ROCK BOTTOM: When Women Abuse a "Protection from Abuse" Order

"Down at the end of Lonely Street, called Heartbreak Hotel..." It's a place many of us have been to; some more times than others. It's located in a state called "Rock Bottom" ... state of mind, that is. I've been there, and I suppose I'm there again, although not as the desperate resident I was before. This time, I'm more or less just an occasional visitor; I've been in and out of Rock Bottom going on two and a half years now.

(God, this isn't easy for me to write.) I don't like remembering those times, but I know that in order to finally let them go, to finally stop letting them haunt me and keep me down during these times when the depressive side of this manic-depressive thing kicks in, it is imperative to think on those times. I'm at a crossroads now; that much I'm convinced of, and in order for me to be sure I'm on the right path this time... the path toward fulfilling my life-long dream to be a serious writer... I need to clear my mind of all the crap that has collected dust in my head so I can make room for the more creative energy that belongs there.

My first stay in Rock Bottom began in June 1997. Prior to that, I had been employed as a professional E.M.T. in Erie, Pennsylvania, and active in a local volunteer fire department. Life was good! I had a nice home, a new truck... good job doing something I enjoyed doing. And, I had a girlfriend... someone whom I thought at the time was "the one." She was several years younger than me, but that wasn't an issue for us, at least not in the beginning. We had lots of fun together... we seemed to have quite a lot in common too; intellectually, emotionally, and physically. Her parents adored me! Her friends liked me, my friends like her. It seemed to be the ideal relationship. But, after awhile, it became apparent that it really wasn't.

I knew from the get-go that she had a long-time history with a man whom she had lived with; in fact, she was living with him when we met and started dating. She insisted that it was strictly a "room-mate" type of situation since they were both on the hook for the mortgage on a mobile home. She assured me that she had her own room, her own life, her freedom to date. I believed that she was "un-attached." A few months later, she came to me crying that this guy had found out about us, and threw her out. That should've been a red flag for me right then and there, but it wasn't. I helped her move her stuff to her parent's home; and she began to spend more and more overnights with me in my home.

The first few weeks of this arrangement were great! Then the excuses started... she needed to work a double because someone called off, or her Mom was sick, or her sister was having a Tupperware party... lots of excuses to be unavailable to spend time with me. I was feeling rather... like "used" ... but still I couldn't bring myself to question her, or confront her, or even to "investigate" the truthfulness of the things she was telling me... probably because I just couldn't bear the thoughts that my private suspicions were correct. I've always believed that there are times when we simply cannot do something, so a power greater than ourselves does it for us. And so it was that I happened to be on an EMS response one afternoon and while backing the ambulance into the receiving dock of the hospital where she worked, I saw her and the so-called "room-mate" ... the guy who threw her out when he found out about us ... engaged in some, well... obvious amorous behavior in the front seat of her car. He was in the driver's seat, apparently dropping her off at work. She hadn't stayed at my place for about a week prior to me seeing what I really didn't want to see. That too should've been a red flag, but it wasn't. I tried to convince myself that there was a logical reason for it, but nothing I could think of made any logical sense. She didn't notice me when we rolled our patient inside... she worked in a different part of the hospital and went in through a different door. I thought of going to her floor to confront her, but as we re-stocked our unit and prepared to go back in service, our pagers went off for another call.

Well, my shift ended a couple hours later, and knowing that her shift wouldn't end until 11 pm, I fumed over what I could do to be sure that my gut reaction was the correct reaction. Finally, I went to the hospital and parked in a darkened area of the parking lot to see if "he" returned to pick her up... and he did. She got into the passenger side of her car, they did that amorous stuff, and drove away. I followed at a discreet distance, and soon discovered that my gut had been right all along. They went home... to their home. Again, I tried to convince myself that there was a logical explanation, but by 2 a.m., long after the one light in the bedroom on one end of the mobile home went out, and considering that the light in the front end bedroom never went on, there was just no more doubt.

I was off the next day, and I knew that she would be working her 3-11 shift. I packed up her stuff that she kept at my place into my truck that morning, and at 3 p.m. when I knew she'd be arriving for her shift, and considering "he" also worked a 3-11 in the hospital's adjacent re-hab building, I took her stuff to her home and dumped it in the driveway. It felt good to have that closure... in fact, it felt better than I thought it would. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I didn't think any more about it that night... really. We had a fire response later in the evening; a bunch of us went out for pizza afterwards... it was as though the previous 9-month relationship never happened. Janelise who? That's how I was feeling. I didn't even talk about her or anything about my discovery.

