A St. Johns County woman who was attacked when she was 17 by her ex-boyfriend outside of a Ponte Vedra Beach restaurant in June 2023 had the opportunity to tell her story and address her attacker on Friday.
While giving her statement, Madison Schemitz referred to Spencer Pearson as “the defendant” and told the court about the trauma she has been through in the past 17 months during Pearson’s sentencing hearing.
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By telling her story, she said it was setting her “pride aside,” as she did not want to share details with Pearson and his family.
“I do not believe the defendant nor his family deserve to hear any of the negative ways this experience has impacted me, let alone get to hear all of the positive things I’ve done after it,” Schemitz said in court.
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On June 3, 2023, Schemitz was stabbed 17 times by Pearson outside Mr. Chubby’s Wings. Also hurt in the attack was her mother, Jacki Roge, and Kennedy Armstrong, a stranger at the time who jumped in to save them.
“I thank both my mom and Kennedy for being my heroes that day. Two people who are so incredibly undeserving of the evil actions that the defendant showed on June 3rd, 2023,” Schemitz said.
At the end of the hearing, Pearson was sentenced to life in prison by Judge R. Lee Smith.
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Read Schemitz’s full remarks from the courtroom below:
Good afternoon, My name is Madison Schemitz. Your Honor, I’d like to begin by saying thank you. Thank you for your time and commitment these last 538 days. Thank you for taking this matter so seriously and for working the incredibly difficult job you do. It is truly honorable and beyond appreciated. I’d also like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak this afternoon after months of having to remain silent and unheard of by both the defendant and his family.
Before I begin, I’d like to preface this statement by explaining just some incredibly difficult this is to not only set my pride aside but to vulnerably open up in front of this courtroom the defendant and his family is difficult. I say this because throughout this process I’ve carried myself with grace. And truthfully, I have not opened up in front of others the way I’m about to. As I said, I’m setting my pride aside because truthfully, I do not believe the defendant nor his family deserve to hear any of the negative ways this experience has impacted me, let alone get to hear all of the positive things I’ve done after it.
I’ve thought about this day, this moment, this statement every single day for the last 538 days. 538. 538 days of living in true torment, 538 days that, regardless of the circumstances, always have the same dark cloud looming over. 538 days of constantly reliving the trauma the defendant put me through. Your Honor, I say 538 as that is how many days it has been since June 3rd, 2023. But the truth is, the torment, the dark cloud and the trauma I have endured dates back much further than June 3rd.
As the then 16-year-old high school girl, I deserve to live the life that many 16-year-old girls do. I deserve the opportunity to form relationships with whomever I wanted and deserve the opportunity to be happy in these relationships. I deserve to feel safe in these relationships. I deserve to be treated the way I know I deserve to be treated. I deserve the opportunity to learn and grow from these relationships. And most importantly, I not only deserve, I have every right to remove myself from a relationship that instead of making me feel happy and safe, dragged me down in every way.
My trauma truly starts from within my relationship with the defendant even prior to June 3rd, 2023. Throughout the barely six months I was in a relationship with him, I had felt stripped of everything I knew I truly deserved. I knew not only did I not feel happy, I felt suffocated, trapped, manipulated, and controlled. I knew that the relationship was giving me far less than what I deserved. As someone who truly takes pride in the human they know they are, I knew I had every right to put myself first and leave the relationship. Yet what no 16-year-old girl deserves is to experience fear while ending a relationship. But once again, I was that 16-year-old girl who was forced to experience that fear.
One day that specifically comes to mind in the days following the end of the relationship is April 4th, 2023, not even 24 hours after the break-up, the stalking began. As I innocently sat in a Davis Park parking lot with a few friends after a softball game, the defendant decided to show up. Not only did he show up uninvited, he showed up unannounced and unwarranted. And that moment was the first moment I had felt that fear. I knew I did not deserve to fear. As I began pulling out of my parking space to head home was when I had noticed the defendant’s appearance. I rolled out my window and asked him what he was doing as he responded with the same question. I told him I had been sitting there talking with friends.
