One of the last jobs I held before becoming self-employed was as a Counselor in a Domestic Violence Shelter. I held that job through two pregnancies and only took it because I believed the Shelter to be a safe place and the agreement was that I would be allowed to bring my children to work with me. It was a good gig. However, as it turned out the shelter, a medium large Victorian in the center of town was not exactly as safe as it looked.
We had some real wackos, and I’m not just talking about the clients. Some of the staff had no business around women and children so vulnerable and broken. One of the abused had some psychological issues that came to a head during her moon time. Standing at the top of the stairs in a bra and a towel she had somehow gained control over the entire household. Administrators were there and the house was full of drama as I came in to work that day. They had called the police and the uniforms arrived shortly after I did. A couple had already unsnapped their holsters. I knew her abuser (ex-husband) was in law enforcement, so as soon as I heard what was up I turned around and threw the uniforms out of the house, yelling “get the f*** out, her abuser is a cop”. They backed up, good cops will do that when it’s needed. And yes, when necessary I turn into a sailor.
With everyone crowded in the hallway at the bottom of the stairwell I pushed my way through to the foot of the stairs. Staff was encouraging me to stay with them. Our client was twice my size. As I ascended the staircase I talked to her in gentle tones as if it were any other day. Then, I noticed the knife. Almost all the way up to her and the weapon was eye-level as I was only a few steps below the landing where she stood. Without trepidation I continued, “Good morning honey, are we having a time today?” I said to her in my most positive tone. She stared blankly with her brow raised. “Is it your turn in the bathroom? Let’s get you ready for a tub”. I slowly touched her shoulder and then the hand with the knife in it. “We don’t need that in the tub now, do we?” Her children were among the observers. All I kept thinking was I didn’t want them to see their mother get shot. I kept trying to block out the vision of her tumbling down the narrow stairwell and then sprawled lifeless at the bottom. I told the looky-loos to move as I tossed the knife down a couple of stairs. Someone must have rushed to retrieve it as it wasn’t there when the client and I descended. Soon after she was given her meds, some clothes and driven by staff to the hospital.
Guns. . . not as needed as you might think.
Another client came in complaining her CIA hubby had his CIA crony Dr. buddy implant in her ear a device that would allow him to track her. This was the middle of the ’90’s and we didn’t have GPS in every phone, car, and hand-held device. So, the rest of the staff including the Administration signed her off as another wack-a-doo. Only when I asked a few questions of them did the light bulb go on. Well, in some it did, others love the dark comforting blanket of ignorance. “Did her hubby work CIA?” Oh yes he did. “Did any of our staff have pets with RFID chips” Hmmmm, yeaza…”How hard would it be to drug your wife and RFIDed her?” She was treated with slightly more respect after that. And taken off 5150 status. Even so, she still left early. She was trying to get help to get x-rays and have it removed. That was more than the shelter was willing to provide. Ironically, a cops sister-in-law, an actual 5150 was chauffeured regularly for check ups and pregnancy tests for her Psuedocyesis aka false pregnancy. At the time that she was recommended to us she had been “pregnant” for 4 years with her frickin’ fake fetus.
Another thing I’d like to mention is as a young woman I lived next door to a man who was ex-CIA. He told me things about conspiracies, and psy-ops that made me want to drink myself into oblivion. I had trusted my government. I loved my America. What was this crazy man telling me?
His son Joey had a crush on me and was a gorgeous, blond, buffed, Italian kid a couple years younger than me. Did I mention he was gorgeous? He just seemed so wounded, I couldn’t handle all that. Later I found out how he had gotten that way. It seems, that to shut up Neighborly who only wanted to do good and be an upright CIA agent and wouldn’t simmer down about it, they set fire to his gorgeous luxury home. Joe the youngest was 2 at the time. He suffered 3rd degree burns to 38% of his body and almost died. His 3 other siblings were tiny at the time too, but escaped without injury.
When I met them, they were all living together as adults with their parents as a choice. They held jobs and gave false info to employers to protect their identities. They were living in what appeared on the exterior to be substandard conditions as a “mask”. Yard unkempt, house not painted, trees not pruned. The inside was immaculate and nicely furnished with minimal decor. The father never left the house or backyard in the light of day. They lived in constant fear of what could have been. It had been 18 years since the fire, which was proven to be arson, and each family member was still in their own kind of shock from it.
With all of that being said I would like to conclude by relating my feelings that weapons are all shapes and sizes, some can’t even be seen. I believe they are all bad when misused. That doesn’t mean they aren’t sometimes necessary on this planet. America obviously has gone a bit overboard. What use are automatic weapons to civilians? Can we afford to tone it down a bit? Can we afford not to? Can we do it on our own, without being forced to give up our right to bear arms? Another conclusive point I’d like to make is, our police seem to unsnap that holster far too soon in some cases and that needs to be addressed just as seriously as these civilian shooters. And finally, if you believe the government is only willing to kill foreign babies to get their way. . . I’ve got a few words for you. . .Joey, and his brother and sisters.