The next morning, though, the rug was pulled out from under me. She came to my place ranting and raving and slapping me and kicking me... and yelling and screaming and calling me names... and after taking her crap for about 5 minutes, I went to shield my face from what looked like her fist coming right at me and was able to block her punch. Then I grabbed her wrist, turned her around and pushed her back to her car. I told her to just go away and leave me alone. I thought that was the end of it, but found out later that afternoon that is really was just the beginning of what turned out to be a very bad two-year chapter of my life. When I got to work that afternoon, I was met by deputies from the Sherriff's office... and was served with a temporary restraining order and a subpoena to appear in court the next week for the hearing to determine if the order would become permanent. Talk about shock! I was so shook up that I cried in my supervisor's arms... in private of course. I was actually shaking, and near hysteria. He gave me the night off to go home and settle down, and that helped, but didn't quite take away the fear and anxiety of worrying about what would happen at the hearing.

I contacted an attorney the next day and felt more assured that it really was, as the attorney said, just a routine thing, no big deal, and it really wasn't anything that would warrant the lawyer's $500 fee to be represented for something that probably would get tossed out anyway. Well... guess what. It didn't get tossed out. When we got to court, "she" put on a real good show for the judge, complete with alligator tears and a real convincing aura that she really was afraid of me. The temporary restraining was then extended for a period of 12-months; I was forbidden to be within the prescribed distance of her anywhere, and I got stuck with the $300 charge for court costs. End of discussion, next case. Oh, the judge did amend the order slightly when I revealed that because of my occupation I would oftentimes be required to be at the hospital where she worked. He agreed that as long as I remained with my partner at all times and did not engage in conversation with her, then I wouldn't be in violation of the order. Well, okay... I could live with that. $300 was an expensive pill to swallow, and it didn't matter that I had a 12-month restraining order out on me... I had no desire to ever see her again anyway. And, after a couple days, I started to get back to normal. I started to forget all about it as I got more involved with other things... spending more time with my friends, etc. Things were healing nicely.

Then the rug got pulled out from under me again about a month later when the police showed up at my apartment. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon. Two State Troopers, two guys whom I'd worked with on traffic accidents and such, informed me that I was under arrest for violating the restraining order. A total surprise, since I knew that I couldn't have possibly violated it. She had called the police earlier to report that I had been seen sneaking around her house the night before, looking in her windows. Why she waited 'til the next day, 12 hours or so after this "alleged" sneaking/peeping event occurred, is beyond me. I suspect the troopers knew it was a bogus charge too, but because of the way the law is written in these kinds of cases, they had no choice but to arrest me. So much for innocent until proven guilty. A simple phone call to my supervisor would have proven that her charge was absolutely false, since I had been working the night before... 6 p.m. 'til 6 a.m. ... and she lived in an area outside of our response area.

Well, I was led out of my apartment in handcuffs, in broad daylight, with my neighbors looking as surprised as I was. I was taken to the magistrate's office for arraignment, but guess what... it was after 5 p.m. and the magistrate didn't like being bothered at suppertime with such stuff. He set a date for a hearing, and assigned bail at $1,000 (10% cash okay, the rest as a bond) but ... he wouldn't accept my check for $100. Bail has to be posted at the county courthouse, during regular business hours. Yep, you guessed it... I spent the night in jail. A friend from the fire department met the bondsman and posted my $100 cash amount the next morning, no problem there, but when I went to work that afternoon, I found out that because I had been arrested on a charge of "domestic violence" I had to be suspended from duty pending the outcome of the case. Annoying, yes... but I had vacation time anyway, so it wasn't a big deal.

I did hire an attorney though, which again turned out to be a waste. When we got to court two weeks later, "she" went through her song and dance again, just as convincing, but the judge wasn't really convinced. He just wasn't sure who was telling the truth, and he decided to be cautious. He didn't find me "guilty" but didn't dismiss the charge either. He simply said that in cases like this it was his practice to allow the plaintiff the benefit of the doubt. He issued me a "strong" warning to abide by the order in place, fined me $100 (so much for not guilty, eh?) ... and ordered me to pay court costs. Total charge for that humiliation: $900 ... that included the $500 attorney fee.

"When the walls... come tumbling down..." Things started working out fine again after that ordeal, but like a constant dark cloud, the anxiety of looking over my shoulder and worrying about whether or not Janelise would try it again tormented me daily... and nightly. I finally stopped taking the over-the-counter sleep aids because after awhile it just seemed silly to keep buying the stuff when it didn't work. Alcohol could've been an alternative, I suppose... but fortunately, it wasn't one that chose. I poured myself into my work, often volunteering for extra shifts in order to be assured that I could not possibly be in the same place at the same time as her. And, after a few months, without any further incident, I finally started to relax again.

