the phony police chief

Page Eighteen

21 May 2008 Greenfield

Well, about an hour and a half ago I was re-hurt by another character in the saga of destroying me. This time it was the phony police chief. On the morning of March 12, the morning that I had to sign my animals away under extreme emotional and physical duress (the worst I've ever experienced), there was an animal control officer there, and another man that the animal control officer kept calling "chief". He even said to me, "we gotta settle this about the animals before the CHIEF chews my ass." Well, right then the "chief" came over to me and started the ass-chewing on both of us. I knew instantly that this man wasn't the police chief of Turners Falls, because I know who he is. I also knew instantly that I KNEW this man, but I was so tired and physically ill and traumatized that it took me probably 45 minutes to remember who he is. He's a deputy with a certain division of the local sheriff's department, and while I was being harassed by the psycho-chick and illegally evicted by the psycho-landlady, he was supposed to help me. These deputies are in the division called Triad. Their job is to visit elderly and disabled people in their territory to see if they have any issues they'd like help with. The first time he visited me he was full of tough talk about the things he was going to get done about the crime-chick who was harassing me. The second time he came, he just shrugged and said he could do nothing about the crime-chick or the eviction.

This I knew was bullshit. I had personally known people in the past who had been helped a great deal by Triad deputies in matters of getting both evictions and any kind of harassment stopped. But not for me. All of a sudden, after all his tough talk, there was nothing he could do.

But on that worst day of my life on March 12, there he was yelling at me, telling me lies about myself that came right out of the mouth of Cry Baby at the CSS. So these agencies that could never do much at all - almost nothing - to stop the harassment, to deal with the landlady, to find me a home where I could save as many animals as possible, to let me be present at the deaths of whatever animals could NOT be saved; these agencies (DMH,CSS, Sheriff) that could barely be bothered to help save my life, could all participate in this grand play-acting on that day (and a whole lot of other play-acting over the last eight months). THAT they had the mental resources to do: lie and play-act and let everything that was dear to me be destroyed. But they just couldn't bestir themselves ahead of time to try to save us.

I knew this deputy and the animal control officer were lying and play-acting. One reason I figured this out was that they kept laughing. This guy would holler at me, then turn his back, bend over, and have a laughing fit. Also, they delivered their lines as stiffly and phonily as bad actors in a bad play. I knew they were acting, but what I didn't know was why.

So this actor drives right up to where I'm standing, about 8:15 this morning. I'm standing on the steps of the house where I rent a room, smoking. He drives right up and starts his mouth at me. Only this time he's playing the sweet act. I looked at his face only once or twice for a nano-second, because looking at ANY of the characters in my destruction gives me chest pains and stomach pains. I said only a very few words to the crap he was spouting, then held up my hands in a gesture for him to go away and leave me alone. The whole lot of them took part in the destruction of everything that kept me going through 11 abysmal years. GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

Update 20 November 2009: That was the last time this man and I ever spoke (May 21 last year). This sheriff's deputy who was supposed to give me regular security visits while the psycho-chick was harassing me, and didn't. Who was supposed to get something done about the harassment, and didn't. Who then suddenly appeared playing a police chief on the day my animals were taken away (that he could manage). We never spoke again. He died last year, September 7I think, of stomach cancer. That's one whose face I'll never have to be triggered by again, but only one. The rest are all alive and kicking. If all of this sounds harsh, it is. What this dead man and a whole lot of others did to me, and my innocent animals was harsh, and traumatic, and irrevocable.

Recently my current therapist told me that the DMH did start out with some kind of a plan to get me a place and re-unite me with at least some of my animals. A plan that fell through, but he wouldn't tell me why. So this play-acting that went on on March 12 must have had something to do with this plan, and with keeping it secret from me. Why did the plan to do something decent for me and my animals, to provide the service I asked for from the DMH in the FIRST place, have to be kept secret from me? Why all the lying and acting that had gone on for months? Why all these so-called adults behaving like sneaky grammar school kids playing a prank on someone they didn't much like? No one at the DMH or ServiceNet will tell me.

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part of the book Spite and Malice