'You're free to go.'
Go where? Back to bed?
I’ve heard that phrase from judges for years. On TV, in movies, in actual court. Court is a place where I have ‘lived’ since September 9, 2024. Court is a place that I have attended, almost weekly and in two provinces (often on the same day). Sometimes the two-hour time difference between Ontario and Alberta ‘saved’ me, and other times it didn’t. It mostly meant me having to get up at an ungodly hour, in the dark over here in the Alberta winters, struggling to look presentable and trying to stay awake.
When the ‘magic’ words were spoken to me, it was anticlimactic. I thought I would feel free. I thought I would feel like a weight was lifted. No, it was a different kind of anxiety. Now what, I thought to myself. I’m still thinking that. Did that really just happen? Did I just imagine the last five years of hell? No, I didn’t. The cloud of suspicion still looms over me. Now come all the inquiries that were put on hold due to the proceedings. Personally, I think everyone was just waiting to see if I would be found guilty or not. For five years she managed to dupe the police and Crowns in two provinces. Now it’s her turn to squirm. The charge, and everything else alleged, was withdrawn, unconditionally.
There was never a silver lining in this cloud. I was never believed. I still feel like some sort of imposter. I realized today that it must have come down to her shady lawyers realizing that they just couldn’t hold up the facade any longer. The bone of contention all along: my medical records. Gulp.
It took me years (plus a super-smart lawyer) to figure out the Canada Evidence Act, and how it pertained to my case. Also, some pretty subtle obstruction of justice vibes. I feel sick with the cold realization that these constructs weren’t respected from day one. Evidence. Justice. I’m disgusted that documents requested two years ago (some five) have only surfaced now. I’m exhausted from trying to clear my name. So many little things that could have easily exonerated me from the outset.
After five years, I finally received the true copy of my medical records that was needed all along. The shrink’s lawyers made such a big deal about providing them to me so many times over the years, all while knowing they would have to one day be authenticated if used at trial. Over the years I was given copies that were faxed over copies and then produced. Fax transmissions faxed over fax transmissions, then produced. And today for the first time, I saw dates and times and happenings that I once thought weren’t even real. Who do you think copied and altered my records? My accuser, and her lawyer. Well, let’s be honest, it was probably their legal assistant. She would have had to verify authentication of such in court. What a terrible position to be placed in. However, I think I have unlocked the mystery of what must have unfolded.
What my accuser didn’t count on was my willingness to disclose this thousand page, veritable piece of trash she has been holding over my head for all of these years. My records speak volumes. No safety concerns as she alleged, no documentation of this mythical “escalating behaviour” she claimed. No reasonable fear. Really not sure how these people sleep at night. She would have been happy for me to do time on her dime (her dime being paid mostly by taxpayers). She said as much in her statement to police:
“She has no attachment in life that would stop her from caring if she was in jail”
The worst part is that my accuser stalked and likely still monitors my social media (for safety, she said. OK. Wish I felt safe). She had to have known how much I have suffered, and how I am still affected by her careless actions. She knew all along that she didn’t have proper consent or cause to utilize my records in legal proceedings five years ago. So she had to feign that she was in “psychological danger,” and thus had to involve police and invade my privacy in one fell swoop. Wait. Five swoops. She called the police five times when I was nowhere near her and posed no threat to her or anyone around her. Beginning in a global pandemic in lockdown. She even mentioned a threat to her pets. Please.
Even worse is that I called out her crazy in 2020. Her version of the story simply seemed to hold more weight than mine. It’s fine. The real story is just beginning to be written. Literally. But for now, I’m free to go. Back to bed, where I hope to sleep off this nightmare.