Here we go again. The numbnuts (does he deserve a human term?) who raped, sodomized, and beat me for 6 hours in 1987 is up for parole… again. The same numbnuts who has been on parole at least 5 times since he was 18 years old, and NEVER got off parole before offending again, with increasingly more violent crimes. He’d been out for less than 40 days when he raped me. SO what other reasons could I have that I haven’t stated before, for keeping him behind bars for at least another few years?
I want him in prison for my own peace of mind. There. I said it. Maybe it’s selfish, but that Saturday morning in January 1987 changed my life forever. I don’t want revenge- I want the sentence he agreed to when HE changed his plea mid-trial, and said he was guilty. He agreed to a 60 year sentence, and he’s proven repeatedly that he can’t function on parole. He does something to get back ‘in’. Every. Single. Time. I realize that there are mandatory release dates- and he’s already blown through one of those. He will reoffend eventually if he’s let out- and at what cost?
I protest his release because of what he’s capable of doing to someone else. He’s 56 years old now, and I have no doubt that he still has the strength to repeat what he did to me, and possibly ‘finish’ what he started, and actually kill someone. I have no doubt that he would have killed me had I not escaped. He’d talked about it, and ‘acted out’ dismembering me. I knew his name, where he was staying, his sister’s name
(it was her baby I was taking care of that even put me on his radar- before he stole my address and phone number from her purse, and hunted me specifically- I looked like his first wife). He couldn’t leave me alive. He plans and carries out his crimes. His last victim before he attacked me (for whose crime he was on parole) said she would have fought harder for a better sentence if she’d known what he could do (he put a screwdriver to her neck at an Austin bus stop). That means he wouldn’t have been out of prison that Saturday morning, and I wouldn’t be writing this. I do know what he can do, and I won’t just sit back and let him slink around the justice system without my presence ( if only on paper) being known.
I had always dreamed of having a husband and a bunch of kids. January 10, 1987 changed all of that. My first experience with sex was being brutally raped at 23 years old. And it was my last. I don’t want anybody that close to me. I don’t want to smell someone’s breath in my face, or feel their sweat against my body. I don’t want to be a body orifice for someone else’s ‘amusement’. I don’t ever want to feel that pain again. Numbnuts impregnated me. I had his offspring inside of me- but evidently it was defective, because after a lot of cramping one morning, it fell out into the toilet about 10-12 weeks after the rape. That’s a visual I can’t unsee… the tiny placenta and jagged edges of tissue sitting in the toilet. I didn’t want that baby, but it was still a baby. The only one I’d ever carry. It was a blessing to lose it, since I couldn’t imagine any of the other alternatives. But it added to the pain of the entire situation.
If he got out because I didn’t remind the parole board what he’d done to even BE in prison, and did something to someone else, I couldn’t live with myself. I have to be active in this process, and yet I hate it. I hate knowing that the date/year is coming up AGAIN, and I’ll have to think even more about that morning, and put something into words that will make some sort of impact on those who decide MY fate with his freedom… or hopefully, continued incarceration. I shouldn’t even know about the parole process. Nobody should.
I hate the word ‘victim’. I was a victim while he was hovering over me, beating me, fucking me (it wasn’t sex; it was a brutal, vulgar act- I don’t use that word lightly), sodomizing me, and holding a knife to my neck. Or spine. He had me get on my hands and knees when he peed, and used one hand to trace the knife along my spine. But when I got away from him and got to the phone in my neighbor’s apartment to call 911, I became a survivor. Or at least I had the chance to be a survivor. It took a while to actually morph into someone who wasn’t defined by what happened that day. It took a lot of work. When the parole reviews come up, I feel that ‘victim’ thing all over again, and that makes me feel like I’ve failed at surviving. But in the end, he doesn’t define me. He changed a LOT in my life that day, and in many ways my future was murdered. At least the one I’d dreamed about. But Carl Edward Chambers, career criminal, doesn’t. Define. Me.
I was able to have a good nursing career until 2004 (and very briefly in 2005) when I became permanently, physically disabled. Twenty years. Too short, but it still mattered. That was what defined me. It still does, even this many years after having to stop work. I will always be an RN, and even though I’ll never use it again, I keep my license active. I don’t want to say I was an RN. I AM an RN. I was raped, but I am a nurse. I’m a daughter, cousin, niece, and friend. I was never a wife, mother, or grandmother. He took that. But he didn’t take the things that really made my life mean something. I was able to help people, and show some compassion. I have been able to answer questions for family and friends who were facing medical challenges or terminal illnesses, and needed someone who they felt was a reliable resource during those chaotic and painful times in their lives. That is what defines me. My mission has been, since the decision to go to nursing school, to be useful to others. He didn’t change that.
I believe that things happen for a reason. I also believe that I don’t always have to make sense of the reason… that God has it figured out. But just maybe He allowed me to be raped because I won’t sit back and do nothing about his parole reviews. Maybe I can help keep someone else from knowing what this is like. Maybe that is my purpose in this. The rest is up to those who vote on numbnuts’ parole status. At least I know I did what I could. Sometimes, that has to be enough, but I hope with all I am that his parole is denied.