tells me not to worry, hands me a card, and tells me to go down the street to the bail bond office.  I go over there, thanking Christ that I have a fair amount of cash on me - it was for the ship staff, to give them tips.  I guess they won't be getting it now. 

I enter the bail bond office.  Explained the situation.  I sit down and sign mountains of paperwork - agreeing that they could come after me for the full 2500 if he doesn't show for court, etc.  Names of family, relatives, acquaintances.  I once again feel the humiliation and the despair of the situation we're in.  I get handed papers, told to wait at the jail for his release, and bring him back to the bond office when he's out.  "It may be a couple of hours," they warn.  Great, what else do I have to do?  I fork over 250 dollars, the 10 percent required to get him out. 

So far we're up to 2200 dollars.  Not done yet.

I walk up to the Broward County Jail.  Huge, multifloor concrete building.  Forbidding looking men and women walking through a security line.  I stand there for 15 minutes, not knowing what to do - no one is paying any attention to me.  I get barked at.  "You!  Purse in locker, walk through!"  I take the key, walk through security, nothing goes off.  I try a feeble smile at the officer behind the desk - nothing.  To him, I'm a common criminal just like everyone else that's in here - supposedly.  It doesn't matter that I'm in law enforcement, working for a place a lot higher than the state of Florida.  Here, I'm a criminal. 

I sit down.  Some inane talk show is on.  It's 10:30am.  I wait and watch.  Someone comes in, kisses his girlfriend, walks behind a partition, walks out escorted by a guard and in cuffs.  Returning from a weekend out, probably.  Lots of soft muttered Spanish, guards coming in and out, bringing lunches.  The hours pass.  12:30, 1:30.  The girl from the bail bonds office comes in, ostensibly to deliver paperwork.  She tells me not to worry, that he'll be out today; they're most likely going through processing, it takes time.  I ignore her - they've got their money, I want to be left alone - and keep waiting.  2:00, 2:30.  The time ticks away.  I zone out, wishing that I was anywhere, anywhere but here.

Suddenly... he comes out of the sallyport.  I lose it.  I totally lose it.  I ran over to him and squeezed him as hard as I could, sobbing like a child, not caring what happens.  I know we stood there at least 10 minutes, if not longer.  To their credit, he didn't look the worse for wear....

Not that that's much credit.

We leave the jail and go back to the bail bond office for an appearance.  The guy hands him a bunch of papers to fill out.  Same thing I had to.  Then, a picture.  We finalize everything and go back to the lawyer's office. 

I sit down with the lawyer and ask him straight out what the worst is that can happen.  I get told 2 to 3 years of probation, no more than that - but it's such an insult when he did nothing!!!!!!  He said he'd try to get the charges down to misdemeanors, or thrown out altogether.  I nod numbly.  Asked him if we could go home.  He said yes.  Thank you, Christ - thank you.  He said that we didn't have to appear at the arraignment, he would get a waiver signed so that he could stay in Maryland until the trial, if there was one.  Thank you again, Christ - I will never doubt you exist after this.

How much is the final fee?  2500 dollars more.  1000 extra if the case goes to trial.  Fine, I say.  Let's do this.

Total cost so far:  4,700 dollars.  Plus 1,000 if there's a trial.

We end up being forced to stay in Florida one more night - it's now 5:25pm.  Too late to get a flight out.  That's another 130 dollars.  35 dollars extra to change the plane reservation to the next day - fine, let's do it.

Now the cost is 4,865 dollars.  With trial - 5,865 dollars.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was our lovely Jamaican vacation.  We returned home on Wednesday, January 30th, with a nearly six thousand dollar bill for a legal case that should never have happened, and the possibility of a felony being on my fiance's record - all because of one scorned, abusive, crazy motherfucking bitch.  The same scorned, abusive, crazy motherfucking bitch that sent him countless messages over his cell phone, over Facebook, threatening him if he didn't come back, trying to sweet talk him back, then talking "dirty" (trying to use sex as a weapon, I guess, this thing knew no bounds), then threatening ME through Facebook, using her ex-husband to message him, etc.  We had to pay for a block on his number so that she couldn't contact him anymore - we had it instituted in July of 2011.  I had to change my phone number outright because she was calling it day and night threatening me.  When that didn't work, she tried to use my Facebook account to tell me to "watch my back".  I have blocked everyone on Facebook with the same name, whether they're her or not.  I have been living in a state of semi-fear since the day he moved here, because from what I understand, this crazy bitch has a gun.  And Fort Lauderdale is 2 hours away by plane and a mere 100 dollar fare.  How do I know what this stupid turkey-neck slut is going to do?

