This is an extremely long, and emotionally charged post.  I was raised to believe that the police are there to protect us.  I have always known there were some bad cops, but I believed they were the exception.  I believed that if you tell the truth, you will prevail.  Maybe I should have known better, looking back.  But these are ideals ingrained long before I ever had any personal contact with law enforcement.  In order to understand the impact what I am about to tell you has had on me and my family, you have to know about two prior incidents.

When he was 14, my son was convicted of something he did not do, and spent five months in a juvenile program in North Florida.  He believed that the videos would prove his innocence.  When they didn’t prove either him or the ‘victim’ right, they were sent to the state attorney’s office, along with statements from the ‘victim’ and her friend, who wrote another boy’s name on her statement.  We never thought the state would file charges, but they did.  His public defender, (who handled every single juvenile case I ever saw get a public defender at five court dates over five months), essentially told us the judge wouldn’t believe him and our best bet was to take a plea deal.  Since juvenile cases do not have juries, we were scared.  We know that you tend to get punished even harder if you go to trial and get convicted, and he was having some other issues at home, and so we agreed it would be best to plea out.  To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure if he really was innocent, until the day he pled out.  When we arrived in court and his name was called, the victim’s advocate stood and said the victim agreed to the plea deal, but only because she had been harassed at school by my son ever since she reported him to the school resource officer.  I knew she was lying then, because he never set foot back in that school after that day.  He spent five months in that program, knowing he was being punished for something he didn’t do.  The strain on my family, emotionally and financially, was immense.  He learned then that the law is not about the truth.  He learned then that the law is about the perception of the person you are dealing with, and once you get involved with law enforcement, the truth doesn’t matter anymore.

My son was also assaulted while being held in the county jail, awaiting transport to the juvenile detention center in Ocala, Fl.  I saw bruising on him, and made a complaint.  The sergeant I spoke with initially was in charge the night of the incident, but he denied there being any incident to me on the phone and told me there was no video surveillance in the area in which my son was taken to and assaulted.  He did help me make the complaint, however, and a few days later I received a call from a detective from the jail, who told asked me to explain again what happened.  I did, including the conversation with the sergeant, which confused him because he did have an incident report.  I asked to see the video of what happened before my son was removed to an unsupervised area.  In a day or two, he invited Brian and I to come view the tape.  He showed us the area in which the incident took place, and then showed us the video.  I was torn after watching the video.  To Brian and I, it proved the officer was over aggressive, and what was described as my son aggressively waving his arms was actually him raising his two hands, palms up, as the officer approached him.  It was not arm waving…it was surrender.  When you lie about one thing, how can I believe you about what happened once you were out of the camera’s eye?  Nothing I saw refuted any part of my son’s story.  I wrestled with what to do.  I could have obtained a private attorney, or asked for an IA investigation.  Neither my son nor I wanted to ruin this man’s career.  What we wanted was an acknowledgment that he was wrong, and most importantly, that a regulation be introduced that prohibits taking an inmate into an unsupervised area for ‘redirection.’  We received neither, but I chose not to pursue the matter, because I was naive and I believed in what law enforcement stood for…I thought it must have been an isolated incident.  He went along with it because he believed that the truth of what happened didn’t matter; it was his word against an officer’s, and he was very familiar with how law enforcement took his word.  Now I regret that decision very much.

On Sunday, June 24th, at around 8-ish pm, Brian and I and our two daughters, ages 7 and 9, returned from a BBQ and pool party at my friend Adam’s house in the Orlando area.  It was a great day, and a quiet trip home, as everyone slept but me.  Our two teenaged sons had been home while we were gone, with several friends over.  I don’t recall the house being a mess or anything upsetting when we got home; it was just a nice peaceful ending to a fun day.  Or so I thought.

It being summer when it is easy to lose track of the days, (especially since I am not working and am on break from school, too, and Brian isn’t working regularly, either), and since I had mistakenly told the boys the party was Saturday for several days before I realized it was Sunday, the kids didn’t realize it was Sunday night.  My son and his girlfriend went to the corner store to get a drink, but when they got there, they saw it was closed and realized their mistake and headed home.  There was a car parked there, with four or five boys in it, who said something to them.  When my son’s girlfriend saw three boys jump out of the car with a weapon and run for my son, she screamed at him to run and she screamed for me.  He ran around the corner and made it to the edge of my yard before they tackled him and began to beat him with the weapon.  His girlfriend was trying to call me, but in a panic she must have misdialed or the call wouldn’t go through and somehow in the melee, one of the boys grabbed her phone out of her hand and threw it.