I proceeded to then ask him if I could call him when I arrived home, as I felt an overwhelming sense of uneasiness being alone late at night in a dark parking lot with only the defendant. I then pull out of Davis Park and began driving home. I vividly remember the defendant tailing my car in a way I knew he never did. The feeling of fear was stronger and stronger in each second of that drive home. Feeling away the way I did, I purposely took a different route home than I normally would have taken so I went past the defendant’s neighborhood. As I drove past, I hoped he would put on his blinker and make that left-hand turn in to go home.
But by no surprise, he didn’t. He continued to follow me. Feeling unsafe and unsure of what to do, I turned into the closest parking lot, knowing I absolutely did not want him to follow me home. Ironically enough, I pulled into the same plaza that Mr. Chubby’s Wings is located. I began texting the defendant, begging for him to stop following me. I’m very clearly telling him that he was scaring me. Still scared and unsure of what to do. I called one of my best friends who I knew was awake. I called her and explained to her what was going on, how I was feeling, and how I was unsure of what to do. This is when she told me to come to her house.
As I drove through the plaza with the defendant still making every turn I did, still tailing my car, I decided to go to my friend’s house. I pulled out of the plaza onto A1A and driving in the opposite direction of both my house and his and headed to her home. I continued to tell the defendant to go home and told him I had to deliver a science packet to my friend. He did not turn around, nor did he go home. He proceeded to demand for me to go home and inform me that he knew that that wasn’t on my agenda for tonight and that I needed to be home after my game and that that was my agenda.
He continued to follow me up until I turned into her neighborhood, and I watched as he went into the gas station right beside and sat there for some time. The moment I pulled into her driveway, panicked and shaking, I saw her and that was the first moment I felt some sort of relief and some sense of safety, knowing her parents were right inside and were aware of what was happening. After sitting in her driveway for some time talking through what had just happened, I knew the defendant had finally gone home and I finally felt comfortable enough to head home myself.
Speaking to the defendant following his actions that night was frightening, upsetting, and frankly, all over the place. His reasoning as to why he followed me home changed every time, whether it was making sure I got home, wanting to see if I was doing something behind his back, or just so happened to be going home that way anyways. I believe that speaks volumes about the defendant and his behavior following the end of the relationship. With this incident being not even 24 hours after the break-up, the two months following remained equally as torturous and frightening as the stalking did not stop there. It had only just begun.
Feeling that same fear every single time I wanted to leave the house is not something a 16-year-old girl deserves. Having to be hyper-aware of my surroundings every single day in fear that he would show up where I was yet again is not something a 16-year-old girl deserves or not something she should ever have to be worried about. Those two months following the break were torture, those two months, I was put in a position where I felt scared, worried and constantly threatened. But I was never prepared for the fears to come alive. June 3rd, 2023, was without a doubt the absolute worst, most traumatic day of my life. And I remember every single second of it.
As a 17-year-old teenage girl on a Saturday in the summer, my day started as any other day would have for me. I had one of my best friends I met through softball in town to spend the weekend. We had stayed up late and woke up early, excited for the plans we had made for that day. Once we woke up, we got ready to go to the beach. The day was windy and almost cold for being a Saturday in June. After some time being there, we both got cold and decided we would leave the beach and go join our moms and brothers at my community pool. We got there just before 1:30 and hung out for a while, simply just enjoying time together as these were friends we did not get to see often.
During this week in June, the women’s college softball World Series was happening. Eventually we decided we would go get something to eat and watch the games happening that day. This decision unknowingly became my life-or-death decision, and I had no clue. I remember going home sometime between 2:10 and 2:50 to change out of our bathing suits and get ready to go to Mr. Chubby’s Wings. And by 2:53, my friend and I were in the car blasting “California Girls” by Katy Perry on the way to the restaurant. I remember sitting at the stoplight, leaving my neighborhood and texting both our moms asking if they would come with us. I remember my mom responding, saying, “You just want me to pay for your food,” which, although may have been true, I had this feeling that they just had to be there. And to this day, I am still unable to fully explain why I felt so, so strongly about wanting them to come with us.
