I don’t remember the drive home to my parents’ house the next morning. I only recall bursting through the front door and into the arms of my mother, crying, beaten and mentally broken. She must have called my father home from work, because he was there only minutes later. I could barely speak as they tried to understand what happened. When they finally realized the depth of my nightmare, my father called the county sheriff’s department where he was employed.
A fact that is important to understand is that in the township where the assault occurred, my abuser was a close friend of the police chief. For this reason, we tried to file a police report through the sheriff’s office but were advised that it was out of their jurisdiction. By this time, my older brother was also home, and together we hesitantly drove to the town’s police department.
My abuser’s friend, the chief, took my report that morning with my brother and father by my side. I explained the assault, the broken phone, and the stolen car keys. As with many sexual assault victims, I was too ashamed to report the rape, especially in the presence of my beloved father. I knew that knowledge would break his heart. I couldn’t bring myself to speak the words out loud. To this very day, my father still doesn’t know the full breadth of what I experienced on that ill-fated day.
Following our time at the police department, I was examined at my local hospital’s emergency department. I had bruised ribs, head contusions, multiple abrasions, and a broken soul. We provided the full physician’s report to the police department at their request. A rape kit was neither requested nor performed.
A protection order was issued, and a court date was set. When that day finally came, I sat hand-in-hand with my parents in the courtroom gallery. I was never called as a witness, and all charges were dropped with prejudice due to what the judge called “a lack of evidence.” My abuser smirked at me as he walked out of the courtroom. On that day, I was victimized all over again.
I was reclusive for weeks before I finally gained the courage to call the district attorney with questions about my case. It was only then that I was informed the prosecutor’s office had never received my medical records from the police chief. He had provided only the “he said, she said” police report. He apologized to me, but what was done was done.
Nothing more to see here folks. Sorry about your loss.
That day, I lost faith in both our justice system and law enforcement.