Brian was having a cigarette out front and he saw the boys running after my son, but he thought it was just some of his friends goofing around.  Until he saw one swing at my son’s ribs with a weapon, and my son hit the ground, the three boys on him.  He ran screaming toward them and pulled the boy with the weapon off, pinning him to the ground, while a close friend of ours who had just been dropped off pulled another boy off, who started screaming at Brian that the boy he had pinned was a minor.  That minor had the crow bar, and he hit Brian three times with it in the head and face, striking him on the top of his head, under one eye, and in the mouth, chipping his tooth.  The boys still in the car had pulled it around by now, and my guys released the boys they had.  When they ran to the car, one of them reached in, yelling, “You want that fire??!!”

I didn’t know any of this had happened.  I heard Christian come in and order his sisters and our friend’s son into a bedroom, later I realized it was because he was afraid the boys had a gun, and he didn’t want the kids in danger.  I didn’t know what was happening, but I could hear in his voice that it was serious, so when Emily started objecting, I yelled for her to do as she was told and came out to see what it was.  I saw my son, covered in dirt all over his back, wild eyed and out of breath.  And then I ran out front to find out what was happening.

I will never forget the warzone I stepped into when I stepped out of my house that night.  I saw a red car careen from my yard down to the next lot, pull a u-turn into an empty lot across the street, passing between a power pole and an electrical box, and then head toward what I thought was the back end of Brian’s car.  I stepped forward, and the tree between Brian and I no longer blocked my view.  It wasn’t the car they were racing toward.  It was Brian.  I was barefoot, but I took off running, and screaming.  I screamed so loud in those seconds that my urine ran down my legs as I thundered toward the car, running through broken glass but never feeling a thing, and my voice was gone for almost a week after.  I don’t know what I meant to do…but I wan’t going to tell another child that their father was dead without doing something to try to stop it.  I didn’t know it at the time, but he had already tried to hit him once and missed.  He pulled that u-turn to try to hit his mark again.  He accelerated as the car flew toward my daughters’ father.  There were no brake marks, when the dust settled.  Brian jumped out of the way, but the fender hit his ankle.  He didn’t even realize it right away, because of the adrenaline pumping through his veins.  I called 911, frantic, panicked…and I learned what had happened before I came outside.

I really thought they would help us.  I thought they would find the kids who did this-we knew two names, for crying out loud!  I thought the police were there to protect citizens against violence and crime.  But I was wrong.  I’m not really sure *who* the police protect, but I learned that week that it sure isn’t me and my family.  The true attack was yet to come, and Hernando County Sheriff’s department allowed those boys to use them as a weapon against us in a second, more devastating attack.

To be continued, when my heart can take it…

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I’m seeing people that I really respect reposting a message about the new Florida drug testing for welfare law, and I just have to address it.  I believe in the right to free speech, even when I disagree with the message, but I also believe that people should look at all sides of an issue before taking a position, especially publicly.

I wonder how many of those people have actually applied for state benefits.  Those who have not tend to think of welfare as an easy to get handout.  They tend to think of welfare recipients as stereotypes: lazy, having babies to get state benefits instead of working, making money that goes unreported so they can net more benefits, driving Lexus’ to pick up groceries with food stamps, etc.  The common thread is the mentality that people on welfare WANT to be on welfare rather than being independent.  In my opinion, making that assumption is comparable to judging someone based on their color, religion, sex, disability, sexuality, or any other factor independent of character.

I’m on welfare.  Or, I was, until the end of May.  I applied for benefits when I was laid off from my job in December.  I’d like to share my experience….a much more common experience than the rare abuse of the system that people seem compelled to believe is the rule rather than the exception.  I applied for food stamps and medical coverage.  The income limits are so low for cash assistance that even with only $720 income monthly for four people, (which is enough for my $600 mortgage and my power bill, when I am not running the heat or a/c), I knew did not qualify so I did not bother to apply.

I had to provide:

• signed statements from my old employer (and then the payroll company when they would not accept the paper from my employer-faxes I paid for since I don’t have a fax machine at home)
• proof of the kids’ immunizations
• birth certificates (which I had to replace at $10/each)
• proof of my son’s Survivor’s benefits (I’m sure they have access to that info electronically, but I had to drive to a neighboring county to the office to get a letter)
• proof of enrollment in school
• divorce papers (I had to pay to fax this multipage document three times because they kept losing it)
• my bank account numbers and balances
• information about all my property and its value, essentially just my vehicle in my case

In all, I’d say it cost me about $75 to provide them with all the information they required to make a decision.  I stood to gain more than that in benefits, so it was a good investment, and thankfully I applied before I was down to nothing.  Most people who apply don’t WANT to apply…they don’t want to be dependent on welfare.  So they try everything they can to handle it on their own, and by the time they apply, there isn’t anything left to invest.  I’d love to know how many cases that would qualify are denied because of not providing data that the state can access electronically.  I know Child Support Enforcement can use the IRS database and birth records to track noncustodial parents…I’m sure DCF (Department of Children and Families, Florida’s agency for child and elder protection and welfare) does too.

