The Legal Issue:
The crime had been reported 6 months after the time limit for any compensation. The time limit was 2.5 years, I reported the crime after 3 years. Even if a victim reports a crime within the 2 and a half year period, the CICA attempt to argue that the victim should receive less or no compensation for delayed reporting.
It was this legal issue why no lawyer would represent me. They claimed I would absolutely lose, and it would cost me so much I would not be able to pay. I asked 5 solicitors to represent me. All of them said I would lose. Interestingly, most solicitors were not interested to hear why I had reported the crime after the deadline. They simply told me I would not win so they could not help me. It would cost them too much. Only a couple asked why and they told me that even so, I would not win so they would not help. Apparently getting an award from the Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority (CICA) is one of the hardest legal battles to take on.
I opened up the case by myself on the hope that I would keep trying to find a legal representative. In the meantime I prayed to God that he help me fight and win this case. I promised in return I would tell the absolute truth, tell them (the legal system) exactly what I think of them and I would get the information out into the public as to how I won. I didn’t pray often prior to fighting this case. I'm not particularly religous. The Bible makes little sense to me and so I generally avoid it as a whole with growing interest.
Along with that, I found a law degree that was starting online so I also put my name down for it. It would cost me thousands of pounds. I got that money back from my court case, I gained some knowledge about the law and I learned a great deal about a corrupt system that helped me in my future decision making regarding this Covid/vaccine era.
As well as the legal issue raised to the court of being three years late and six months past the time limit, the CICA also attempted to argue that there had been no rape and penetrative sex had been consensual. The job of the CICA is to prevent victims of crime receiving ANY compensation at all. So when you report the crime to the police, they will tell you , you could get compensation. Here, you would go to solicitors who are supposed to fight for you if they believe they can make some money out of it. I believe now, that it is simply a facade. It is there only to give victims the impression of justice, but it is not actually there to provide them with justice. That is why the legal aid was removed for us. And that is why so few cases get through and win.
That is why I now encourage everyone to self-represent. I understand it contradicts what I have just said. But here is why I argue you take them on. It is shameful for them. It is humiliating for them. It brings to their attention just how fake their system is. How inhumane it is. You get to sit in the court, stare right at these people who sit staring right back with your steely eyes and tell them how they profit from all of these crimes. Their business is crime, so why would they stop it or prevent it? However, now in CONVID era court cases are done via phone or video link. Interesting timing when there has been an increase in people self-representing recently.
Regardless of how you attend court, you get to tell them how pathetic, crappy and corrupt their little system is. How they are just con-artists believing themselves to be high and mighty simply because of their job titles. I had seen warnings after warnings over the internet about how those self-representing in court needed to be courteous, respectful and polite. Well that wasn’t going to be my court case. I was going to tell them they are frauds. They are pure evil for supporting evil. They are simply con-artists and how remarkable it is that they sit opposite me and judge ME!
I should add though, that non of this was spoken. I wrote it all down. I knew that when it came to it, I would be tearful, in shock and panic and I may even back off from telling the truth. So I knew I had to write it down and send it off in my file. Once it was down on paper and sent to the court files, I couldn't take it back. Every response I made I prayed to God to say I would only tell the truth. If it meant insulting them, I was okay with that, but please provide me with enough money to buy land.
The case for the 3 year delay in reporting the crime:
The night of the rape I had been out with my friend. We went to some bars and had a few drinks. It was my goodbye night in case all were to go wrong with my brain surgery I would be undergoing the following week. For my friend it was a good luck drink, since he wasn’t feeling quite as pessimistic as myself. One reason for the delay in reporting the crime would be that I was to have elective brain surgery the following week to remove a brain tumour. And I had it all evidenced in my medical records. However it wasn't the CICA's only legal argument against me, but I did win with this argument as well as a spectacular one I will speak of later.
Brain Surgery
The brain surgery was to be quite an ordeal. I would be having deep implanted probes placed within my brain, not on my skull, so I would have part of my skull removed for a week while the neurologists and surgeons located the definite problem areas of my brain for removal. After they had spent time locating specific areas of brain for removal I would then undergo a second surgery.
During this first surgery with the probes, my head was bandaged up, you know, so my brain didn’t spill out! And the probes had long wires attached to them, about 1 metre long. The other ends were plugged into a system which was covered with a padded bag. I was warned not to drop it. If I did, not only would it damage an expensive bit of kit, but it could drag my brain out with it and leave me with no brain, which was something I wanted to avoid.
I was able to get up and about during this first surgery. I simply had to carry the bag of wires around with me. I distinctly remember I would cradle the bag tightly like a newborn baby so as to prevent the bag from falling. And I would take short walks around my hospital room, thankfully a private hospital room at that point, carrying the bag with me. It seemed surreal that I would be walking around with only the lower half of my skull in place. And with 50 or so thick, long wires running out of my head, it was actually very heavy to walk around. This did however, really builtd high my belief in doctors and the health care system which would later come crashing down for many different reasons.
