Opioid Crisis

My hometown city is in crisis, and I had a dream last night about it. My dream inspired me to track down those I am thankful for and confront those that did me wrong. I found the principal of my high school on Facebook; I sent her a request. I wanted to share with her, how grateful I was, I really hope she accept, but when I checked again this morning, she hadn't yet. I started looking for the others, I found the vice principal's obituary. My experiences with him, and watching his maltreatment of others, one couple in particular, left me feeling sad, for whatever happened to him that caused the death of his humanity long before his life ended.

I searched for the other assistant principal, Mrs. G, and but moved on temporarily, because it required me to sign up for LinkedIn. Then I found Officer Scibek, and what I read about him disturbed me. I read four articles and watched two clips of the statements he made in response to an allegation of assault by another student, at the same high school, 13 years after my assault, by him. I sent my story to each one of those news reporting agencies. While I wait, I will tell my story.

I attended Burlington High School, my first year there, the officer on site was Officer Nails, and he was tough, but kind, the kids all talked to him, we all respected him. If he had to punish anyone, they went willingly, he loved the students, but he moved on to other things, and was replaced by a tyrant.

These are two separate events, beginning with Officer Scibek the touchy-trigger-tyrant, that forcibly escorted me to my car, while I cried on the phone, unable to get a hold of my mom or dad. I really didn't want him to walk me to my car, in truth, I had illegally parked in the teacher's lot, not that that would justify his violence. I sat halfway in my car, crying and trying to get a hold of my parents, and Scibek tried to force my car door shut, slamming it on my leg. I left and went straight to the police department and filed a claim. I went back to school hours later, staying on Institute Road, which in my defense, is public, since I was cognizant suspension protocol, as I had just recently been suspended for not checking into school and acquiring a pass for the library, they caught me, studying in the library for chemistry, with a pass.

Later, I returned, picking up my boyfriend, and we started to leave, I was about 50 feet from the light at the intersection, when Scibek had run, as fast as a fat policeman can, and stood in front of my car, slamming his fists into the hood, denting it. I returned to the police department and filed another complaint. The principal was the only person I trusted, but she was gone that week. She did what she could to help me, by unknowingly giving me immunity, which I referenced in my previous story, Pay It Forward. But now, I also see, that was all she could do for me; Burlington High School had begun its slow, toxic corruption in 2002, which I believe is one of the major catalysts and continued degradation of my hometown.

Burlington, Vermont, and the cities surrounding have been enduring the slippery downhill slope of an Opioid Crisis. I know of at least seven classmates that have died of an overdose, many more who survived it, and were able to rehabilitee themselves and have families, but they remain there, in their sick city, without the means to do anything, except cry when another person they knew, dies. Besides death, abuse and corruption are rampant. I was a victim of sexual assault, I watched my teenage friends' parents drink, and abuse them in front me, cornering their children in the bathroom, egging them on yelling "be a man, hit me!" Running to my car, trying to keep myself safe, waiting for my friend to escape and run to my car, watching his father disappear in the dark, glowing red, from my taillights. When I was 16, I listened helplessly to my friend's little sister, a six-year-old girl, wonder why her mother acted so strangely different from the time dinner was served, until the battle of bedtime began.

Abuse is like a tree, falling in the woods. If no one hears it, it never made a noise, like it didn't even happen. I have a dream, that I could help save my hometown, but I don't quite know how. The only stories that are shared, come too late, in the form of another young obituary. Maybe, I'm drawing conclusions, but what I see is this: over a decade of injustice in broad daylight. I see a city tearing itself apart from the inside-out, I do not live there now, I do not know what has been done to help, but I know that young people are leaving.

Recently, in an effort to save the dying city, the local government offered $10,000 to move there and work remotely. Young people leaving is a symptom of a bigger problem. Put the money into a task force to prevent hurt people from growing up and hurting more people. Vermont is stuck in a cycle of abuse of power and corruption among the Police Department and city officials. The trail of damage control, and diminishing accusations is obvious to me, and I would happily point anyone who has the means for action, in the individual's directions that I have personally witnessed.

Do not move there, the youth are leaving in order to survive and $10,000 isn't worth the risk of your loved ones' lives. It used to be a beautiful city, it does have wonderful outdoor activities, and my childhood there for the early years, was incredibly perfect. Lake Champlain, North Beach, camping, skiing, sledding, waterfalls, and wonderfully friendly people, hiding their pain. Burlington, Vermont is worth saving, and I have a dream that I could be a part of that.

Burlington is a start, but the Northeast states all have a similar problem, and there is a girl who I knew personally, her obituary went viral, and she was troubled, but all the children are in Vermont. I believe her family successfully found justice, as if they wouldn't give all of the money in the world for her son, to have been able to know his mother. Her name was Madeline, and she was the only person who came to ask if I was okay, after I was sexually assaulted. I have a dream, that her son may know his mother had the biggest heart, and she was there for me, when no one else was, and she did her best to live a life in a dying state. My dream would that if he could hear this, he may grow up to be one of the people who make a difference in this world.