My friend and I arrived at the restaurant a little bit before our moms did, and as I walked in, the defendant came to mind. I entered the restaurant and looked around to make sure he was not there before we sat down to eat, as I knew I had previously run into him there within those two months. Once I realized he wasn’t there, we sat down and began to watch the Oklahoma/Tennessee game. At 3:43, the defendant pulled into the parking lot. At 3:47, the defendant walked into the restaurant and knowingly walked right past me. By 4:15, the defendant had gotten up and walked past us to make his presence known.
At 4:15 was when my mother and I both noticed his presence. At 4:15 was when that same fear set in. After going back and forth on what to do, we paid our check and decided to leave the restaurant. At 4:28, myself, my mom, my friend and her mom all stood up and walked out. Never in a million years did I think that I would never end up making it to my car. I remember walking to the parking lot, texting a friend back and taking a picture of the defendant’s truck. I did this knowing I had to continue to keep track of the defendant’s behaviors and appearances for the restraining order we were in the process of trying to obtain. I remember finally reaching my car and hearing my mother scream. Knowing my mother, I could hear her fear. I could hear that whatever was happening was not good.
This was when, at 4:30 p.m. on June 3rd, 2023, I turned around and saw the defendant running towards me faster than I’d ever seen him run before. Not knowing what was coming next, I turned and attempted to go in the opposite direction. This was when the defendant had grabbed me. I hit the ground. I began feeling the attack. I remember being on my hands and knees, begging for the defendant to get off me with my screams slowly being, becoming more and more silent. I remember staring at the ground, my thoughts being muffled by my mother’s constant scream. The scream had first alarmed me did not stop throughout the entirety of the attack. And frankly, I can still hear it to this day.
I remember hoping for the pain to stop and feeling my mom pulling him off of me. I remember finally being let go and falling to the ground because at that point my body had been paralyzed. Little did I know that me being let go in that moment meant that my mom was being made another victim of the attack. I remember laying there with my eyes closed, blacking out until the defendant began stabbing me again. Your Honor, a 17-year-old girl should not know the feeling of getting stabbed. Your Honor, I should not have to remember the feeling of my body being inflicted with a knife over and over again.
I remember feeling an impact against my mother, the defendant and I, which was the moment Kennedy Armstrong had ultimately saved our lives. I remember finally opening my eyes, but still being unable to see. I remember asking my mom to get off of me because she was now actively bleeding on my face and into my eyes. I remember finally realizing I had been stabbed and then I could no longer feel my legs. I remember the moment I realized I was paralyzed. I remember struggling to breathe and formulate words. I remember my mom. I remember telling my mom I could not feel my legs, to which she responded it was okay and everything would be okay.
But I could hear in her voice that it wasn’t okay and she didn’t know if it would be okay and just how scared she was. I remember her words to the defendant. I remember her calling the defendant’s mom, Tonya, and her informing her on what her child had just done. I remember looking up and around and realizing that suddenly there was a crowd of people surrounding us. I remember looking up into my left, to which I watched as the defendant just a few feet away pathetically slit his own throat.
I remember making eye contact with the man in the crowd of people and begging him to make sure the defendant could not and would not get up, as I was scared the attack wasn’t over. I remember his response, ultimately showing me that the defendant was no longer conscious or physically able to get up. I remember my mom still panicked and holding one of my 17 stab wounds close. I remember numerous people trying to keep -- help keep me alive. I remember numerous people begging for me to stay awake. I remember that despite how chaotic, loud and full of people the scene was, it was still so quiet.
I remember feeling alone in my thoughts, unsure of what would come next, but knowing I just had to stay awake. I remember that despite every fear racing through my head, feeling calm through the chaos. I remember my friend’s mom, Casey, on the phone with 911 saying how she knew that they were on the way, but still did not hear or see the lights and sirens. And this moment, those four minutes between the attack and the first responders showing up were the slowest four minutes of my life. Though in that moment, I was terrified, I thought in my head that I would just stay awake until I hear the sirens. I would be okay.
