Two weeks have passed in a whirlwind of stress and work. Friday, July 29th, was the date of the preliminary hearing for the violation of my standing order of protection. There’s no need to belabor the point I made in my last post; suffice it to say that I spent most of the past three weeks in a dazed state of anxiety mixed with apprehension. Less than five hours of sleep a night for more than twenty days has really taken its toll. By Friday morning, I was a mess. Getting up, getting ready, heading out the door and to a place where I would potentially have to sit for hours in the same small room with my abuser was extremely difficult. I prayed for months that this would not happen again. I prayed that he would just keep his silence…keep his distance.
Seeing him again on Friday left me shaking; having to stand at the front of the courtroom less than ten feet away from him was hellish. Sometimes I wonder why it is that I’m still so frightened of him, but then I think back to that time of my life and the rage, violence, and instability that was the daily norm, and I remember…there is good reason for the fear I feel.
My attorney was unable to be present with me, so I requested an extension and a new court date. The judge was happy to grant that request; he remembered having heard my case last year. My abuser’s attorney also requested an extension, in order to “review some new evidentiary information” and “possibly reach a mutually satisfactory conclusion outside court.” Does that mean that they are going to request another mutual restraining order? I’m not agreeing to that. A mutual restraining order assumes a level playing field, as though I did something as horrible to him as he did to me. I never hit him. I never threatened to kill him. I never forced him to have sex with me. I never threatened to harm his children. There was no level playing field, and there would be no safety in agreeing to a mutual restraining order.
I am left feeling ambiguous about the outcome of the day. Sure, I got my extension, and my order of protection is in effect until the next hearing. But I also have to go on anticipating another day in court, another day of questioning. I can’t imagine what kind of “evidentiary information” they could have come up with. I haven’t had contact with my abuser since last year in court. I have not tried to find out anything about him - except to make sure he was not living in the neighborhood where I recently bought a home - and though occasionally people tell me rumors about him, I don't perpetuate those rumors. I am left wondering what kind of ridiculous allegations my abuser and his lawyer are going to make about me, and how I can possibly counter those accusations. My mind is racing and I can’t turn it off. Right now, around 36 hours after the hearing, I am exhausted. My emotions are raw, but I can’t get my mental wheels to stop turning. I have been pushing myself to the point of collapse physically just to be able to get six hours of sleep. I’m not sure how long I can cope.
On Friday morning, as I was showering and getting dressed for court, a song that I never sing or even think of popped into my head. It was an old hymn, and one I don’t particularly like – “God Will Take Care of You”. Only the chorus played through my mind, and as the morning wore on, I heard those words over and over, unbidden – God will take care of you; through every day; o’er all the way…he will take care of you; God will take care of you. And though normally this kind of ear-worm would have driven me crazy, I found myself listening and holding onto that thought, that no matter what happened, God would take care of me. No, I didn’t expect the heavenly hosts to ride in on white chargers and chariots of fire, and I didn’t expect a rousing defeat of my adversary. But I did – and do – believe that whatever happened, God would be there. And even though I hated every minute of the two and a half hours I spent in my abuser’s presence, I felt assured that I was not alone.
Tonight, as I write this, I am almost too tired to feel afraid. My eyelids are heavy and my fingers are clumsy – I am moving slowly and it is almost time for sleep. In the pit of my stomach there is a cold knot that tightens whenever I think of what is coming, but my heart is warm with the knowledge and surety of God’s loving grace. Fear is the opposite of love, and I know that ultimately, no matter what the outcome of the next hearing, love will win. God will take care of me – maybe not in the way I hope or expect, but that’s okay.
Showing posts with label order of protection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label order of protection. Show all posts
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Stalking: How to Recognize It, How to Survive It
I became aware that I was being stalked when I woke up one morning last January at a friend’s house, my cell-phone ringing with a number that I recognized and dreaded seeing. My ex, whom I had asked repeatedly not to call me anymore, was calling again. It was becoming a regular occurrence. My stomach clenched – heart racing, I looked at my friend and said, “Why does he keep calling me?! I’ve asked him to stop over and over and he keeps saying he won’t call anymore – I hate this!”