But I still wasn’t done proving myself worthy.

There is a state statute that says that welfare recipients must comply with Child Support Enforcement.  I objected to registering with CSE.  My girls’ father and I divorced in 2005 and he was ordered to pay $300/month in child support.  I asked for a smaller amount than I was entitled to because he has full custody of his son, without receiving any financial support from the mother, ever.  I knew he couldn’t continue to provide for his son on his own if he had to pay more, and $300 was all I needed to pay his share of their food, clothing, and shelter.  In the years since our divorce, if he wasn’t living with us and providing direct support by sharing the bills, he was paying support.  Every payday, he put cash in my hand.  I have to say that he has always been reliable about providing support to our girls.  Had he paid it to the CSE system, it would have delayed my receipt of these funds by up to a week, AND they charge HIM a fee for their ‘services’.  Another factor is that I am terrified of CSE.  In the early days of our marriage, every year they would take him to court for arrears in support for his oldest daughter…every year we gave our tax refund to satisfy the support we owed, but for some reason that makes NO sense to anyone, they hold the funds for 180 days before releasing them to the custodial parent.  We went in with proof that the funds needed to catch up our account were already given, but they didn’t care.  They threw him in jail every year, leaving me alone to provide for our two children and even HIS son.  (In a twist, had we been on welfare then, we probably could have been able to pay support for her without starving our own children.)  I’m petrified that’s what they will do again, and what good will he do ANY of his kids while sitting in jail…how are parents supposed to support their kids from jail?  They denied food stamps for me based on my ‘lack of cooperation’ with CSE because I won’t hand over control of my child support situation to them.  The kids can still receive benefits, but not me, because I am ‘noncompliant’. (You would think they would be happy that my family doesn’t need these additional services-it is only costing taxpayers MORE money to force everyone to go through CSE whether there is a need or not.  So much for small government.  Not EVERY family or personal issue needs to be handled by Big Brother…but essentially I was penalized for having a fantastic relationship with my ex-husband.  And even worse?  The alternative was that he would be penalized even though he has never been noncompliant in supporting our children.  I wonder how many well-functioning families have been thrown into turmoil because of being forced to hand over control of their child support situation to this agency.)

After about 30 days, the children received Medicaid and food stamps.  (I had Medicaid for 14 days, then it was pulled, even though my case says I was eligible.  I have no idea about that.)  The food stamps have ensured my kids have been able to have a decent dinner every night, and I am thankful for them.  Now that school is out, and I have them home all day, I will need the help even more.  I really don’t mind that I only eat once a day.  I’ve lost weight, as a result.  But my kids need healthy food, whether I’ve been able to find another job or not.

My certification ran out at the end of May, so I submitted a review on May 10th to be sure there was plenty of time for them to look it over.  I thought, they already have everything they need..it shouldn’t be an issue.  But now they want me to prove that I receive ‘child support privately’. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to prove that, so I just had Brian write a statement and I’ve been trying to fax it for weeks now.  The fax number is always busy.  June 6th was the deadline.  I have no idea what to do now…I just keep trying to fax the paper, every day..even though it’s probably too late now.

I’ve worked since I was 16 or 17.  I’ve paid taxes most of if not all of my adult life, so people just like me have help in situations like mine.  I don’t mind it at all.  I think it’s my responsibility as a member of this society to contribute toward others.  I am the very reason these programs exist, but even I have had to jump through hoops-sometimes repeatedly.  It’s not easy at all to qualify for the assistance these programs provide.  Had I not had the money for copies, faxing, gas, etc, or a home address for paperwork to be sent to, or a phone to receive or make calls to the caseworker…or the intelligence to field the barrage of requests for things I had already submitted, I wouldn’t have been approved at all. And people without those things probably don’t have family to turn to for help.  They just go without.  (Until someone reports them to DCF for not providing for their kids properly and then the very agency they went to for help takes their children away.)

Getting back to drug testing welfare applicants…

I anticipate that the drug test will cost around $35, and that cost is paid up front by the applicant.  If the results are negative, the applicant will be reimbursed.  (Although I have to question with what method reimbursement will take place, and how long it will take for that to happen.  From my experience, the government is quick to take our money and slow to return it.)  If the results are positive, they can designate another adult to receive benefits for any minor children, but that adult will also have to be drug tested, with the same conditions.  There is nothing in place to provide any help to those who test positive with substance abuse counseling, education, or treatment…all they get is six months of being barred from applying for benefits.