As soon as I heard those sirens, I felt some sense of relief knowing help was there. I remember finally seeing them with my own eyes, my clothes being cut off and being lifted off my mom’s lap and onto the stretcher when my vision had disappeared again. I remember finally being set down and groaning in pain, still unable to feel or move my legs and my ability to breathe getting worse and worse. I remember looking up and recognizing a deputy I met on the scene of a friend’s car accident months prior.
Once I saw her eyes, I finally felt comfort. I remember telling her that I was so scared, in her words, backward. You don’t have to be scared. I trust these people with my life. And you should too. You’re going to get everything worked out. You’re going to be okay, honey. These words in this moment, coming from someone I remembered and trusted, whether she believed them or not, both reassured me and provided me the comfort I so badly needed. These words let me believe that I would be okay, that I would survive, and that I just had to trust what came next.
I remember being taken from the sidewalk and into the ambulance. I remember laying there in the ambulance in so much pain, unable to breathe and still so scared. I remember answering all the questions asked, correcting the paramedics on their assumptions and telling myself repeatedly that I had no choice but to fight to survive. I remember praying and telling myself that I had to survive, if not for me, for everyone in my life I knew would not be okay through my death.
I remember begging God to live. I remember telling myself that I could not close my eyes as I was terrified that if I did, I would never open them again. I remember listening to the paramedics talking amongst themselves about what to do and waiting as the helicopter arrived. I remember hearing the helicopter arrive and being transferred from the ambulance inside the helicopter. I remember the oxygen mask, the neck brace, and the headphones get put on me. I remember that because of the neck brace, the headphones didn’t fully cover my ears. I remember the sounds from the helicopter.
I remember the loud sounds from the helicopter, yet the world was still so silent. I remember my structure being tilted backwards to keep the blood on my head. I remember time moving so slowly. I remember being unable to speak or hear, but so badly needed to know what was happening. I remember limply waving my hand in the air to hopefully get a life-flight medic’s attention. And once I did, he removed one ear of my headphones. I asked him how much longer until we arrived at the hospital. I remember him telling me just a few more minutes and putting my headphones back on. Just a few more minutes. Those few minutes were in slow motion. Those few minutes still full of so much fear. I remember finally landing and being taken inside Memorial Hospital’s Trauma Bay. I remember laying there all alone with no familiar faces as the doctors and nurses fought to save my life.
I remember being poked and prodded and just lying there wide awake, listening. I remember holding a nurse’s hand until she had to assist those around her. I remember somehow finding her hand yet again and just holding on to it. I remember having an allergic reaction to one of the medications given to me. I remember being told to try and move my toes too, which I still couldn’t. I remember staring directly at the trauma surgeon’s eyes as he sliced my side open, inserted a tube into my chest to help me breathe.
I remember not screaming nor making any noise, just simply staring and watching as the chaos unfolded around me. I remember finally my mom limping into my room, covered in blood and kissing me on the forehead. I remember the feeling that gave me as the last time I had seen her, we were both bleeding out on a sidewalk. I remember the feeling of being able to tell her I loved her again because as I was taking off her lap, I didn’t get the chance to. I remember telling her that she looked like a hot mess and her telling me everything would be okay, but this time with less panic in her voice.
I remember her finally leaving as I had to be rushed into life-saving surgery. I remember exiting the Trauma Bay and seeing one of my high school softball coaches. I remember her showing me that I would be okay and that if anyone could do this, I could. I remember her telling me that she loved me and that when I woke up, they would all be there. I remember leaving and finally going, getting to the operating room. I remember them going to put me to sleep and telling me to count down from ten. I began to count. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six. And by the time I got to six, I began to feel myself going to sleep, which was when I began to panic again.
After fighting so hard to stay awake, feeling myself going to sleep and not being able to control it scared me in more ways than I could ever explain. I had that same fear that if I closed my eyes, I would never wake up again. Despite the panic, I eventually fell asleep. And once I woke up, I remember being alone in a hospital bed, freezing, thirsty and desperately needing chapstick. A nurse had come over bringing me ice chips and strawberry-flavored chapstick. I remember eventually being taken out of that room and brought for a scan. I remember laying there in a dark hallway with two men listening to the screams of another trauma patient brought in that night.