I have been trying my best to hold it together, for Greg's sake and for everyone else's.  But it's been absolute hell having no one to talk to - because I've had to keep this quiet.  I have had nightmares since January 28th.  I have eaten very little and slept even less.  My dreams are of sinking ships, jail visits, and death.  I can no longer think about taking a vacation anywhere that is further than 50 miles from home.  I jump at the sound of sirens; I feel sick when I see a police officer walking toward me. I jump when the phone rings because I think it's the lawyer or the bail bond office calling me to tell me that I've lost the bail bond because he didn't appear for court (and this has already happened once).  I am probably going to have to go back to therapy because I can't process.  This has been nothing short of traumatic for me.  I can't even tell you how many tears I've cried since that day.  I don't know.  It seems endless.

The only reason why you are reading this now is because it's finally over.  The case has been put to rest.  (Though right now, I don't know what that outcome will be.  It'll be revealed after this sentence - I'm prewriting this so I will never have to think about it again, ever.)

Now that you know the entire story, those of you who have disagreed with me about opposing the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) now know why I oppose it; it is what happened to us that makes me believe this is not a good idea for anyone.  Those of you who know and have met Greg personally can attest to the fact that he is genuinely the sweetest, gentlest man alive - he wouldn't harm a soul.  I will never believe that he abused that woman - ever - not from what I know and not from what I've seen.  I have lived with him for the past 2 years, and I know - if he were abusive, I would know by now!

And that part about "violent tendencies".  Shit.  I have more fucking violent tendencies than he does, and anyone who knows us can also attest to that!!!

So... now what?  I don't know, honestly.  I don't blame Greg for any of this.  He was a victim of this woman.  He was abused shamefully, and it just seems that it's punishment on top of more punishment.  How can I be mad at him? 

And yet, I still suffer from this.  The utter humiliation of three thousand people watching me as I scurry off a cruise ship, the amount of money that we've had to spend to defend ourselves from someone who has little to no respect for the court system, the nightmares and fear that I feel. 

Where is my justice? 

I was told that it wasn't even worth trying to sue this woman for the money that we've had to put out defending these bogus charges.  Because (if Greg is telling it right, and I believe that he is) she has nothing anyway - she's a leech on the body society, she collects disability (of course!), she doesn't work, she's a fucking drug addict.  She'd be at home on Jerry Springer - pure trash. 

All that I can say is that Greg must've had one hell of a lapse in judgment at one time to be involved with a thing like this.  (And, yes - the word thing applies here.)

I can feel the tears again - it never stops.  It never ends.  Again... where is the justice? 

I am my own person. No, really. I am.

Ever since I met Greg (two incredible months ago!), I've been a lot happier, which has been pretty obvious to all who know me. I've been receiving comments from all sources - personal, work, otherwise - that have told me that I'm beginning to smile again... that I seem more "alive", I guess, than I have in years.

I've worked incredibly hard over the last year to get myself back onto solid ground, to recover from my depression, to validate myself as someone worthy of existing, never mind living. To tell the truth, I would have been perfectly happy with just existence - seems that I've gotten more than I'd bargained for, heh.

Still, fear persists. I'm scared of my fragile recovery being blown to bits, and I refuse to lie about it. The ground underneath me is still quite shaky, though it's getting a bit firmer every day. I think that it's important for me to realize that I've done all that I have done myself - that no one's helped me along with this, that I'm responsible for my own happiness. A comment from my last post made me think about that, long and hard - am I happy because there's someone in my life now? Or can I be just as happy by myself, alone, the way I was going along? At the time, I'd said that having someone in my life was an addition to it, not that it became my life. I still find that to be my truth, I think.

The mistake that I've made in the past, in nearly all of my previous relationships/entanglements/something, is that I've made the other person "my life". Does that make sense? Instead of seeing them as a pleasant addition, an enhancement, I've enmeshed my own personality into theirs. Wrong, wrong, wrong move! It's okay to feel empathetic - it is NOT okay to absorb!