My friend considered for a moment, then said, “Is there a pattern to the calls? Does he call at certain times?” I thought about it.
“Well, not really. He called while I was at the mall last week, and he called while I was working late the week before. But the times and days were different.” The phone stopped ringing and I sighed in relief. After just a few seconds of silence, the text-message alert started going off. Same number. Feeling sick, I read through the message.
Sorry to bother you, it said. I don't blame you for not answering my calls. I’m having a computer problem and it’s snowy and I don’t want to drive anywhere today. Nothing’s open anyway because it’s Saturday. I thought you might be able to tell me how to fix it. I won’t bother you anymore.
“So he’s calling and texting you when you aren’t home,” my friend said. “How does he know you aren’t home?”
At that point, I lived only a block or so away from my ex, but he would have had to drive out of his way to pass my place. During most of that summer and part of the fall, we had often stayed together at his house, though I’d always kept my apartment. The relationship had become horribly abusive, beginning with emotional and mental abuse and ending with physical and sexual assaults and death threats. I had finally gathered up the courage to leave him after he had held a knife to my throat and tried to wreck the car and kill both of us while driving during a snowstorm. That had been a month before, and though he continually assured me that this would be "the last time", he was still calling me.
“Oh my God,” I said, sitting down. My head was spinning and I felt dizzy and cold. “He’s driving by my house…checking to see when I’m there.”
My friend, who is a former police officer with a degree in criminal justice, nodded. “And anytime you aren’t home, he’s calling to see what you’re doing. He may be checking up on you two or three times a day. Or more. Does he know where you work?”
Yes, he knew where I worked. He had visited me there many times when we were still together. My place of employment was an hour away from where we both lived, though, and the realization that my abuser was driving by my house gave me the impetus I needed to make a decision I’d been tossing around. “That’s it,” I said. “I’m moving.”
That was January 30th, 2010. I went home and blocked him from being able to call my phone again. Over the course of the next week, I had blocked him from contacting me by email and on Facebook and MySpace. I got some hang-up calls from a number I didn’t recognize, so I blocked it, too. Finally, the calls stopped. By the end of February, I had relocated to a townhouse apartment very near my job. I moved in on a Friday, working through the entire weekend to vacate my other place. By Sunday night, I was exhausted but relieved to be so far away from my ex. The tension of living near the man who had hit me and threatened to kill me had been greater than I had realized, even before I knew he was keeping tabs on me. I had numbed myself to the fear for so long that I still couldn’t really feel it – instead, I just felt glad to be starting over in a new place. That Monday morning I woke to a light covering of snow. I looked out my front door at 7 in the morning and noticed footprints on the stairs leading up to my apartment. Mine was the only door reached by those steps. The prints came to the top of the stairs and halted there, under my bedroom window. I recognized the treads – they were his shoes. But that was ridiculous...wasn't it? How could he have found me so fast? I pushed it out of my mind and as the days went by with no further sightings or foot-marks, I began to relax.
A month went by. It was peaceful and I felt as if I was settling into my new house. It was so close to work that I could go home over lunch. On April 5th, I was pulling out of my parking lot when I saw a familiar car sitting at the bank across the street. Small. Black. Out of town dealer’s plate on the front. I knew it was him even before I saw his face -- one look at the driver confirmed it. It was my abuser.
He pulled out behind me and I hurried into the parking lot at work. I was relieved when he drove past instead of continuing to follow me. For the rest of the week, I kept looking over my shoulder, but didn’t see him. Then, on April 20th, I left the building for lunch and his car was in the parking lot. Looking around, I saw him standing at the door of the book-store located in the same building where I worked. He was looking at me.
