Prosecuting The Victim, Gender Biases, and The Psychological Impact of Injustice

This is a true story about a victim and a perpetrator with a twist. This is not a whodunnit. The police didn't have to go looking for who victimized me, the prosecutor didn't fail to get a conviction against the perpetrator and fail to get justice for me.  What happened was that I was the victim of a brutal and bloody assault on October 1, 2024. Then within 12 hours of calling 911 (emergency) and reporting how I was hurt, I found myself being interrogated as if I was the perpetrator while still wearing the same bloody clothing.

This is a story about a predator/perpetrator named Ana Ensaf Amador-Riza who was treated like she was the victim. I was the victim of her brutal violence, and I did no wrong. A perversion of justice occurred based only on the choice to believe the perpetrator.

I begin this book with a description of what happened to me while I was minding my own business at home. There will then be an interlude into my desperate attempt to end my life in December of 2019. I do this to ensure that no one tells me that what happened long ago should stay in the past and/or this story is about some fixation of mine upon a matter that happened years ago. My suicide attempt was not a cry for help. I simply wanted to die because it seemed that there were too many walls/barriers to every dream I ever had and there was nothing I or anyone else could do.

It took years of hard work to overcome shyness so that I could be a mental health professional. Part of that experience involved helping victims of trauma to heal with only good intentions.
Worrying about being rejected was a preoccupation of mine. I spent years trying to overcome social phobias and shyness. At one time, I hadn't even considered a career as a psychotherapist because I was so shy. I overcame my social anxiety by telling myself that if I came out of my proverbial shell nothing bad was going to happen. I was wrong in that regard.