The hiatus from that hell didn't last long though. A couple of months later, the walls came tumbling down... again. This time, it was a Friday night... around midnight. I had just fallen asleep after coming home from a long fire response; filthy with soot and smoke smell, but just too tired to take a shower. I just stripped down to my underwear and crawled on top of my bed. I couldn't have been asleep long at all when there was a knock on the door; it was one of my cop friends from the township police department. Since VFDs don't routinely man the stations 24/7, it was common for the local cops to visit us at home if they needed additional information for their reports. I had been the driver of one of our engines that night, so I just assumed that it was one of those routine things.

Well, when he confirmed my identity (which was strange, since we were friends) and read me my rights, I nearly fainted. He informed me that an officer from the Erie Police Department was en route to take me into custody for violating the restraining order. When I asked for specifics, he wouldn't tell me... said he didn't know, just that he had been dispatched to my address to make sure I didn't bolt and run. Odd, since I had no idea that I was in trouble, and therefore wasn't expecting the police anyway. Once again, a simple phone call that could've been made, and should've been made, would have cleared up the mess... and they wouldn't have even had to wake me up! Since my cop friend from the township wasn't on duty during the evening shift when we were busy fighting the fire, and the 911 dispatcher who got the call from Erie PD didn't make the connection between me and the fire department call, I was being arrested again on another false charge.

The Erie PD officer showed up about five minutes later and stormed into my apartment; well, the door was open, so I guess that really wasn't an intrusion. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around and slammed me up against the wall, then cuffed me. When my cop friend from the township tried to object, the Erie PD guy just told him to mind his own business; thanked him of course for keeping me there, then practically pushed me down the few steps to the driveway. Didn't even push my head down when he put me in the back seat of his car! I was taken to the city jail, booked, and tossed in a cell without a mattress, blanket, pillow... not even a roll of toilet paper, and told to "Sleep well a... ! The magistrate will be here in the morning to arraign you!" No phone call either. Imagine that!

I didn't get any sleep that night, and still stunk bad from the fire we had responded to that evening. I was going nuts. Literally. I paced the floor for hours talking to myself, cursing the woman who was responsible for me being there. I know I cried a lot, too, and at one point I even banged my head against the concrete block walls. Oh, and not once did anyone come by to check on me... there wasn't even a drinking cup in the cell, so when I got thirsty I used my cupped hands to slurp a few gulps from the sink's faucet.

The magistrate (a different one, since the "crime" allegedly happened in the city of Erie's jurisdiction) showed up around noon Saturday... they didn't even give me breakfast. This magistrate was a real jerk; it was as if he was enjoying himself... watching me sweat as he read the charge. He never even asked "How do you plead?" He set the hearing date for two weeks hence, then set the bail at $5,000... second offense and all that shit. 10% cash; remainder in bond... but... "So sorry! Courthouse is closed! Looks like you're going to be a guest at the County Jail for the weekend!" Oh, and did I mention that I hadn't been allowed to take my cigarettes when I was arrested the night before? (That would've been a good time to quit!)

I was transported to the County Jail, and pushed into a holding cell to wait for my turn at in-processing. I never got an opportunity to make a phone call there, either. And since by this time it was after 3 p.m., I had missed lunch, too. About an hour or so later, I was finally taken from the holding cell to another room... told to strip naked, had to submit to a body cavity search, then hosed down with a fire hose (cold water, of course) then issued new skivvies, plastic shower shoes, and an orange jump suit. The next step was a brief physical... to get my medical history, list of meds that I take, etc. When I mentioned that I was bi-polar and required daily doses of Lithium... things suddenly turned from bad dream to nightmare. It was assumed because of my bi-polar disorder that I might become extremely depressed (ya think!) and therefore represent a danger to myself while in custody. So... they placed me on a suicide watch! But, that's not the worst of it. Suicide watch meant solitary confinement in a "special" cell block... and to "guarantee my safety" they took away anything that I could possibly use to do myself in: the bed sheets, pillow, pillow case, blanket... and all those new clothes they had just given me... including the plastic shoes... slip-on shoes, no laces.

The goon squad who took me to that cell, four of them, must have been pervs or just delighted in being macho, or queer... because once again, I was forced to submit to a body cavity search, and I was briefly sodomized by one of the guards using his nightstick. Another guard "accidentally" punched me in the jaw before I "accidentally" fell on the concrete floor. When they were done having their fun, one of them tossed me a paper examination gown... like the kind you get in a doctor's office or E.R. They did at least leave me a few sheets of toilet paper.

By this time it was past the normal dinnertime, so... yep... I didn't get any supper either, and was already 18 hours into a forced no-smoking mode. And I was exhausted. Totally... physically and mentally drained. There I stood, shivering (because somehow the a/c just happened to be "stuck" in the high setting), hungry, sick to my stomach, going through nicotine withdrawals, and facing a bed... a stainless steel cot with smooth, tubular construction (no sharp edges, I guess) with no mattress, no linens, no blanket, no pillow... and a bright, I mean really bright, halogen-type light fixture in the ceiling 12 feet over my head. They wouldn't turn the light off. They said they need to be able to see me, since after all you can't have a suicide "watch" if the cell is dark.