I remember being put into the scan and finally feeling calm. I finally was able to close my eyes and rest after the torture of my body was just put through. I remember listening to the sounds of the machine unable to move and just sleeping. I finally was taken out of the machine and brought to see my family. They took me up to the floor my mom was on and wheeled me to her doorway. I remember being greeted by smiles from my parents, two of my brothers, both of my coaches and a friend’s mom. I remember seeing through their smiles and realizing just how distraught, scared and overall devastated they all were. It was heartbreaking.
I remember looking at my mom smiling and once again telling her she looked like a hot mess. This comment had made everyone let out small laughter, which I like to believe, reassured them that I was alive and I had made it through. I remember them all hugging me and holding my hand until they brought me into my own room. My coaches and friend’s mom had come with me and I begged them for a phone as I did not have mine. In my head, I had to make sure all my friends and loved ones knew that I was alive. After finally being given one, it was quickly taken for me and I was told to rest.
I laid there unable to rest, until finally my older brother had arrived from South Florida. Seeing him and having him there finally made me feel safe. Now it was just him and I attempting to get some rest until more surgeons, probably around 4 or 5 in the morning, had walked into the room. These surgeons had then informed me that I had a blood clot traveling up my spine, which I would need emergency surgery for, yet again. I remember one of the surgeons telling me that sometimes these these blood clots and this trauma can be a reason for temporary paralysis. This gave me a sense of hope. I remember asking them if we could call my mom from the room over to let her know what was happening. My brother Facetimed her, but she had already been told.
I remember telling her, my brother, that I loved them and I would see them again when I woke up. I remember being brought into the operating room once again, seeing all the familiar bright lights and walls and once again being told to come down from 10. This time I felt less panicked. I was tired and I felt confident that I would wake up after surviving what I already had. I remember waking up in the ICU on June 4th and still being unable to move or feel my legs. I remember my coaches and friend’s mom being there once again.
I remember the moment my mom stood to the right of my bedside and told me that I was paralyzed. That it was not just the blood clot, but my spinal cord had been lacerated and spinal fluid was pouring out of it. I remember hearing this, shrugging my shoulders and looking back towards the room. I had known I was paralyzed. Yet never in my head did I not I think I would not overcome it. Immediately I told myself that I would walk again. I would walk in my senior night for softball. That I would walk at graduation the following May and finally walk into this very courtroom today.
Your Honor, I remember everything. I remember every single second of this horrific day and the months following, Your Honor, on June 3rd, 2023. I did not know that as soon as I walked in the restaurant, I would end up being forced to fight for my life. What I didn’t know was that after I won that fight for my life was that I would be faced with a lifetime’s worth of challenges. Faced with the fact that walking out of that restaurant was the last time I would be able to walk for several months, the fact that the last time I would be run, I would be running for my life. The fact that every single day following I would have to continue to fight for my life, for normality, and to gain back every ounce of independence I once had.
Your Honor, someone once told me that my independence was just my ego. But that has always remained far from true. Never once had anyone ever insulted the independence I’d always been so proud of. Your Honor, the person who made that statement sits in front of me today. The same person who not only took away my independence for some time, but attempted to take my life. On June 3rd, 2023, the defendant attacked and stabbed me 17 times with the intent of killing me. On June 3rd, 2023, 538 days ago, I survived the attack. And I’ve continued to not only survive but to live every single day I know I am so blessed to live. Your Honor, those months following the attack are still vivid. The mental and physical battles are still vivid and so real. In the days following the attack, I was still stuck in the ICU.
I remember all the doctors, visitors, interviews and so on. I remember the feeling of being of having to be rolled to have my bandages changed and tubes moved. I remember the feeling of having both of my chest tubes pulled out of me. I remember the feeling having one of my chest being pulled out of me just to be put back in. I remember the smell, the smell of the amount of blood that had set in my hair from the attack. I remember being unable to sleep despite every effort. Every time I tried, I was quickly interrupted by the same recurring image of the defendant running at me on the day of the attack. I remember the moments I would be able to fall asleep. I would wake up screaming, being awoken from the same nightmares that I was being killed by the defendant or one of his family members.
