Patient Zero

Taylor Swift recently came out with an encore to her album, A Life of a Showgirl. The first song on the newly released edition is called Patient Zero. This song has spoken to me for many reasons...and also, hit a little too deep the first time I heard it.

From social media posts and to what became real-life interactions, I read and was told that many did not understand this song at all. They thought it was a far-reaching interpretation of a bad breakup song. That's not what I heard. My heart actually swells hard against my chest, to the point where I can feel it pushing against my bones, for the people who say this. I am happy for them. To not know, to not understand. What a world like that would be to live in.

Patient Zero is not a bad breakup song. I don't actually think it's a breakup song at all. It's one of the quietest, loudest songs about abuse I have ever heard. And fuck, isn't that what it's like when you're in it? The outside world doesn't really see. The depths of humans and relationships run so much deeper than the surface.

The lyrics hit me almost instantly in the first verse: "I've gotta be honest, I've been expecting your call." Those words hang with me in this moment, in the air right in front of me. It's a heavy series of letters that is hard for me to swallow.

A bit after my ex-spouse physically abused me, I reached out to the girlfriend she had before me. I sent a Facebook message, sheepishly and scared. I remember the first time we met in person. We picked a place we both didn't think our ex would be. She got there before me. I walked up to the door and, as I opened it, I remember it being too heavy in my hand. I opened it anyway. As the restaurant came into view, I saw a woman - sitting in a booth. I recognized her, not because we had met. I recognized her because we shared the same pain.  

I walked in slowly and approached her. She stood, each of us recognizing the other from photos posted online that falsely portrayed moments of happiness. We physically shook as our hands reached out. When they touched, I felt the pain I had seen walking in. I think she felt mine too. We both took a seat and started to talk.

Remembering these moments, the song now replays in my head: "I've gotta be honest, I've been expecting your call. No, it's not a bad time at all."

Through the months that followed that first meeting, I found safety, solace, and a friend in this person. She didn't just understand, she knew. Our shared trauma and experience wasn't something that needed to be spoken. After all, she was Patient Zero.

Being with Danielle can be a magical rush of overwhelming excitement and toxicity. As Taylor says, "When the toxins take their hold, you'd rather die than let it go." Somehow, even through the abuse and terrible treatment, it feels hard to lose them. Until one day, you literally have no choice but to let it go. 

"So, let's get into..."

Nothing about that relationship was actually about me. It was always about doing things that made her feel good. Sometimes that came off as being a good partner: buying me presents, creating a good online appearance. But it wasn't for me. It wasn't for Victoria. It was always for Danielle. To boost her own ego. 

The more I got to talk with this former partner, the more I began to put together the puzzle of the scattered pieces Danielle would accidentally let slip. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized we weren't the first at all. We were simply anonymous numbers among the fabricated version of reality Danielle was so eloquently able to create.

This song wasn't written to be understood by the masses. It was curated to touch those unfortunate enough to understand it. I've sat with these lyrics for a while now. The words above these ones have tried to describe the emotions the song elicits, but I know they do little justice.

To the "patients" before me, and god forbid, the patients after me, I am sorry. No one deserves to be brutalized for merely trying to love another human being.

"I've been there. Felt the reeling, done the healing, said the curses and prayers."

I think the point I am getting at is that we are not a number. No matter how many people our abuser has abused before or after. We're not a statistic. We're not a case number. We're not something that can be diminished into a file. And we sure as fucking hell are not crazy. Your truth matters, your voice matters and your story matters. 

Thank you Taylor for creating such a powerful piece of art. Thank you for putting into a words what so many woman feel, but do not know how to describe. Thank you for being a voice of empowerment. 

May we end the cycle. May we all rise up. May we all be loud. And may there never be another Patient Zero.

Jovie

   I started fostering for the Wichita Animal Auction League about 2 and a half years ago. I have a previous blog named "Thank You, Bella" that explains how I got into fostering. In that two and a half years, I have fostered 46 animals, and I have saved 45 of them. 