I left work but didn’t go home. Instead, I drove and I cried. Why was he doing this? What did he want? Back at work, later on, I talked to a friend and she advised me to call the police and report it. I was reluctant, but by the next morning I felt so disturbed by his behavior that I did call the local police department. They assigned an officer to give me more information, and promised that he would call me soon. Sure enough, after about fifteen minutes had passed, my cell phone rang. I explained what was going on and the police officer shocked me when he said, “So you’re being stalked.”
I was surprised -- I hadn’t thought of what was happening to me as stalking. The officer told me that the best thing I could do was to file for an order of protection. After he had some more information about how abusive the relationship had been, he urged me not to wait, but to file for the protective order right away. I didn’t take his advice until another two months had passed, mostly because I could hardly believe that I was being stalked. I mean, what if I was wrong? What if my ex’s intentions were entirely innocent? It took seeing him at my workplace a couple more times, seeing him driving up and down the road in front of my home, and him turning up at my work on a Saturday to convince me that I needed to do something. I filed for the order of protection on May 28th – on my way to the courthouse to fill out the paperwork, I saw him less than a block from my work-place again, for the second time that week.
I got my order of protection after punctured tires, destroyed property, a private investigator hired by my ex, and two-hour hearing that was indescribably awful. Since then, my ex appealed the protective order and then dropped the appeal the day before we were to go to court. That was in August 2010. There has been no further destruction of my property, and I have only seen him once since that time; he did not try to make contact. I worry about what will happen when the order expires this July, but I will have to deal with that as it comes.
Because I didn’t recognize my ex’s behavior as stalking, I was reluctant to file for the protective order. I put up with being followed, being watched, and feeling unsafe and fearful because I didn’t know what constituted stalking. I want others to be able to recognize their danger before things get out of control – here is some information about stalking, including the legal definition in the state of Tennessee.
Stalking is a pattern of conduct composed of a series of two or more noncontinuous acts which show a continuity of purpose, which cause significant emotional or mental suffering or distress, and which may include but is not limited to repeated unwanted contact. Stalking is the repeated or continuing harassment of another that would cause a reasonable person to feel frightened, intimidated, threatened, or terrorized. This behavior includes following or appearing within the sight of that person, approaching or confronting that person, whether on private or public property, appearing at that person’s workplace or residence, contacting that person by phone, mail, or electronic means, or appearing or placing an object upon property leased, owned, or occupied by that person (Stalking Resource Center, 2011).
Stalking is a Class A misdemeanor in the State of Tennessee. Aggravated Stalking is a Class E Felony in Tennessee and is distinguished from Stalking by the presence of a weapon, the age of the victim (under 18) related to the age of the stalker, if the stalker has a previous conviction of stalking within seven years of the current offense, if the stalker makes a credible threat to the victim or the victim’s family, or if the stalker was prohibited from coming near the victim by any legal means. There are other levels of offense, and the punishment is different depending on the severity of the crime. Yes! Stalking is a crime, and is punishable by law (Stalking Resource Center, 2011).
Over three million people over the age of 18 are stalked in the US each year. Three out of four of those are stalked by someone they know. Thirty percent of stalking victims are stalked by a current or former intimate partner – this is what happened to me. And while men do stalk men, and women also stalk women and men, more often, it is men who stalk women. Seventy six percent of intimate partner femicide* victims have been stalked by their partner, and of these, 67% have been physically abused by their partner. Eighty nine percent of femicide victims who were physically assaulted were also stalked in the twelve months before their murder, and 54% of these victims reported the stalking to police before they were killed by their stalkers (McFarlane et al., 1999).
Stalking is a crime in all 50 states, including the District of Columbia and all US Territories. In only 1/3 of states is it a felony as a first offense, but as discussed above, there are aggravating circumstances that make the crime more severe.