It's a shame that it's taken me nearly 40 years to learn better.

This relationship with Greg has been different in a lot of ways - hell, in nearly every way. Maybe it's because I'm now mature enough to know the difference, maybe it's because it's the first relationship I've had in a long time where the disparity between lifestyles wasn't such a yawning cavern, maybe it's because I'm finally ready to own my shit when I do something wrong. I don't know why, exactly. Perhaps I'm finally ready to yield a little control over to another person, because a relationship - a good one, anyway - is give and take. I've always been such a control freak in the past - if I wasn't in the driver's seat, I'd literally have a conniption and be unable to cope. I still have a lot of issues with that, with trusting, with relaxing and laying back and just letting things happen. But I'm getting better at it every day, just like I am in a lot of other ways.

Eventually, I'm going to be able to relax enough to talk about my other past relationships - to the point where I can finally cleanse wounds. I don't look forward to reliving the pain associated with that, but to finally putting it all where it belongs - in the past - I actually look forward to owning my mistakes, which sounds weird, but.... it's an essential portion of healing that I still have to do.

I am so ready for it. :)

In other quick news: it turns out that I'm not the only one in the neighborhood that's been broken into recently, and drug dealing has unfortunately started to pick up, as well. There's a community meeting about it on August 9th, which is unfortunately a Tuesday - but I may try and prepare a statement about my experience for the meeting. They say the Baltimore police department will be there. Wouldn't it be nice if they could get to the house faster than 2 hours next time? /sarcasm

Otherwise, life rolls along. I'm doing pretty well, all things considered.

I'm certainly a lot happier than I used to be. :)

Blog improvements may be coming soon. Might be time to get rid of all of this black. :D

More later.

Attention, Baltimore thugs: you didn't break me. Sorry.

I have to work this quarter's Saturday shift tomorrow, so I ended up with today off, which was actually a bonus for me. It allowed me to get some things done that I might not have otherwise. A lot of the mess that was in the house before the break-in has been cleared away/fixed, and as a result, my anxiety levels have plummeted.

I've temporarily hung up a colorful tapestry over the damaged wall where the television was, and I actually like the look of it so much that I just may leave it there permanently. I'm reconsidering even replacing the TV at all, to be honest - it was indeed an idiot box, just hanging there, wasting a lot of my valuable time where I could have been doing other things. Like, say, cleaning. Or actually eating breakfast in the morning, fixing my hair to go to work, that sort of thing.

I'm aware that the last sentence in particular sounded really awful, but I can't lie - all of it is true. I'd neglect simple things like taking care of myself (by eating a necessary meal) or trying to make myself look at least a little better (fixing my hair) because I'd sit on my sofa and just stare into nothingness, trying to fool myself into believing that I needed that time just to "wake up". But it's bullshit, you know. I was awake. Just not... "there". Does that make sense?

It's not as if I ever really "watched" the damned thing, anyhow. It was background noise to try and blot out the fact that if I don't make sound in here, it's utterly silent and desolate. Or is it? It's only desolate if I choose it to be so.

The only thing that truly hurt, I think, was the loss of my computer equipment - partially because I'd just purchased it and it was like throwing 800 dollars out the window, but also because what little entertainment I do choose to watch, most of it is on my computer (be it in the form of movies or TV shows on DVD or something similar). Other than that - screw it, what do I care, the thugs can keep all that shit. Really!

I've changed over most of my accounts now, but there seems to be very little fallout from the break-in itself, which is good news. The two computers that they'd taken (yes, they managed to steal both my new one and the broken one, sheesh), I don't think they're going to get very far. The new one had a fingerprint recognition feature on it that makes trying to access it useless, and the broken one's battery was dead and they neglected to take the charger to fire it up. Dumbasses. Still, I canceled my accounts and set up new ones, just to be safe. It's a good thing that the broken one's battery WAS dead, because that one literally had nearly all of my financial information on it. Lesson learned - I'll never do THAT again. It's back to paper and pencil for me when it comes to my finances.