  Almost every single person's response when I tell them I foster is, "I don't know how you do that, I never could. I'd become too attached." For anyone that knows me, they know - it's not because I do not become attached. I love my fosters deeply. I could give you every single one of their names and explain every single one of their personalities right off the top of my head. Each animal I have fostered, help save and adopted out...each one makes their very own imprint on my heart. 

  As a foster of younger kittens, you kind of know that inevitably this day will come. That despite all the efforts given, you are bound to not being able to save them all. 

  I've fostered 46 animals, and I was able to save 45 of them. 

  My Jovie girl came to me from a friend. She started out tiny, but tenacious. The first five days, of the eight days I had her, she was thriving. She ate well. She gained weight. She played, she loved, she snuggled and mostly she talked. That 3/4 of a pound little girl had a lot to say, and she wasn't shy about any of it. Her favorite parts of the day were when I would wake up, or come home from work and open her door. Her tiny little body wouldn't just run, it would hop out of that room full of life and joy. 

  By the 6th day though, Jovie's hops slowed. I could tell she was lethargic. I already had her on dewormer and probiotics. I reached out to a couple of the amazing WAAL volunteers I know and started getting her intravenous fluids that night. It didn't matter to me it was 9 PM and I should be going to bed, my baby foster girl needed help and that was that. I ended up adding high caloric food, which I had to start force feeding her. 

  On the morning of the 8th day, I gave her meds through a syringe and forced some more food into her tummy. She was not happy with foster mom. She fought me, but I just held her calmly letting her know we had to get some food into her so she could grow big and strong. From the time I left for work, to the time I got home for lunch, Jovie girl had declined. I opened up the door to the room she was staying in and she did not run out. I saw her laying there, unmoving. Instantly I was struck with my worst fear, I had already lost her. I picked her up and to my surprise, there was still some life in the tiny body that had lost weight, down closer to a 1/2 of a pound now. She looked at me pleading. I got her to the vet as quickly as humanly possible. The whole ride there, I told her to hold on. We were almost there...we were almost to help. Just don't give up on foster mom yet. 

  Once to the vet, it was clear very quickly, Jovie was not going to make it. Her temperature was too low. Her heartbeat too slow. There was only one thing left to do. I looked at my girl and back at the vet, I asked if I could hold her. We entered a room, with a couch and low light. Jovie was snuggled tight in a towel I had grabbed leaving my house. My own feet in slippers because I couldn't find shoes, but knew I had no time to waste. 

 I held Jovie in my arms, as she was injected with what would painlessly take her out of the pain she was in. The veterinarian left the room, giving us a few minutes alone. I leaned my head into hers, our noses touching. I told Jovie how beautiful she was, how loved she was and how deeply deeply sorry I was. Before she passed, her last sign of life, she lifted her two little front paws and put them around my cheeks, as if she was hugging me. I could feel her speaking to me, I knew in my heart what she was saying, "this is not your fault, thank you." 

  I'm still processing this loss. I also know that out of 46 fosters, some of them younger than her and much more sick, I am very lucky to only have lost one. But as her foster mom, that brings little solace. I know I gave her a safe home. I know I gave her love. I know she had a much more comforting place to stay than going to a shelter. I know she passed away knowing she was loved. I know that she loved me. But as I've had friends and family reach out with these words, which are all true and incredibly kind....I don't think it's me that deserves the accolades. 

  I've said it before and I'll say it forever, each foster teaches me something different. All impactful, all unique. Like a fingerprint, or a paw print, none of them are the same. 

  I think the lessons Jovie has to teach me have barely begun. Her life, although short, will stay with me forever. Sometimes in life, there are fights we can't win. And sometimes in life, there are fights that aren't meant to be. I think Jovie was the start of teaching me that no matter how hard I try, no matter the effort, time or love I give.....sometimes life just hurts. But the hurt I feel isn't lost, it's not in vain.