I remember one night specifically when I’d woken up finally thinking I’d slept through the night just to come find out that I didn’t actually sleep soundly, but instead woke up screaming every few minutes, begging, no screaming stop, and that I was dying. I remember my first shower that took probably five hours and the help of probably five people. I remember when physical therapy started. I remember being lifted out of the bed for the first time in a Hoyer lift and into a wheelchair beside the bed. The feeling of both my chest tubes being pulled and the feeling of the almost 100 staples in my back being pressed up against the Hoyer in the chair, the pain almost unbearable.
But I did it. Something so small as getting out of bed and sitting in a chair for 20 minutes felt nearly impossible. But it was such a huge win. Every day after that was full of their own trials and tribulations, each day just as challenging. Physical therapy at that point consisted of just simply setting up, something you all are doing right now. But at that time, something that was physically impossible for me as every muscle to do so was paralyzed from the attack. I remember the pain that I felt just sitting up, the piercing pain I felt in my chest each breath. I remember every family member, every friend and every health care worker who gave everything that hour just to make it somewhat bearable for me.
Despite the physical and mental pain that it took, they still somehow made it just a little bit better. Eventually I was transferred to Brooks Rehabilitation. I remember the fear of uncertainty. Being moved to an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, unsure of how long I would be there or what the intense rehabilitation would look like. The emotional toll that came with each step, your overwhelming sense of helplessness and the constant fear of what was next. The moments when I wondered if I would ever feel like myself again, if I would ever walk how I used to again, or be able to live through a day without being reminded of this trauma. And yet, through it all, I also remember the moments of hope, the small victories, and all of the support from those around me. These memories, these moments, they stay with me forever and they shape who I am every single day.
I remember being transferred in the late afternoon, so it was quiet. I remember, despite the silence, hearing the screams of another patient on the hall who was quickly transferred as the Brooks workers were also aware of how that could scare someone with the trauma I had. As the next day came, therapy began. 3 to 5 hours of occupational and physical therapy consumed my time. The goal started small, but the therapy was intense. Learning how to sit up on my own, change my clothes by myself, transfer myself between the bed and the wheelchair. Simple, everyday tasks were so difficult. Yet slowly, they became easier.
I remember on June 20th taking my ASIA impairment exam, which is what the extent of a spinal cord injury is defined by the American Spinal Injury Association impairment scale using specific categories. I remember the exam taking a few hours and feeling so discouraged. The feeling of being unable to feel or move any of my body was so discouraging until finally, at the very end of the exam, after being unable to move or feel anything, I was finally told to try and move my left foot. Staring at the ceiling, still so discouraged, I tried. I remember feeling something and looking at my physical therapist.
She asked me, “Did you feel that?” To which I responded, “Did it move?” And when she confirmed that I had finally moved my foot, the room was full of emotion, so overwhelmed by the feeling of simply just moving my foot. I remember the feeling of being able to tell my mom that I now able to move my foot and her bursting into tears of joy. I remember every phone call to all of our family and friends, and each of them also overwhelmed with so much joy to see that I could finally move my foot the slightest bit.
This moment gave me hope for the future, hope that I would be okay, hope that with time I would regain movement in other parts of my body and confirm my goal that I would one day walk again. I remember after this moment, the already intense therapy becoming even more intense. Hours spent every day trying new things, strengthening each part of me, and accomplishing more and more. Each day, my left leg got stronger to the point where they were able to stand me up with assistance and with time on June 30th, I attempted to take my first steps with assistance. Though slow, painful and incredibly difficult every day after that was a new goal reached, new progress, and a new step forward.
Finally, after over a month in the hospital and in rehabilitation on July 7th, 2023, I was sent home. On that day was the first day I addressed both the community and the media. On that day, I said that there was no looking back, how incredibly lucky I am to be alive today and how each day I would take it as its own opportunity to live and make a difference in the world and how I am determined and confident in myself that I would reach my goals and one day walk again. And every single day following, I’ve continued to stand by these words. Every day I make the choice to be positive. And I’ve used this trauma to help inspire and motivate others, despite everything I go through personally, daily. After addressing the media, I was finally able to go home.