I've actually learned a LOT of lessons from this incident. I've been way too lax with my own security for a good portion of my life - perhaps because I had the false sense of feeling "invincible". After all, this has never happened to me before; why would I ever think about such things? It's been hit home to me that I do, indeed, need to think about it. I'm a single woman living alone in Baltimore City; while the area of town I live in isn't a "slum", it's on the edge of one where there's still a huge amount of drug activity and crime. I should have thought about this a long time ago. But it's not too late to start now, and I've done exactly that.

I had a security system installed this week, and I'm planning on installing security doors for both the front and back of the house. I'm also considering motion detectors for the backyard, the side of the house, and even bars on the back windows (though I really don't want to go that far - I don't want to feel as if I live in a prison - but it may be necessary). I've also changed some personal habits in that I now shut the blinds at all times unless I'm physically in the room, as well as leaving some lights on at night, and turning different ones on and off. And as soon as I can pick up the old desktop computer that my mother offered me, I'm going to begin scanning personal financial documents and shredding all of the old paper copies. The scans will go on a portable hard drive that will probably be locked up in a personal safe (that of course will be bolted to the floor to prevent anyone from taking THAT).

Too much, you say? Yeah, it might be. I may not go THIS far, but I do think that some of the above ideas are good ones. I have to work with one thing at a time, of course, because I'm facing down some pretty expensive stuff in the next few weeks. My credit card bill has already swelled past the comfort level because of having to replace the computer and get the alarm system installed. Sigh.

But if it means I'll be safe in my own house, so be it.

The one thing that keeps running through my mind, though, is that I'm thankful that I'm alive and that I didn't walk in on these assholes that did this. Because I live in a city where someone will shoot you in the head for a pair of 60 dollar Nike tennis shoes. And, yet, I still love my little house in the city. I still enjoy being here. No one with a drug addiction - or for that matter, any issue - is going to take that away from me.

I've taken my house back. Now I'm taking my life back.

Slowly getting my life back in order.

The alarm system has been installed, and don't think for one second that I don't feel better about it. There's some residual fear, of course; no doubt that I'll be trying to hide my electronics for a while - but for the most part, I don't feel crawly and disgusting when I walk through my own house. Some things will be hard to deal with (I can't get over the fact that these douches had their filthy, thieving hands all over my clothes), but in time that'll fade away. At least, I hope so.

Things are somewhat of a mess. I need to call a few people (my doctor, for one, he's probably worried out of his mind by now), and I may have trouble paying my bills for a while because everything's on lockdown, sigh. I just need to take things one step at a time, I guess.

Next thing on the list are security doors for the front and back of the house. I'm not playing with the drug-added assholes of this city. They're going to leave my shit alone if I have to have a fucking pit bull on guard outside, alarms everywhere, a motion light detector outside of my house and in the fucking street. I work too Goddamned hard for my things and I'll be damned if some jerkoff is just going to walk the fuck on in here and take it because they feel like it.

Heh. Yep, it's the anger stage. Way better than fear any day.

I'll be just fine once I get back to work, which I'm planning on doing tomorrow. I'm not going to let this rule my life. It's time to kick ass.

Peace.

I've been sorely tested as of late.

As most of you who keep up with my life in any way know by now, my house was broken into on Saturday night while I was out for a rare social event, and my television was stolen, along with a few choice electronic items (including the brand new computer that I'd just bought not even 30 days ago). To say that I feel violated doesn't even begin to cover it, and I've spent the last 48 hours contacting banks, credit card companies, and spending a country fortune replacing computers, electronic equipment, and installing a security system in this house - for I'll be damned if I ever let this happen again.

I've not been to work today, and won't be going tomorrow, either - I have to wait for the security people, as well as go to the banks and reopen accounts under new numbers, etc. A major hassle, and I have no idea of how I'll be able to pay my bills on time, which of course adds another layer of inconvenience.

However... this situation has taught me so very much. It's taught me that I can handle even a horrible event like this. And that I have so much more support and friendship than I ever dreamed I did. People have been calling me, asking after me, offering to help, leaving messages of support for me. In my darkest days of depression, I never would have believed that people cared about me.. and yet, the last 48 hours have taught me better. Even my family has stepped up to the plate for me in ways that I never believed possible.

It's comforted me. I feel afraid and violated... but also that much stronger.

A couple of thugs took my electronics. But in a way, they gave me insight and the realization that people really do love me.

In that, maybe I came out ahead after all.