Introduction
The events described in this story began on October 1, 2004. It is true that I am writing this in late 2024. I recently applied for a job in the mental health field. I previously had been working for Freedom House Recovery Center on the Mobile Crisis Unit and before that at Cottage Health Care Services. In the latter position, I worked one on one with a small number of clients of various ages, men and women.
So, between early 2022 and into mid-2024, I thought that the trauma and victimization that I endured were in the past.
At the Mobile Crisis Unit, I worked with everyone from children to older adults. I served several hundred individuals spread out over many counties in North Carolina. I had been able to put behind me the horrifying events that occurred beginning on October 1, 2004, and continuing for the next few years.
I fully embraced my role at Cottage Health Care Services, in 2022, and then at Freedom House Recovery Center on the Mobile Crisis Unit from mid-2022 until 2024. I fully embraced the truth that I am a gentle, caring, compassionate and empathic person. For over two years, I felt like I could leave everything behind.
Obviously, clients and their families must trust me. That includes people who have been harmed or traumatized., themselves. I embraced the truth that there was no reason not to trust me… and I embraced the truth that everyone is safe when they are with me.
For a time, I didn’t second-guess whether anyone could trust me. I fully embraced the truth that I am gentle, non-violent, caring, empathic, compassionate and caring.
Contrary to what the perpetrator alleged back in 2004; I knew the truth about who I am.
Then there were cutbacks on the Mobile Crisis Unit and so they had to make some cutbacks. I was out of a job and had to spend months finding another job. My passion is working in the mental health field and helping others who deal with psychological and emotional issues.
One of the reasons that I would NEVER harm anyone was because I had seen how it affects people.
As I was saying, after the cutbacks at Freedom House Recovery Center, I spent several months looking for work until I was given a job offer with a different company in the mental health field. The job offer was contingent upon a background check. The new employer had to check with their legal department to find out if there was any problem hiring me based on the “serious” nature of the charges.
I had told them what they would find on a background check. I pointed them to content on the web that tells my side of the story. I included a letter from the Orange County Rape Crisis Center (OCRCC), asking an employer to overlook what may show up on a background check.
I had noticed that the original charges showed up on a background check and not just the actual conviction. Since the perpetrator who harmed me made a false accusation with a sexual component, I had hoped that the letter from the Rape Crisis Center asking that they overlook what may show up on a background check, I thought that coming from this agency on their own letterhead would carry a great deal of weight. The OCRCC would not want someone who would harm others to be working with vulnerable people.
The letter from OCRCC also addressed gender biases in terms of who can be a victim. Even if it is most likely the woman who is a victim that doesn’t rule out the chance that a male person can be a victim of a woman.
I was told by my new employer that because of the serious nature of the charges they wanted me to work on a different unit where I would be more closely overseen. It was so disturbing to realize that the injustice or reversal of justice was affecting me again.
This is a true story about a victim and a perpetrator with a twist. Back on October 1, 2004, I was the victim of a brutal and bloody assault, and I had done nothing wrong. This is not a whodunnit. The police didn't have to go looking for who victimized me. No one had to wonder about the parties involved.
It might be hard to imagine a guy being the victim of a brutal and bloody assault by a woman but that doesn’t mean that it can’t happen.
I learned a great deal about the justice system and various biases. I learned how police detectives think. Once they get an idea in their head about what happened, it is seemingly impossible to change their minds.
When you think that a police detective is investigating a matter, often that is not the case once they have in their mind what they believe happened. They question the suspect in order to get a confession and NOT to discover the truth.
I also learned that when you call 911 and they dispatch the police, the police officers are limited in what they can do, or they are limited in their readiness to investigate a crime scene and that would include gathering evidence about the appearance of the victim after a brutal assault.
Perhaps only detectives carry with them cameras and other tools to investigate a crime.
I would discover shortly after the assault on me that on October 1, 2004, while I was meeting with the police officers at the scene of the crime, the perpetrator was sitting down with detectives for the same police department in Durham, NC telling lies and playing the victim.
Significantly, I protested to the police officers who responded to the scene of the crime, asking them to photograph me and my cuts, my bleeding, my injuries. Instead, they just called the paramedics.
It would have been quite a sight to see the extent of my cuts and how profusely I had been bleeding. When the police arrived after my assault, they cautioned me to not get too close as they entered the building. I understood that they didn’t want to get my blood on them.
I was living in a boarding house – meaning I was one of about 12 guys who rented rooms. Rent was paid to Scott who lived around the back. This was on Holloway Street in Durham. I had discovered that this was a drug infested crime-ridden area of Durham. Walking down the street I saw needles that were discarded. I had been mugged on more than one occasion. If you ordered food delivery, they might not deliver to that location. That stretch of Holloway Street must have had a reputation for being dangerous.
While I never partook in the services of prostitutes, I was approached more than once inside the residence at 721 Holloway Street. The going price for a service could be as low as $10.
The entire event on October 1st was so bizarre. I had been expecting a black woman to show up on that day in October of 2004. My door was partially open, and I heard “where is Bruce.” I poked my head out the door and saw a stranger that I did not recognize. Before I knew what was happening, she had entered my room and locked the door behind herself… she locked herself in there with me. Then without hesitation she turned and began punching me in the face over and over.
I would later learn that her name was Ana Ensaf Amador-Riza Vecchione. Her husband was James Vecchione, or James. He was the landlord. According to her story, which I only heard about later, she was there to collect the rent.
I had been minding my own business and waiting for a friend to show up. That was when I was attacked by Ana after she entered my room and locked the door behind her.
I had never been in a fight and so I was shocked at how profusely I was bleeding. I will describe this later in the book. I would end up being charged with two violent felonies. The entire incident alone in the room with Ana could not have taken more than 90 seconds. Somehow, I had gotten her outside my room and was able to lock the door and call 911.
I had not even defended myself in any real manner.
This would change my life forever. As I mentioned, I had mentioned, my current job in 2024 had to be changed so that I could be overseen on the job unlike the way things occurred on my two prior jobs.
After my own victimization, I spent seven months in jail. It was horrifying. I was filled with shame… I was put in handcuffs, kept in a cell.
As a person who has been shy, I care about what others think about me when they see me. Being seen in court and elsewhere in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs created such a profound sense of toxic shame. As someone who has been shy, I also would not do something that would bring negative attention to me – such as committing a violent crime.
I probably would not have been able to work in the mental health field, which is my passion, for years after the events that began in October of 2004. I imagined I would NEVER be able to adopt children. I was held back from volunteering with children even. I didn’t think women would trust me and so I would be alone and unable to build romantic relationships.
This seemed like it would always be the case.
Believing that I would never be able to pursue any of the range of goals and interests that brought meaning to my life, I attempted suicide in December of 2019. I failed, obviously. I met people who, unlike my family, felt compassion for what I had experienced. There is so much more to describe but I will get to that later. That is the topic of this book.
Let’s begin with the background of the victim.