The number of families who do not have $35+ to pay for a drug test is going to be huge.  These are families who are already struggling or they wouldn’t be applying for help…$30 is a water bill unpaid, a week or two of diapers, several meals, gas to job hunt for the week.  They will either go without, or turn to other agencies to help bridge the gap this requirement will create, only raising their dependency on public assistance programs.  Another issue I have is with the other adult appointed to receive benefits for children whose parent has tested positive.  Testing negative on a drug test is not a qualified indicator of morality…I wonder how many families will have their benefits stolen by unscrupulous appointees.

This regulation relies on many assumptions:

• that if you test positive for drugs (which, in the case of marijuana, may have been used well before even applying for benefits) you must be using state benefits for your children to pay for them.  That assumption is full of holes, beginning with the fact that the people tested haven’t even been awarded benefits yet, which means the assumption ACTUALLY is:
• that if you test positive for drugs, you must be a bad parent and morally corrupt enough to spend your children’s benefits on your drug habit. Using drugs does not, in and of itself, make you a bad parent, and it certainly does not mean you would spend your babies’ benefits on your drug use, any more than passing a drug test means you are morally superior and would never spend your babies’ benefits for other selfish reasons.
• that if you test positive for drugs, you are a regular drug user and buyer.  Who can say they don’t know someone who occasionally will smoke a joint or do a line with friends, but never buys it or has their own stash?  I’m NOT making any moral statement on that practice.  I am SIMPLY saying that testing positive, especially for something that could have been consumed just once, at any time within the last month, does not mean you are an addict or that you have a dependency, and it does NOT mean you spend any money on drugs.  It certainly CAN mean that, but this regulation makes that assumption, across the board.

It’s not that I disagree with the sentiment that it’s unfair that job applicants get drug tested and welfare applicants don’t.  That really *is* incongruous and I don’t have a solution for that.  What bothers me is that this perpetuates the myth that the average welfare applicant or recipient is not worthy of helping and places the onus on the applicant to prove themselves beyond financial need, and even more so, that this places yet another barrier for families that need the most help. Welfare reform is a valid concern, but this tactic will only temporarily reduce the bottom line.  Rick Scott’s leadership style is to satisfy the taxpayers of today with reducing spending, regardless of the effect it will have on future taxpayers.  His education budget cuts alone prove our children (our future!) are not his main concern-the budget is.  We may pay less out in state funds due to this regulation and his other cuts for a time…but in the long run it will cost us, not only in other programs that will be more heavily relied upon but more importantly, in our future, as a society.  I agree that something needs to be done about wasteful spending…but am I the only one who sees that the people responsible for cutting the budget are almost never willing to look at their own offices and salaries and those of their high ranking cronies?  No, they look to the poorest, the little people, the low man on the totem pole to bear the brunt of their slashing.

And, you really ought to know that just before taking office, the governor who signed this law turned over his company which specializes in drug testing, to his wife.  In his mind, this is not a conflict of interest.  But I can not help but be suspicious. Among other things.

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It is next to impossible to explain anxiety to someone who has never experienced it.  I’ve tried, repeatedly, with very disappointing results.  Variations have included:

• The feeling you get when you hear nails on a chalkboard or whatever sound has that kind of effect on you.
• A swarm of bees inside you, getting more and more agitated as they creep toward your brain.
• An elephant on your chest, sinking further into you every time you exhale.
• An overwhelming feeling of unease…like something REALLY! FREAKING! BAD! is going to happen if you can’t get out of your own skin RIGHT! THIS! SECOND!
• All the air being sucked out of the room, or, conversely, so much air being pumped in that the pressure being exerted on you feels absolutely bone crushing.

None of those are exactly right…but I think the sense of desperation is clear.  In that moment, I am nothing short of desperate to make the feeling stop.  Eventually it does stop, and I am swept with feelings of hopelessness, guilt, and a new sense of desperation, this time, to just be normal.

I wonder what it is like to be able to just decide to do something on a whim…to be able to face large groups without the inevitable meltdown that precedes every family function…to be able to cope when the myriad of little things that will inevitably go wrong do, in fact, go wrong.  I know that at one time, I didn’t have anxiety.  I wish I could remember what it was like, but all I can connect with it is the fleeting feeling of freedom when I am driving alone in my car with the windows down and the radio up.

I know it is hard for my family to live with me.  I know I am moody and I react badly to being disappointed.  I am impatient and I expect things to be MY way.  Sometimes I get so angry because I have explained over and over what I need from my family to help me control my anxiety but they don’t take it seriously, and I lash out, saying or doing things I regret. I don’t want to be the mom that the kids tell stories about and their friends make comments about how awful that must have been.

*Photo credit: amber10_75 on Flickr*

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