I went to the arraignment today. He has no lawyer yet. D-bag asked to get back into a rehab, one that he had been in previously but he had to leave early because of another felony bench warrant. The Judge said no. Not anywhere closer to getting my stuff back. His parents were sitting in front of me. His mom was a mess. She started telling me that he is suicidal and that he is probably on heroin. She apologized to me. I said that it was his decision to enter my house without permission and take things that he had not right to, not her decision. She cried harder. I feel a bit jaded. I feel for her as one mom to another. But I really would like to kick the shit out of her 'little boy.' He has changed me. Not feeling very Christ-like right now.
I wanted to tell her how lucky she is that she is lucky she is sitting in court seeing her son by video in the court room, because this could have ended very differently had I not overslept, had Rick come downstairs and into the kitchen. She could have been making funeral arrangements today.
The County Attorney assured me that this was pretty much a slam dunk,~my words, not his. They still didn’t know if anyone else was involved. He was to be held in the County farm.
August 29. 2015
I woke up, grabbed my coffee, butts, Rick’s laptop and a hand gun, and then went out on the patio with Lily, to catch up on what’s going on in the world outside of my family’s drama. Then this happens:
Just now. Sitting on my patio, reading FB. Hear rustling in bushes and sounds bigger than a squirrel. Lily lifts her head and hears it too. Pick up one of Ricks hand guns, and walk around the kennel a bit, hear nothing. Point the laser towards where the sound came from. I stand there about a minute. Trying to decide if I want to go in and get a flash light, and wishing I had the AR that has one. Decide I am over reacting, and walk the other way around the house to get the paper and see if the stock marker crashed yesterday. I have my gun under my arm pit as not to freak out anyone driving by. I see a kid with orange sleeves walk across the street from the corner of my driveway to the telephone pole in front of the ballpark where here picks a bike up out of the brush, gets on it and rides away towards town. He has on a backpack. This F'ing sucks.
Later that day, I talked to my neighbor and the guy I saw getting on the bike stashed in the brush was more than likely was the same guy that rummaged through his cars this morning.
Over the next week, I was unable to get any answers on when I could get my stuff back, so I ended up having to get a new phone. A friend that works for an attorney got her boss to call the Police evidence guy to finally get all but the guns released three weeks later. Another friend that is a House Rep introduced a new bill to empower and protect victims by getting their belongings back to them on a timelier basis.
Week after week, I could feel myself changing inside. I was obviously depressed I don't think it is an overstatement to say that I may have been experiencing a bit of ptsd. Coming from the perspective of someone that tries to "fix" things, I felt pretty broken and wasn't sure how to restore things back to normal life. And I replaced fear with anger.
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