Dear Friends and Supporters

Dear Friends and Supporters:

I have not written in quite some time, nor have I updated my website at all, because I've been uncertain of what to write. I generally prefer to spread news of positive events in my life. I have a long history of keeping sorrow and regret to myself. As most of you know of me from what I show to the public I am strong, resilient, a survivor, and occasionally even an inspiration to others.

My life has been lacking "good news" of late. Not that bad things have been happening to me, but bad things are happening within me.

My post-traumatic stress disorder has reached a chronic level. The dark empty pace of sorrow, loss, regret, betrayal, and hurt within me has grown large again. On some days it is all-consuming. This untamable unhappiness is spilling over onto Elisabeth. "When you're unhappy, I'm unhappy."

Regardless of circumstances I managed to retain focus one particular goal: Not to become an angry person because of what happened to me. As time increases the distance from my incarceration I have found the level of anger in me has grown from virtually nothing around the time of my release until January when it reached pandemic proportions.

Elisabeth and I had been having sessions with a pastoral counselor and it was remarkably helpful. For me there was a large stumbling block. I had spent so many years focusing on the source of my unhappiness being my arrest and incarceration, that I was unable (unwilling? uneasy? uncertain?) to consider that what my therapist was telling me was true. "The biggest, or most recent, trauma is not necessarily the defining trauma."

Then on January 4th we received a Decision and Order from the federal judge regarding my appeal. It was not happy news, and I'll explain about it later. Things at home grew to a crisis. My anger and hurt were being completely misdirected both because it was seeping out at those around me, and because of the unresolved cry, "Am I angry because of the police and the Court, or am I angry because of how my parent's treated me as a child!"

In response to stress and trauma I become rather manic and despairing. This panic is the exact sort of behavior which triggers Elisabeth's stress and trauma. Hence, we found ourselves in this ever-cycling chronic PTSD panic. Intervention was necessarily. Elisabeth and I went away for a five day intensive therapy retreat. We engaged ourselves in many hours with two counselors, art-therapy, childhood regression therapy, something called "Rapid Eye Movement" treatment, as well as hours or talking, journaling feelings, marriage bonding and healing.

It helped. It stopped the downward spiral, but the effects only lasted for so long.

I contemplate my life and I don't find fulfillment in what I see. "This is not what I want my life to be." Elisabeth has concluded we are hamsters in a cage, running on a wheel. Each night when she asks me, "What's wrong?" I answer plaintively, "I can't foresee any reason why next week is going to be any different from this week, or next month, or even next year."

Using our newly formed therapeutic outlook and skills we set our minds towards finding a solution. Currently, we are investigating the possibilities of us both returning to school, finishing our undergraduate (we each have enough credits that we could get our B.A. with three semesters of coursework.) Then we would work two more years on graduate school for MSW degrees. I figured out a way whereby we might actually be able to afford to attend school and pay rent for four years. It will likely leave us graduating penniless, but we would be graduating with something in hand leading towards stability and a career. Neither of which are foreseeable on our current path.

We would move to a college town, embark on a four year personal and financial commitment, which might culminate in us working some miserable entry-level job, paying $12.50 an hour, no benefits, basically being where almost everyone else is at with the current economy. Only four years older, and poorer, and years of practice ahead of us before we could realize being in private practice.

This idea terrifies me, and it terrifies Elisabeth as well. It is something we'd love to accomplish, but the practicality in my head warns me of the potential dangers ahead. I can't stop being afraid of pretty much any change (and I never used to be afraid before). I face the misery of stagnation, and the fear of change. Megan's Law becomes more and more oppressive with each passing legislative session. [Note the recent horrifying news from the NY Times: http://sexoffenderresearch.blogspot.com/2008/03/ny-woman-with-mission-keeping-tabs-on.html ]

The fear that we will never be safe to raise a family, or be welcome in a community anywhere, has led my wife to desperately want to leave the United States. This raises even more "fear of change" for me partly because the possibility of being granted citizenship in another country seems slim.

With all that said: I am very unhappy. The Zoloft does not help anymore. The Ambien barely makes a dent in my insomnia. Book sales have been horrible! I fear the recession is going to hit the used book business hard, leaving us in an even more vulnerable position than we already face.

As for my appeal: Judge Seybert's Decision regarding my appeal was not in our favor. The judge denied our motion for discovery, and sided with the prosecution regarding timeliness. The final ruling from the judge came down to her saying my appeal papers were filed 13 days too late.

All I was seeking was a fair hearing of evidence. I was hoping for closure and healing not only for myself, but for the children and their families. There are too many people out there who believe they were horribly sexually abused a child when I know it is not true. Over and over I hear myself saying, "While the physical trauma is non-existent, the emotional trauma is just as real."

With one very large door slammed shut, we are exploring other possible avenues to appeal my conviction. Nonetheless, as things stand today Judge Seybert's very positive ruling in our favor from last July has been mooted, and a sense of hope has been crushed. Elisabeth and I are left with a $25,000 outstanding legal fees bill which we can only hope of paying off like a college loan: $100 a month for the rest of our lives.

Still, I can't help being a hopeful person. Elisabeth and I both have faith in God, and that so long as we continually seek to be along the path God has set for us, everything will be fine. I retain hope for the children who were involved will someday be strong enough to come forward for an open discussion of what did and did not happen back in 1988. It is painful for me to realize they still believe they were so hurt as children when I know it never happened. I've been holding out an olive branch of truth since 2003 when "Capturing the Friedmans" began making news, and I'll continue to wait as long as the waiting takes.

Jesse Friedman
March 9, 2008