  One of my favorite quotes by Glennon Doyle says, "I learned there is a type of pain in life I want to feel. It's the inevitable, excruciating, necessary pain of losing beautiful things; trust, dreams, health, animals, relationships, people. This kind of pain is the price of love, the cost of living a brave open-hearted life and I'll pay it all." 

  Jovie's life is not lost. While she may no longer be here with us physically, she is still with me. She lives in me, a reminder that sometimes life just really fucking sucks. But no matter the cost, I'd choose it again. To give, to love. Joy cannot be fully felt if you have not also experienced pain. And love cannot be fully experienced, if we are not willing to let our walls down to love.

  Losing Jovie has been the hardest fostering journey I've had yet. But the alternative, isn't even an alternative to me anymore. Without opening my heart and my home to these amazing animals, 45 of them would have never been saved. And one of them would have died alone. If this kind of pain is the price of love, the cost of living a brave and open-hearted life, I will pay it every single time. If I were to ask my sweet girl how many fosters I've saved, I have no doubt she'd answer without hesitation, fourty-six. 

  To my Jovie girl, you are forever loved. 

Dying Is The Opposite Of Leaving

I didn’t know Brenda long or as well as many of you that may be reading this. Or there are probably some, not lucky enough to have met her at all. But in the time I was blessed to have her apart of my life, I learned a lot about her. 

I learned that she was stubborn. She was a fighter. I learned she fiercely loved her family and accepted those that weren’t family by blood by making them feel like they were. 

Brenda accepted me from the first time I met her. When I thought Ashley accidentally invited me to a family Fourth of July party. After hesitation and double checking, it turned out, I was truly invited. That day changed my life. 

That’s when I met Brenda. Feisty and full of life, despite the odds. I never heard her complain or pity herself. I just watched her love. 

I wish I would have had more time with her, but isn't "time" such an irrelevant measurement of love anyway? Brenda always had a way of making me feel accepted. Apart of her heart. Accepting of me just for me and gave me permission to be nothing but that. She hugged me every time she saw me. And told me she loved me every time I left. 

This stubborn feisty strong amazing woman, has made me stronger by being in my life. My hope is that I’m able to empower those around me as much she did. To make them feel like they have a home away from home and never have to be anything but who they are. 

I will carry these lessons with me. One of my favorite poets, Andrea Gibson, wrote a poem about death before they passed away from cancer. A quote that always stuck with me said "Dying is the opposite of leaving....I am more with you than I ever was before.“ I believe that. My hope for every person that knew her, that loved her, my hope is that you feel her around you every single day. 

Brenda, you were loved by so many, you are loved by so many. The lessons you taught us will continue to influence our lives. I personally will see you every day, through your daughter and I will smile every time your stubbornness shines through her - telling me "I’m late if I’m not 15 minutes early.” I’d like to point out - I was 18 minutes early to your funeral today, just for you. 

It was kind of wild, but the weather this morning mimicked our grieving. There were no clouds or rain in the forecast. But as everyone that loved you arrived at the funeral - the sky was grim and the clouds softly cried with a mist...I knew that was you from above. Sharing the grief of missing us, probably more than we miss you. As the afternoon continued, the sun - that you always loved, came out shining brightly. Warmly draping our shoulders in your embrace. Thank you for that. 

After the funeral, your cat Oliver, sat in my arms for a solid 30 minutes. Loving and purring, a gentle reminder, that while you may be gone - you will find ways to continue to make us feel loved. 

I love you, Brenda. Thank you for every gift and lesson you shared with us before you passed. Your legacy will live on far beyond this moment. As Andrea said, you are more with us today than you have ever been before. 

Rainbow Fire

   The military hearing for my ex-wife was yesterday. The outcome was different than I expected. Maybe not different from what I hoped for, but definitely from what I expected. There is little my ex-wife did through our relationship that I would consider honorable. But, there were also many choices I made through the relationship that were less than honorable as well. 

  I was called as a witness. I was questioned for about two hours. I did have to be in the same room as Danielle, retelling the horrifying events of January 10th to 11th that are explained in detail in my previous blogs. My right hand was asked to be raised, my fingers shaking without capability of control as I was sworn in. This was not something even my most outlandish dreams would have imagined I'd have to go through. 