I think I finally did fall asleep, curled up in the fetal position, under the cot to get away from that glaring light, but didn't sleep long at all... cat naps really... I'd doze for maybe 20 minutes, be awake pacing, shivering, trying to keep warm, then crawl under the bed and try to sleep some more. I really didn't have any concept of time since there were no windows anywhere that I could see, and my watch was with all my other personal effects in their personal effects storage room. I could only estimate the time by noticing the shift changes... and counting to myself... one Mississippi... two Mississippi ... 60 Mississippis equals one minute; 60 minutes equals one hour.

When breakfast was finally served the next morning it was nothing but a single slice of bologna between two slices of bread (no condiment), a ½ pint carton of skim milk (yuk!), and an apple... in a brown paper bag. Suicide watch... no utensils, no tray or plate... nothing that I could potentially use as a device to inflict injury to myself. No reading material either. And of course, no pen or pencil or tablet... I really believed that I was going to go insane... to this day, I'm surprised that I didn't.

This lasted until Tuesday afternoon, because Monday just happened to be Labor Day. From the time I was arrested on that Friday night until the time I walked out of that jail to my friend's truck in the parking lot was exactly 87 hours and 33 minutes... I know that because I remembered the time on my watch when the Erie PD showed up at my apartment and the time on the wall clock when I walked out of the jail. I can only estimate that my time in solitary confinement was around 67 hours. 67 hours without a shave or a shower... 3 ½ days without my required daily dosage of Lithium. Innocent until proven guilty? Minor detail. Try being sentenced to prison before any kind of a hearing! Oh, and through all of that... I never got to make a phone call. The only way Bruce (my fire department buddy) knew that I had been arrested was because the township cop who came to hold me there for the Erie PD told him... right away, but there was nothing anyone could do until the courthouse opened on Tuesday morning. I found out later that even when Bruce (who happened to be OIC that night of the fire) went downtown to talk to the guy in charge at the Erie PD and validate my alibi, the cop on duty that night wouldn't bend. He actually accused Bruce of creating an alibi for a buddy.

My release on that Tuesday afternoon was the end of the nightmare, but it was the start of my residence in Rock Bottom. Because of that second arrest, I was suspended indefinitely from the ambulance service, without pay, and even after I was later exonerated in court when Janelise never even bothered to show up... ("Case Dismissed. So sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Lentz. Stay away from that women, you've still got six months left on this restraining order.") ... I still couldn't return to work. I even ended up resigning from the fire department because I didn't have the confidence to drive the apparatus or perform my other duties. I didn't want to be a liability to my friends, or endanger someone else who relied on me for emergency assistance. I just couldn't bounce back from that... the humiliation, the "torture" and mental anguish of being falsely accused and imprisoned and made to endure such extreme conditions of incarceration... all of that shit drained my spirit. I contemplated suicide; even made a silly attempt, but stopped myself in time to realize it wasn't a solution. My wrists didn't bleed that well anyway.

After resigning from the ambulance company (for the same reasons I resigned from the fire department), I bounced from one meaningless job to another over the next year; often times going weeks, and even a month once without a paycheck... by then I had pretty much depleted my savings, and had lost my truck to repossession. I was about 3 months behind in my rent and facing eviction. I lost any ambition to even find another job after the last meaningless job ended when I just walked off... somehow, it just didn't seem right that a magna cum laude graduate of Slippery Rock University should deprive a high school kid of a $5.25/hour job at Taco Bell. Besides the high school graduate who was the assistant manager was a real jerk, and I would've probably ended up smacking that self-righteous grin off his face sooner or later.

The last brick of my wall, the wall I had built around me after that second "offense" finally came tumbling down. Although I hadn't yet been evicted, I hadn't eaten in about a week either. So, one night I snuck over to the McDonald's across the street... waited 'til it closed and everyone had left, then crawled inside the dumpster, had supper on their throw-away food, then laid down to sleep... I actually prayed that I wouldn't have to wake up. That was May 16^th, 1999... the day before my 42^nd birthday. I woke up as a 43-year-old man, three days later, in the psychiatric ward of the V.A. Hospital in Pittsburgh.

It's been a long road back and there's been some bumps and rough spots along the way, but overall, it has been a good road to travel. I'll no doubt have some more bumps and rough spots as I continue to move forward; we all do on whatever road we're traveling. But, looking back... reliving this all, I can see that the trials and tribulations of my time in Rock Bottom were necessary... necessary for my ultimate growth. Like tempering, when steel is heated to extreme temperatures then cooled, I know that I too have become a stronger person.

When the walls come tumbling down? Just build yourself a new one... a stronger one.