After a few days the surgeons felt the probes could be removed and my surgery was moved forward to an earlier date. Although now probe-less, my skull was still open and my head bandaged up. The second part of the surgery was the removal of any toxic areas of brain which had tumours on it. I was to be first to receive surgery that day. And I received a visit from the surgeon first thing in the morning. He asked how I was feeling about the surgery.
I threw up my palm and slapped my face. ‘This doesn’t fill me with confidence doc. Are you expecting to forget?’ I gave him a cheeky wink and he laughed.
You might not expect this to be the case, but the surgery was done while I was awake. It had to be. It turns out, the surgeon needs you to do little exercises during surgery. He needs to know that any brain for removal will not effect my physical abilities in any way. So during the surgery he asked me to wiggle my toes and fingers, lift up my arms and legs and all sorts of obscure exercises as he took damaged brain away. Musically talented people who undergo this surgery often take in a guitar, violin or other small instrument they can play while the surgery takes place. This had been the case for my surgeon on many ocassions. It would help him in his surgery so as to not remove any brain involved in their talent.
I was asked if I fancied listening to anything particular like music as he did his surgery, music or radio. I said he should listen to whatever he wanted to listen to. He chose the radio, and this particular program was discussing Cornish pasties, a famous British meat a vegetable filled pastry created in a certain part of Britain. After my surgery was over and my mum came to check on me she asked me if I wanted anything. I asked for a Cornish pasty. I felt so hungry for one after to listening about it.
Just twenty five minutes after waking up from surgery I knew it had been successful. Prior to surgery, I had been having petit mal seizures every 15 minutes. I asked the nurse how long I had been out from having had surgery and she told me twenty five minutes. I grinned at her. ‘It was a success’ I teared up, ‘I’m seizure free’. The surgery incidentally, had taken place on my parietal lobe and more directly on the memory, sensory and spatial awareness strip.
I was moved to a shared ward with other patients who had come out from surgery. Some looked in worse shape than others. I was wheeled to a bed next to an Irish woman. She had been for surgery several times over her life, all seemingly failing. She admitted to me that her preference was being in hospital. I looked around the ward observing the snoring of others, patients picking their nose and wiping it on the sheets. I shuddered. I couldn’t relate. I wanted out of there as soon as possible.
On day one, after surgery I was still feeling strong. I had eaten a pasty after all. I told the nurses I would be walking to the bathroom and I did. Honestly, everyone seemed very shocked. They had to get the doctors to rush down to give permission to allow it. It all seemed very strange. About 5 doctors came to observe me getting out of bed and walking to the toilet. They were very confused. Likewise so was I. I just wanted to go to the toilet. I found out later that few people are up and about so quickly.
On day one I was applying my makeup and and trying to find ways to style my hair so I didn’t look like a half-headed skinhead. Conveniently, womens fashion at that time saw many female celebrities shave half their hair off, however, I still had the lower part of my hair left and also a thick line of hair along my forehead was still long as it had been. I simply combed it back and tied it into a ponytail with the hair at the back. You couldn’t even tell I had had brain surgery.
Everyday I woke up, would put my makeup on and ask if I could go for a walk. The doctors and nurses were scratching their heads at the fast recovery I was making. I’m not so sure though. The Irish woman next to me kept suggesting I stopped putting makeup on and going for walks. That way I would likely get to stay in hospital longer. I think now that some people enjoy being sick and ill. I think some people want to live in a hospital or care home. Perhaps life seems easier that way. Perhaps they like the attention. It did seem to jump out at me during COVID. Only then did I notice a focus on the disabled. Whereas in this article I noted how disability appeared to have been forgotten in the Marxist training.
On day three, I was considered well enough to go home. I was picked up and driven back to my home. I hadn’t realised how difficult stairs would be. And using a knife and fork was very difficult too. I would slide down the stairs on my bottom and would have to relearn how to walk down them properly. One year later, I received my provisional driving license so as to learn to drive. After taking a few tests, I failed a couple of times, I got my driving license and I had freedom I had never had before. It was life changing.
Post surgery and in follow-up assessments, the doctors found I struggled to remember words and everyday items. This was because, as recorded on my medical records, the surgery would take place on my memory, sensory and spatial awareness strips on my brain and it had affected my recollection for various memories. That then explains why I was delayed in reporting the polite rape.
My Legal Argument
Due to my brain surgery and the vast amounts of medical records surrounding it, I was able to argue that I was unable to recollect the sexual assault for two and a half years. Within my medical records, after two and a half years my medical records provided evidence to the CICA of my recollection of the polite rape. I had spoken to the GP to ask that I be referred to a psychologist because of upsetting memories.
Therefore, the CICA argued that I should have reported the crime to the police immediately at that point and not the doctor. And it is the next legal argument I used where I managed to set precedent and win my case. Not just a win for myself, but any other politely raped victim who may find themselves self-representing like I did.