  I sat down today to write, expecting to be angry. To my surprise, little anger resides in the aftermath of this two-year nightmare. To quote my victim's impact statement, that I read aloud in civilian court, just a few feet away from my abuser "...but still I do not wish anything ill toward you. It would be very easy to hate you, but I do not. My wish for you is that you take this as an opportunity to grow. That you can take accountability and admit what you did." While I do not believe the accountability of beating someone into a 6-week required medical leave from the concussion I was given will truly sink in with my ex-wife, I do still wish she is able to grow from the path she was made to walk through by me standing up and never wavering that what happened that night was wrong. 

  My goal when I started this journey was to speak my truth. That is it. Seeking revenge was never held in my heart or my body. What I wanted was for the Kristi in 3 years from now, 5 years from now, 10 years from now - to look back at every heart breaking and gut-wrenching step I had to take and be proud of myself. Have mistakes been made along the way? I have no doubt. Have I had moments or days or even weeks of anger? Of course, I am after all just human. But so is Danielle. We both made choices. Many of them unfortunately resulted in hurting one another. Love is a tricky game to play. There is a fine line between passion and obsession. And an even finer line between compromise and abuse. It's wildly easy to get taken advantage of by the person you love. 

  This is my story. There are SO many parts of it I sadly never had or never will have control over. But what I can do is choose to forgive. So, that is what I will do. Danielle, I forgive you. There is an incredibly amazing woman behind the hurt and pain that you project onto others. What I wish you could see is the unique vantage point that someone who has gone through so much is able to have. In one of my favorite "We Can Do Hard Things" podcasts this vantage point is referred to as rainbow fire. In the episode, Jenny Lawson shares how she thought her anxiety and issues were crippling. That something was "wrong" with her. She recalls sitting in a hotel room, her mental state not well - but when she looked out the window, due to her elevated view, she was able to see a rainbow shining in the reflection of the fountain that sat below. She watched in awe of its beauty, as people on ground level walked right by. Without a thought, without pause, without ever noticing or capable of seeing one of the most beautiful things she had witnessed. It was in that moment that Jenny Lawson realized, her anxiety was not her problem. It was not crippling. It happened to be the very thing that allowed her to see what most others would never have the opportunity to witness. 

  I wrote Danielle a letter once, while she was deployed. I shared with her this story - I told her the way I saw it, she was the rainbow fire. 

  Danielle may never get to look herself in the mirror and see the person I once believed in. For all I know, that person may not even exist. While I sit here typing, trying to remember the good, my mind is overtaken with the memory of that night. Her eyes looking into mine, solid black and full of rage. I know I cannot erase the memory of what happened, or undo the mistakes I made that hurt her as well. But what I can do is choose to no longer carry it. I am consciously setting down the heaviest parts of the past few years of my life. Neither of us entered this with ill intent. But actions speak louder than words and intent only goes so far. Our passion turned grave and before we knew it, we were both fighting for air, to merely stay above water. Each day was a struggle to breathe. Somewhere in that fine line of passion and obsession, compromise and abuse - we stifled our lungs, we strangled our individuality, we suffocated our love and sadly we both ended up drowning. 

  While I will never condone abuse in any way, I have also never claimed innocence in this story. I want to make that very clear, as I believe the purest form of strength lies within self-accountability. Danielle was far from perfect, but so was I. This journey has been harder than I could have imagined, but I am done drowning in the metaphorical water I've been stuck under with Danielle for so long. I choose to stand. I choose to let go. I choose to breathe air, by choosing to forgive. 