So – what do you do if you’re being stalked? You call the police. Odds are you’ll be advised to file for an order of protection, like I was. Of course, this is going to depend on whether your stalker has contacted or threatened you, and there will be other factors that also have impact. You can also visit your local Legal Aid Agency. Legal Aid will usually consult with you for free before you file for a protective or restraining order. They can tell you what the process is like and can provide you with free legal representation if you need to appear in court. Also document every incidence as it occurs. Take pictures if you can; tell people right away if you see your stalker. Point him or her out to friends so they can witness for you in court. Report each incidence of contact or stalking to the police and ask them to keep records and file reports – also ask them for copies; you’ll have to pick these up and there’s usually a very small document origination fee that you’ll have to pay. Know that the law is on your side and that there are protective measures you can take. Also be aware that no piece of paper will stop someone who is determined to hurt you. Prepare accordingly – be vigilant. Remember that ultimately, you are your best protection.
*Femicide: The murder of a woman; distinguished here because these statistics apply only to women murdered by intimate partners.
Resources
National Center for Victims of Crime. (2011) Stalking Resource Center. Retrieved January 26, 2011 from http://www.ncvc.org/src/main.aspx?dbID=dash_Home
McFarlane, Judith, et al. (1999). Stalking and Intimate Partner Femicide. Homicide Studies 3, no. 4. Retrieved January 26, 2011 from http://www.ncvc.org/src/main.aspx?dbID=dash_Home.
The author’s own experiences.
My friend considered for a moment, then said, “Is there a pattern to the calls? Does he call at certain times?” I thought about it.
“Well, not really. He called while I was at the mall last week, and he called while I was working late the week before. But the times and days were different.” The phone stopped ringing and I sighed in relief. After just a few seconds of silence, the text-message alert started going off. Same number. Feeling sick, I read through the message.
Sorry to bother you, it said. I don't blame you for not answering my calls. I’m having a computer problem and it’s snowy and I don’t want to drive anywhere today. Nothing’s open anyway because it’s Saturday. I thought you might be able to tell me how to fix it. I won’t bother you anymore.
“So he’s calling and texting you when you aren’t home,” my friend said. “How does he know you aren’t home?”
At that point, I lived only a block or so away from my ex, but he would have had to drive out of his way to pass my place. During most of that summer and part of the fall, we had often stayed together at his house, though I’d always kept my apartment. The relationship had become horribly abusive, beginning with emotional and mental abuse and ending with physical and sexual assaults and death threats. I had finally gathered up the courage to leave him after he had held a knife to my throat and tried to wreck the car and kill both of us while driving during a snowstorm. That had been a month before, and though he continually assured me that this would be "the last time", he was still calling me.
“Oh my God,” I said, sitting down. My head was spinning and I felt dizzy and cold. “He’s driving by my house…checking to see when I’m there.”
My friend, who is a former police officer with a degree in criminal justice, nodded. “And anytime you aren’t home, he’s calling to see what you’re doing. He may be checking up on you two or three times a day. Or more. Does he know where you work?”
Yes, he knew where I worked. He had visited me there many times when we were still together. My place of employment was an hour away from where we both lived, though, and the realization that my abuser was driving by my house gave me the impetus I needed to make a decision I’d been tossing around. “That’s it,” I said. “I’m moving.”
That was January 30th, 2010. I went home and blocked him from being able to call my phone again. Over the course of the next week, I had blocked him from contacting me by email and on Facebook and MySpace. I got some hang-up calls from a number I didn’t recognize, so I blocked it, too. Finally, the calls stopped. By the end of February, I had relocated to a townhouse apartment very near my job. I moved in on a Friday, working through the entire weekend to vacate my other place. By Sunday night, I was exhausted but relieved to be so far away from my ex. The tension of living near the man who had hit me and threatened to kill me had been greater than I had realized, even before I knew he was keeping tabs on me. I had numbed myself to the fear for so long that I still couldn’t really feel it – instead, I just felt glad to be starting over in a new place. That Monday morning I woke to a light covering of snow. I looked out my front door at 7 in the morning and noticed footprints on the stairs leading up to my apartment. Mine was the only door reached by those steps. The prints came to the top of the stairs and halted there, under my bedroom window. I recognized the treads – they were his shoes. But that was ridiculous...wasn't it? How could he have found me so fast? I pushed it out of my mind and as the days went by with no further sightings or foot-marks, I began to relax.
