Prosecuting The Victim, Gender Biases, and The Psychological Impact of Injustice

Chapter 29: Release from captivity

Let's fast forward up to the time of May of 2005. I had spent 7 months in jail for a crime where I was the victim and did no wrong. I was summoned to go to court from my jail cell. I was in protective custody. 

I was brought down in chains like a common criminal. You are presumed to be innocent until proven guilty but that was not happening. They weren't treating me like an innocent and good person. I was being treated as if the lies Ana Ensaf Amador-Riza told were true. It was shameful. They took off the handcuffs and chains, I think, when I appeared next to the public defender facing the judge. My head was bowed in shame. 

My lawyer got me out by getting the bond reduced so that I could be released on my own recognizance.  This was to allow me to "prepare for trial" or that's what he told a judge.

I was released that day in the same bloody clothing that I had worn when I was arrested after being victimized. It felt like escaping from kidnappers - I had been legally kidnapped by the county of Durham in North Carolina.

Where would I go? I had been hoping to be picked up by the parents of someone I met in jail. 

I was carrying all my belongings, all I had owned in a bag. I didn't have any other clothing other than the bloody short-sleeve shirt, bloody shorts, bloody socks and bloody shoes. I also had a few books and perhaps some papers related to the legal matter hanging over me. 

I was so ashamed to appear in that way out on the streets. I didn't want to be seen. I especially didn't want to be seen near the jail. I was literally hiding behind bushes when cars came until I could get far enough from the jail. I wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit but I still didn't want to be seen as someone who had been released from jail. I've heard it said that embarrassment is what we feel when we do something wrong. 

Shame is different. It is a feeling that something is wrong with us at the core of our being. That is what I feeling, almost as if someone would know my secret - that I had spent 7 months in jail and people assume that we must have done something wrong if we are arrested and put in jail. 

I wasn't thinking about the prison sentence I was facing if I was convicted. It was too hard to wrap my mind around that when I was actually the victim. 

I made my way to the Urban Ministries in Durham, NC - a homeless shelter not far from the jail. 

It wasn't always possible to get a bed inside the shelter. Sometimes I slept outside. It's interesting the places where the homeless sleep in Durham... inside a parking garage structure... on the lawn outside a church. 

I felt wretched and like an outcast. I didn't have the capacity to feel self-compassion and didn't see myself as loveable. The fact that I had done no wrong meant nothing. It sometimes can seem like our living conditions express something of our worth. 

I was out "awaiting trial" and that seemed to be a fact that I didn't want to be known or discussed anywhere. It felt like a badge of shame - like wearing the scarlet letter. 

I know in retrospect that walking the streets going about my day I wasn't wearing a scarlet letter but it felt like my picture had been broadcast somewhere and everyone was told to avoid me. I felt invisible and tried to be a ghost in the crowds. 

I didn't even know what to ask my family for. It seemed like they didn't care. I mean they hadn't made sure I had clean clothing when I left the jail. 

I don't mean to paint them as heartless. I am trying to build a relationship with my sister Carrie Whealton now in 2022 after the death of my mother last year. I have long believed that they could have done more. Since we haven't spoken about the matter much it is hard to understand what was happening with Carrie to know if she could, would, or should have done more. At some point, she moved to North Carolina and could have put me up in her home. 

I met with my lawyer briefly for all of 30 minutes. I said I was afraid and wanted to know if he would prepare me for trial. He said he didn't want to do that. He wanted the jury to see me as vulnerable and scared. He wasn't too forthcoming so I cannot know for sure what his thinking was. There was so much the jury would need to know. 

I had previously known incompetency from a public defender and I will describe that later. It seemed that his strategy was to show the jury someone who could not or would not be capable of the crimes for which I was accused - 2nd Degree Kidnapping and 2nd Degree Sexual Offense. 

One thing left out of our discussions was my history of helping people with mental illness, including victims of violent crimes. Is it all on me to present a convincing legal defense? If that was the case, why do we need lawyers?

I was dealing with Major Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Yes, the PTSD had to do with the captivity experience that I had in jail after being victimized. 

I could have sued the psychiatrist at the Durham mental health center when he chose to withhold medications for reasons unknown to me. If it was just the addictive benzodiazepines then it might make sense to worry about whether I was misusing the medications ( I wasn't ) but it was also an anti-depressant medication that creates dependency. The side affects of abruptly quitting this medication are seriously dangerous. He didn't seem to care and this only added to my sense of not being worth anything.

Many days during this time period, I went to Duke University as I had heard that the libraries are open to the public. At lunch I went to one of the restaurants near Duke Chapel on the west campus. I got in line with other students and ordered a pizza and sat by myself. 

After that I went to the library over on east campus and asked to borrow copies of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They asked for my ID and held that after giving me headphones and the DVDs. I found a cubicle and privately watched one episode after another. This could describe many different days after my release from captivity in May of 2005.

I tried to be invisible as much as possible due to my low self-esteem. 

I always felt guilty not to be looking for a job. Of course, an employer might wonder how long I could remain employed. I still had that trial coming up. 

Perkins Library on campus has computers that are open to the public. After a certain hour, I think the doors are locked. 

The library gets very quiet at night. On one particular night like others, in late summer, I went into one of the rooms that has a few couches, chairs and tables. It was very quiet and I felt out of place, but I laid down on the couch because my eyes were getting heavy and my body was sleepy. 

Again, I feared the shame of being woken up and told that I was out of place, maybe tresspassing and asked to leave... god forbid they call the police. 

Trying to sleep out in the cold was hard. They didn't always have enough beds for the homeless at the shelter in downtown Durham - the Urban Ministries. I always feared being awakened by police officers and put back in jail. I didn't want to have tresspassing be another list of charges on my record. On one particular evening in late fall it was so cold and some of us homeless folks were hanging out in a parking lot. It was too hard to stay warm enough to sleep.

In the next chapter, I will describe what happened in late November when I was again facing a similarly disturbing experience with the police and the jail in Durham.