  Looking back now, after surviving such a traumatic experience, I am just now starting to realize that maybe Danielle wasn't the rainbow fire after all. Maybe she couldn't accept her beauty because she couldn't recognize the view. Maybe she is one of the people passing by, naively missing the magic that was right in front of her. And maybe, just maybe - I was the one in the window the whole time. I have an odd ability to see beauty in the dark. I have discovered that my passion doesn't lie in others, but within my own truth. I can't speak for the Kristi years from now, but I can speak for the Kristi today. The one that survived a civilian and military hearing still standing - albeit with some tears in her eyes, but I am proud of her. I hope that one day, Danielle understands that the path I chose to stand, was never about her. Every step forged forward through the awful system that somehow claims justice, it was never because of her - it was always for me. I will leave this chapter of my life behind, releasing her hold over me and wishing her nothing but the best. 

I choose to stand, even when that standing looks less boisterous and a little more quiet. Sometimes standing isn't being the taller person or the louder one. Sometimes standing looks a lot like sitting - in the top floor of a hotel, realizing that YOU were the rainbow fire all along. 

...You Should Be (A Tale about KLS)

Hello, 

My name is Kristi Clark. I am writing this in attempt to shed light on how poorly victims are treated by our legal system here in Sedgwick County. My goal is to stand, be a voice - and hopefully have enough people hear me to make a difference for those who are abused and brave enough to come forward after. There is a systemic issue with the current justice system, and it is not okay. However, I understand that I cannot make a formal complaint about the system as a whole. My complaint today is about Rhonda Sullivan and how severely rude and unreasonably she handled my case. 

In short, my wife was very abusive. In January of 2024, she physically abused me bad enough that I was put on required medical leave from work for nearly 6 weeks due to the severe concussion inflicted by the beating. Through that process I filed a PFA. In confusion, and honestly not in full capacity of thinking clearly enough to make such big decisions, I settled on a no contact order verses a finalized PFA. The Kansas Legal Services representative presented it as.....you can go for a finalized PFA, but you will have to have a trial (no one explained what trial meant, which I now have a much better understanding of - I truly thought a full on jury trial), you risk upsetting your abuser and ultimately risk them retaliating and coming after you only to hurt you worse. So, I really wouldn't recommend that "for your safety" BUT you can just simply agree to a no contact order, she still can't contact you, but it will be so much easier on you (which I now am enlightened to understand what that meant was easier for the courts to not have to deal with the process of a PFA trial and to have less paperwork). I agreed to the no contact order. 

Weeks following as my brain healed, I regretted that decision. My wife tried to kill me, and a simple no contact order is not what would have kept me most safe. I did press charges, and she has since been convicted of domestic battery, unlawful restraint and preventing a victim from contacting authorities. In May, she did break the no contact order. Upon receiving her text message, I contacted her sister and best friend to check on her and filed contempt of court. The first court hearing, I was not in any way notified of when the hearing was. Because of this, I was not present for court and the charges for contempt were completely dropped - still never to my knowledge. The ONLY reason I found out it was dismissed was because I advocated enough for myself to follow up with Kansas Legal Services, who then informed me. I had to refile the contempt of court - I once again was NOT notified of the court date or hearing time by the county for a second time. But because of the last experience I had, I followed up with Kansas Legal Services and obtained the court hearing time and date on my own. 

The hearing was July 25th, 2024. Rhonda Sullivan, the managing attorney in Sedgwick County is who pulled my file. From the start of sitting down to speak with me her tone was belittling and rude. Kansas Legal Services once again tried to bulldoze me into a corner of just agreeing with what was easiest for them. She wanted me to dismiss the contempt if there was an agreeance that my abuser did not contact me for the next 90 days and then basically nothing is recorded on file and it goes away. Let me point out, that the pre-standing no contact order was already in place longer than 90 days. How that conclusion of my abuser breaking the law was supposed to be comforting, I am still baffled by. Rhonda Sullivan continued to inform me that there could be jail time if I didn't want to agree with that and did want to do a hearing, however, judges very very rarely put these cases in jail, so there really was no reason to go that route. I simply asked what all my options were. I asked if I would be able to finalize the PFA, since the no contact order had been broken. She told me I would NOT be able to file for a finalized PFA because my abuser was in the military. When I responded to her that I know that isn't true, she got incredibly defensive, audibly raised her voice and began to dismiss me. I asked if I could go in the hallway and discuss the options with my mom, who had accompanied me that day. She agreed and when we joined my mother, Rhonda Sullivan looked at my mom and in short told her - you two should just dismiss this contempt of court and any other option wasn't relevant. She was very hard, very rude and very disrespectful. She looked at me, no - actually she glared at me and asked in an annoyed tone what I wanted to do. I asked her to lower her voice because she was being disrespectful. She responded that I was the rude one and working with me was why she was speaking that way. I again asked her "ma'am please lower your voice so I can understand my options" She again asked me what I wanted - my response was that the last time I was standing in this same spot making a decision, I felt bull dozed by the system and agreed to something I wish I hadn't. What I wanted was to understand all of my options before just agreeing to a dismissal. What I want is for the court system NOT to make victims feel even more victimized by the Kansas Legal Services employee that is supposed to be representing them. 