A month went by. It was peaceful and I felt as if I was settling into my new house. It was so close to work that I could go home over lunch. On April 5th, I was pulling out of my parking lot when I saw a familiar car sitting at the bank across the street. Small. Black. Out of town dealer’s plate on the front. I knew it was him even before I saw his face -- one look at the driver confirmed it. It was my abuser.
He pulled out behind me and I hurried into the parking lot at work. I was relieved when he drove past instead of continuing to follow me. For the rest of the week, I kept looking over my shoulder, but didn’t see him. Then, on April 20th, I left the building for lunch and his car was in the parking lot. Looking around, I saw him standing at the door of the book-store located in the same building where I worked. He was looking at me.
I left work but didn’t go home. Instead, I drove and I cried. Why was he doing this? What did he want? Back at work, later on, I talked to a friend and she advised me to call the police and report it. I was reluctant, but by the next morning I felt so disturbed by his behavior that I did call the local police department. They assigned an officer to give me more information, and promised that he would call me soon. Sure enough, after about fifteen minutes had passed, my cell phone rang. I explained what was going on and the police officer shocked me when he said, “So you’re being stalked.”
I was surprised -- I hadn’t thought of what was happening to me as stalking. The officer told me that the best thing I could do was to file for an order of protection. After he had some more information about how abusive the relationship had been, he urged me not to wait, but to file for the protective order right away. I didn’t take his advice until another two months had passed, mostly because I could hardly believe that I was being stalked. I mean, what if I was wrong? What if my ex’s intentions were entirely innocent? It took seeing him at my workplace a couple more times, seeing him driving up and down the road in front of my home, and him turning up at my work on a Saturday to convince me that I needed to do something. I filed for the order of protection on May 28th – on my way to the courthouse to fill out the paperwork, I saw him less than a block from my work-place again, for the second time that week.
I got my order of protection after punctured tires, destroyed property, a private investigator hired by my ex, and two-hour hearing that was indescribably awful. Since then, my ex appealed the protective order and then dropped the appeal the day before we were to go to court. That was in August 2010. There has been no further destruction of my property, and I have only seen him once since that time; he did not try to make contact. I worry about what will happen when the order expires this July, but I will have to deal with that as it comes.
Because I didn’t recognize my ex’s behavior as stalking, I was reluctant to file for the protective order. I put up with being followed, being watched, and feeling unsafe and fearful because I didn’t know what constituted stalking. I want others to be able to recognize their danger before things get out of control – here is some information about stalking, including the legal definition in the state of Tennessee.
Stalking is a pattern of conduct composed of a series of two or more noncontinuous acts which show a continuity of purpose, which cause significant emotional or mental suffering or distress, and which may include but is not limited to repeated unwanted contact. Stalking is the repeated or continuing harassment of another that would cause a reasonable person to feel frightened, intimidated, threatened, or terrorized. This behavior includes following or appearing within the sight of that person, approaching or confronting that person, whether on private or public property, appearing at that person’s workplace or residence, contacting that person by phone, mail, or electronic means, or appearing or placing an object upon property leased, owned, or occupied by that person (Stalking Resource Center, 2011).
Stalking is a Class A misdemeanor in the State of Tennessee. Aggravated Stalking is a Class E Felony in Tennessee and is distinguished from Stalking by the presence of a weapon, the age of the victim (under 18) related to the age of the stalker, if the stalker has a previous conviction of stalking within seven years of the current offense, if the stalker makes a credible threat to the victim or the victim’s family, or if the stalker was prohibited from coming near the victim by any legal means. There are other levels of offense, and the punishment is different depending on the severity of the crime. Yes! Stalking is a crime, and is punishable by law (Stalking Resource Center, 2011).
