For two weeks I've been working on a training booklet on the subject of abuse. Physical, sexual, emotional, financial, spiritual, abuse along with neglect and exploitation. I've defined the terms. Given examples - examples that haven't been hard to come up with. I've been writing to an outline set by others - an outline that asked my to explain why people with disabilities are more vulnerable, easier to hurt. I've tried to write this clearly and plainly, I've tried to embue my words with information but also outrage. It hasn't been easy.
I remember too many faces. Of the guy, straight as an arrow, who I worked with. Thought he was the greatest. Thought he was one of the ones with pure heart and right intent. Then of the face of the guy who reported being sexually abused by this friend, the staff. I had liked him. Had lunch with him. Didn't know. I feel fraudulent writing this booklet.
I remember faces. The cool staff, hippy-haired big faced woman. The kind that you looked up to in high school for her wild ideals and her slightly outsider status. I liked having tea with her after the consultation. She spoke so well about her reasons for being there. She didn't tell me that she was dipping into her client's finances. No, that didn't come up over tea. But I remember her face. And his, they guy defrauded who didn't understand about lost money but was hurt by the loss of her. I didn't know. I feel fraudulent even writing this post.
I remember faces. The big guy, big like me. Losing it a punching a woman right in the face. I wasn't in that day. Came in to find him gone. She was fearful for weeks he'd come back. I'd gone for beer with him. He never told me he was at the edge. He never asked for help to step back. He just bought a round and we laughed. I didn't know. I feel fraudulent.
I remember being asked to measure a bruise and draw it's dimentions to ensure the report was accurate. And I type word after word into a booklet that seems somehow to drag me down.
I want to paint abusers all orange. So that we can see them. So that they are noticable. I don't want to just write a booklet, I want science to discover the gene that causes people to hurt other people ... I want them weeded out. Give me Down Syndrome, Spina Bifida, Williams ... any day. We could use a little less greed and a little more decency. How about it gene hunters - how about looking for the cold hearted bastard gene - that's the one you need to go for - leave the disabled alone go for the traits that truly bring misery.
I shouldn't use the blog this way. To just yell.
But I've worked on that book all evening.
Making sure the comma fits between words that shouldn't be put together in the first place, like abuse and trust.
My mind tells my heart that the book will make a difference and people will be safer.
I've called it, Home Safe.
Do you think that's ever gonna be possible?