At that point, she said I am telling the judge that you have chosen to represent yourself and she stormed off. My mom and I stood there dumbfounded. I said to my mom, but I didn't agree to anything. My mom said in Rhonda Sullivan’s direction "ma'am we didn't agree to anything, we still don't understand our options." Miss Sullivan's response was to yell toward our direction, from about 30 feet away, "I DO NOT CARE" Not only was it unprofessional and rude, it drew the attention of every single person standing in the courtroom AND the lobby - including my abuser's friends and family that were there that day. There was a lady sitting at a table a few feet away from us and she recognized how absolutely and mind-blowingly awful we were treated, that she came over to us and apologized that we had been spoken to like that. She too was in shock of what had taken place in front of her. Especially from a managing attorney that is supposed to be representing and supporting victims to feel safe. She was so appalled she gave me her full name and contact number and told me that if I needed a witness to confirm what happened - she would be happy to help. 

I was then taken up in front of a judge. I was told Kansas Legal Services completely withdrew any help or representation from me and that I would have to defend myself. To say that I was lost, confused, shocked, and whiplashed would be an understatement. I told the judge it wasn't even my choice to be there alone in that moment, as I never agreed to represent myself. I asked if he could please explain to me what was going on because the Kansas Legal Services representative had done nothing to help me understand my rights. My mom was standing beside me and did tell the judge that we were very mistreated and were just trying to ask questions to understand. The judge looked at my mother and said "well, that isn't my problem, that's yours" I looked the judge in his eyes and said - "you are right, it is not your problem. It is a systemic problem of the legal system that victims get treated this way." I then had a paper shoved in front of me to sign and honestly, I signed it because it was very clear that no one from Kansas Legal Services was going to be of any help in ensuring my safety and I was given no other option to be able to leave the courtroom that day. 

It is absolutely grotesque to me that victims of abuse - the few of us that are brave enough to even press charges or file a PFA - are treated so poorly...and honestly, abused once again by the system and "legal representation" that is supposed to be supporting us. This whole process has been absolutely appalling. It makes sense to me now, why violence is such an issue. Abusers get more support than victims. And the victims are either treated like just another number, gaslighted by the system, or in my experience put down and abused even further. 

There is much much more to this story. Re-telling it through writing is a minute representation of how mistreated I was by Rhonda Sullivan. I am asking and seeking justice for this behavior. Nothing about this has any morsel of being okay and I cannot stand by and allow the managing attorney of Kansas Legal Services to continue to abuse more victims when we are already incredibly broken down, lost and genuinely seeking help, answers and support. 

Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to read this. I do understand that the courts are incredibly overloaded - that however, is no excuse for the people who are supposed to be protecting us, to abandon us if we do not just sit pretty, keep our mouths shut, not ask questions and do what takes less paperwork for them at the end of the day. 

I will stand up - not for just me, but for all the women that need someone to stand. To stand up for them. To stand up beside them. Or to just simply stand and say that it is NOT okay to be so poorly and severely mistreated by anyone, no matter what setting it is in. 

Kristi Clark 

In the wise words of Taylor Swift "Who's afraid of little old me?

.....you should be."