Memories of Violence

This morning was the first day of the deposition at the police station. On the ride over, I was shaking. The police were some of the ones who abused us in the past, and now I’m supposed to trust them? To tell them my testimony and believe that they will correctly deliver it to the courts? Soo nerve-wracking. After three hours of describing in detail the crimes I witnessed, they told me to go for the day. It was much easier than I expected. The police were nice. They were gentle. They listened to what I said in detail. They had me read over the statements and sign them. I was very surprised, but it was still an ordeal. Question after question in a language that is not my mother tongue, when exact language is absolutely necessary. Do they understand me fully?

I can’t wait for this to be over.

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