Going home was a new battle. Learning how to adjust to my new life, my new way of life in a place that was a reminder of everything that used to be was difficult. On my second day home, I sat in my room crying and finally moved my right leg. I called my mom into my room and once again, she was immediately brought to tears. Once again, I got to experience calling all of my loved ones and sharing with them another huge victory.
That following Monday, I started outpatient rehabilitation. I was in the pediatric day program, at Brooks Rehabilitation, to which I attended physical and occupational therapy Monday through Friday for three hours every morning. I attended this program until December of 2023, when I switched to their neuro recovery center and continue to do physical therapy there up until today. Throughout these programs, I fought every day to accomplish my goals, one of those being to start my senior year on time with the rest of my class. And just as I fought for, I was there on the very first day along with everyone else.
Going back to school was an adjustment. I had to see all the kids I’d grown up with for almost all my life, but they looked at me differently now. I was no longer just Madison. I was the girl who got stabbed. I dealt with looks, comments, questions, but I always understood this isn’t something that just happens, nor is it something that should ever have to happen. This kind of trauma isn’t something that kids should have to adjust to nor go through. But at the end of the day, in so many eyes, I was still Madison.
Over time, as kids adjusted to having me back, school became easier. But managing both school and rehabilitation was difficult as I still attended therapy every single morning and always did my best to still be at school when therapy was over. This was overall, both physically and mentally draining. But I did it. Because the last thing I would do is let this attack, let the defendant take more away from me than he had already taken. I attended as many school events as I could, and although they were rarely ever enjoyable for me after the attack, I still went. And I tried every day to live my life as I would before. And it wasn’t as easy as I make it sound. I dealt with anxiety in public places and large crowds, scared that if something were to happen, I would no longer be able to protect myself.
I now had to worry about things other kids never had to worry about. Like would there be stairs? Can I maneuver a wheelchair through this? I can no longer go and hang out with my friends whenever I wanted or partake in activities I was able to before. I was unable to play softball my senior year of high school, the sport that had been my life since as long as I can remember. I watched as my friends changed. The friends I had known for years go through one of the most unimaginable traumas and step up for me in a way no friend should ever have to. I watched them each be affected by this attack in various ways.
I watched my friends dealing with PTSD, but still being so strong for me. I watched as they all matured as their innocence was stolen. I watched as each of them stepped up in their own way to be there for me, to help me and to support me through whatever I needed. I watched as my family suffered. They each suffered daily as their mother and sister were almost taken from them. I watched as they all stepped up to be there for us when we couldn’t be there for them. I watched as their innocence was stolen. I saw their pain, their tears, and their resilience. I watched as the once so lively, happy and bright home became sad and dark.
Yet through it all, we were all there for each other. We all found light in the darkest of situations. We all found reasons to laugh and smile. And we were all simply grateful for every day we got to be alive. Your Honor, the impact of the defendant’s actions doesn’t just end with those directly connected. I’ve witnessed the impact on the community and strangers all over the world. I’ve met strangers everywhere I’ve gone who have broken down in tears, telling me just how much my story has affected them. I’ve met people of all ages, constantly brought to tears by my story and have seen firsthand the impact on the community. Many left scared and uncertain on the world. Everyone’s trust in people simply gone.
Yet despite those going through their own traumas, the community immediately stepped up and was there for me. Madison Strong keychains, shirts, sweatshirts, and fundraisers were in motion directly following the attack and I still feel that same level of support and love every single day. Your Honor, I have accomplished every single goal I’ve set out on on since the attack. I attended my senior year. I walked and got a hit on my senior night for softball. I walked unassisted at my high school graduation. I’m a full-time college student, and I even walked into this very courtroom and I’m currently reading a victim impact statement in front of not only the whole world, but my attempted killer and his family.
