Victim Impact Statement

To the people who stole my car,

Good for you. You got a big haul the first time around—an expensive laptop, lots of clothes, my passport, my bank cards, my drivers license, assorted books and items. I’m sure it made you happy to get all those things. And then you were able to come back and steal the whole car. Wow, score! But the impact of your selfish destructiveness has sent me spinning and turned my life upside down, far beyond a few missing possessions. 

Before you robbed me, I was preparing to move to Australia to pursue a psychology internship. Instead of having to pay tens of thousands of dollars to study a masters for several years, this internship would pay me tens of thousands of dollars to train and give me a license to practice at the end of it, at which point I’d make even more money. I want to practice psychology. I think it's my calling and the way I'll be able to provide a significant amount of good to humanity. 

“Are you sure you’re not already a psychologist?” the psychologist interviewing me to work in her practice asked. Not only is it what I want to do, it’s what I’m good at.

That internship pathway closed forever on June 30. Without a passport I couldn’t go to pursue it. 

But I roll with the punches, baby. I adapted. I picked up a temp job and went to work. I had been living in the car but now I needed a house. My friends took me in and, unsure of whether I would stay or go, I left my things in my car and tried to take up as little space as possible. I dug into my roots and strengthened my friendships and hiked Tongariro and went to Nelson. But I felt shell-shocked, overwhelmed, and a quiet helpless anger that none of this had been my decision. I was making the best of it but I hadn’t been able to choose. 

While hiking Tongariro, I decided to stay. I love the beauty and diversity of New Zealand, the breathtaking range of natural wonder. I love the people who live here, the unique cultural atmosphere and how relaxed it is. I love the tight-knit kiwi communities, how everyone is just a person or two removed. I love the Maori language and the interplay of the two cultures. I love the wildlife, many species of which are unique to New Zealand, like the pohutukawa I have tattooed on my arm. I decided to stay but it wouldn’t be easy - I needed to find a new job and apply for a new visa and the deadline would be tight. I tossed and turned my way through the nights and woke up every day with an overwhelming anxiety of not knowing what the future would hold or whether everything would come together in time. The uncertainty of it all twisted my stomach in knots and it was difficult to eat or sleep properly. I’ve lost an alarming amount of weight over the past few months. There were days when I could do nothing more than sleep and cry. For weeks, I felt disassociated from myself and reality. I kept waiting for it all to be a joke somehow, for my things to turn up or for me to wake up out of this nightmare. But the nightmare was reality. 

I traded precious time of my life to earn the thousands of dollars it took to replace the items that were stolen. But some items I’ll never be able to replace: my travel journal that my flatmates gave me for my birthday that I wrote in every day of my trip, my favorite hiking sandals that my aunt gifted me, jewelry that my aunt made for me, earrings my flatmate made for me, earrings that I bargained for on the streets of Bolivia, my student IDs, clothes with sentimental memories. I had continuous realizations of things that had been stolen for weeks after, each new realization a barrage of grief and anger. 

I was gifted a variety of privileges simply for the fact that I was born in the United States of America. Prior to this, I’ve always had the option of going home. Now, without a passport, I felt stateless. Lost. Abandoned. Currently, the only thing I have to prove that I’m American is my accent. Unfortunately, the response from my government has made me feel even more alone. The day you robbed me, I called the consulate to ask for advice.

“Look at the website,” the lady on the other end of the phone told me curtly and hung up. Already emotional, I burst into tears. 

Currently, it has been a two month process of trying to get an appointment to have my passport replaced. Supposedly a safe haven and help for citizens abroad, the consulate is staffed by people who don’t give a flying fuck. When they do answer, they are condescending, rude and unhelpful. Two months later, I still live in limbo. I have no idea whether I will be able to stay or whether I will be asked to leave. 

It is difficult to build a life. You have to constantly reach for connections, be your brightest self and build from the ground up. It is hard to do that when you are reeling from having your home invaded and your dearest and most valuable possessions stolen. It is hard to do that when you don’t know if you will be allowed to stay. 

You stole so much more from me than stuff. You stole my carefree lifestyle, a sense of safety, my plans, my time, my memories, my friend - my Bessie Jane and honestly probably years off my life from the stress of it all. This is the karma you’ve earned for yourself. To be very honest, I want to use my boyfriend’s golf clubs to break your fucking legs. But an eye for an eye leaves half the world blind and besides, I know that well-adjusted and happy people don’t do what you’ve done. I do hope you experience justice in some form or another. I also hope you have the right life experiences to understand and appreciate how shitty what you’ve done is and I hope that you grow to become a contributing member of society. It would be easy for an experience like this to turn me bitter and hateful but I won’t let it. I will continue to do what I can to put more light and kindness into a world that desperately needs it. 

My Bessie Jane </3