Just as I said I was when the attack first happened. I have spoken and share my story of survival and resilience on many different platforms, such as in front of the media, Ponte Vedra High School, the Betty Griffin Center, St Johns County Fire Rescue and Sheriff’s Office events, Brooks Rehabilitation, Memorial Hospital, a police conference in Washington State, and so on. I started a wave of One Love chapters throughout our community, including at the University of North Florida. And I promise I will continue to use my story and my platform to inspire, motivate and help others in every way I can. Your Honor, I mention all of my accomplishments as I am proud of them. I’m proud of the human I am, the impact I’ve made and how I’ve handled myself these last 538 days.
I say this as a reminder that I turned myself from being a victim to a survivor, and I am proud of that. This does not take away from the ways that I struggle daily. I suffer from PTSD and anxiety daily. I still deal with the sleepless nights and constant nightmares. I refuse to go outside alone at night, in the dark. I feel myself fearing the worst possibilities in every situation. I’ve lost all trust in the world, and finding that trust in people is few and far between. I’ve lost any childlike innocence and I’ve been forced to grow up in a way most kids never have to. I’ve chosen to live the way I live and be so positive to hide the dark reality that I go through. I often laugh and smile to not let those around me realize that I am suffering so that they don’t have to be sad as well.
I deal with mental battles every day about my physical state and what my future may look like. My thoughts are often clouded by the “what ifs” and the “why me” questions because why me? Why did something so horrific and life-changing have to happen to me? Why did someone so evil need to try and take everything away from me? Why did someone so evil try and end the life of someone who showed him so much kindness and patience? Why me? Your Honor, the defendant’s decision on June 3rd, 2023 will haunt me for the rest of my life. My future and physical and mental state still so uncertain, but always affected. The way I live, the way I love live forever changed.
Yet I will always be a more kind, understanding, patient, loving and overall better person than the defendant ever was. Your Honor, if it weren’t for the brave and heroic acts of both my mother and Kennedy Armstrong on June 3rd, 2023, I would not be alive. My mother put her life on the line to save mine. The defendant so selfishly not only tried to take my life, but also tried to take my mother’s. Most badass, selfless and incredible woman and mom anyone would be so lucky to have in their lives. My mother has always and will always be my best friend. I’m proud to be her daughter and thankful for her every single day.
I watched her struggle in more ways than I can explain in the last 538 days. Yet she still always puts her kids before herself. Bleeding out and all, she was still there for me before even thinking of herself. She slept right by my side for over a month and was there through every single step of it all. Without her, I would not be here today. But without Kennedy Armstrong, neither of us would be here. A complete stranger so selflessly ran towards the screams, ran towards the danger and saved both of our lives. Kennedy, you are truly one of the most brave and amazing human beings I have ever met.
Despite your own trauma, your own physical injuries, and every way this attack negatively impacted your own life, you always remained so selfless. You always reminded us that you were here for whatever we needed and never wanted any praise or recognition. But you are the hero. You are the reason we are alive. And you are who reminds me every single day that good people do exist in the world. Words can never explain just how beyond thankful I am for you and your family. I thank both my mom and Kennedy for being my heroes that day. Two people who are so incredibly undeserving of the evil actions that the defendant showed on June 3rd, 2023.
Your Honor, I could talk for hours on end about the way that the defendant has negatively impacted each of our lives. But I think after each of these impact statements, it is apparent it is real, it is constant, and it is daily. Every day is a reminder of the trauma we all endured on June 3rd, 2023. Every day I am affected by the physical and mental impacts of the defendant’s actions, and every day is a reminder of just how cruel, monstrous, and evil the defendant truly is. There is no excuse for his actions. There will never be an excuse.
On that day, the defendant chose to try and take my life. He chose to try and take my mother’s life, and he chose to severely harm a good and innocent stranger. Your Honor, I can confidently say I am one of the least deserving human beings to have to go through what I have been forced to go through. Your Honor, this is something I will have to deal with for the rest of my life. Something I should never have to deal with and something the defendant should never have the opportunity to do again. Your Honor, on June 3rd, 2023, I was given my own life sentence by the defendant, and I plead with you that the defendant receives the same justified sentence and deserved punishment. Thank you.
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