Over three million people over the age of 18 are stalked in the US each year. Three out of four of those are stalked by someone they know. Thirty percent of stalking victims are stalked by a current or former intimate partner – this is what happened to me. And while men do stalk men, and women also stalk women and men, more often, it is men who stalk women. Seventy six percent of intimate partner femicide* victims have been stalked by their partner, and of these, 67% have been physically abused by their partner. Eighty nine percent of femicide victims who were physically assaulted were also stalked in the twelve months before their murder, and 54% of these victims reported the stalking to police before they were killed by their stalkers (McFarlane et al., 1999).
Stalking is a crime in all 50 states, including the District of Columbia and all US Territories. In only 1/3 of states is it a felony as a first offense, but as discussed above, there are aggravating circumstances that make the crime more severe.
So – what do you do if you’re being stalked? You call the police. Odds are you’ll be advised to file for an order of protection, like I was. Of course, this is going to depend on whether your stalker has contacted or threatened you, and there will be other factors that also have impact. You can also visit your local Legal Aid Agency. Legal Aid will usually consult with you for free before you file for a protective or restraining order. They can tell you what the process is like and can provide you with free legal representation if you need to appear in court. Also document every incidence as it occurs. Take pictures if you can; tell people right away if you see your stalker. Point him or her out to friends so they can witness for you in court. Report each incidence of contact or stalking to the police and ask them to keep records and file reports – also ask them for copies; you’ll have to pick these up and there’s usually a very small document origination fee that you’ll have to pay. Know that the law is on your side and that there are protective measures you can take. Also be aware that no piece of paper will stop someone who is determined to hurt you. Prepare accordingly – be vigilant. Remember that ultimately, you are your best protection.
*Femicide: The murder of a woman; distinguished here because these statistics apply only to women murdered by intimate partners.
Resources
National Center for Victims of Crime. (2011) Stalking Resource Center. Retrieved January 26, 2011 from http://www.ncvc.org/src/main.aspx?dbID=dash_Home
McFarlane, Judith, et al. (1999). Stalking and Intimate Partner Femicide. Homicide Studies 3, no. 4. Retrieved January 26, 2011 from http://www.ncvc.org/src/main.aspx?dbID=dash_Home.
The author’s own experiences.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Little Victories
"God is in the midst of her; he will not allow her to be moved."
~ Psalm 46 (NKJV)
Tuesday, July 13th, was the date of my hearing. I had been working toward and preparing for that day since May 28th, the day I filed for my order of protection from my abuser. I had been re-reading my journal - though my memory of what he had done to me didn't really need refreshing. I searched through months of phone records and painstakingly marked each call that occurred after the day I'd left him, when I’d asked him not to be in contact with me again. I spoke with co-workers until I found one who'd seen and recognized his car in the parking lot at work on several different occasions - two of those times, he had actually seen my abuser driving the car and was willing to testify to that in court. I wracked my brain to think of anyone I knew who might have seen me with bruises and cuts on my face and then remembered that my ex-husband had commented on the injuries when I'd picked up my daughters, less than 20 hours after the last incident had occurred. He agreed to testify also. I spent time on the phone with my Legal Aid attorney discussing what had happened and I sent her a copy of the incident log I had kept after the second time I saw him near where I worked. A week after my abuser was served, he and his lawyer offered the compromise of a "mutual restraining order", which I declined. Not only are such orders not found on any law books, but they are also difficult to enforce, since they assume a level playing field with abuse and harm on both sides. A friend who used to be a police officer warned me against agreeing, saying that the police wouldn't know who to believe if I called and reported a violation, unless they arrived on the scene and found me bleeding. I had already made up my mind not to accept their compromise; I did not do anything to harm my abuser and I was not going to say I had. My abuser had hired a private investigator who was calling friends and acquaintances from my hometown, trying to dig up things they could use against me. I felt violated.
In the run-up to the hearing, I admit that I didn't sleep well. I wasn't able to eat much, either, and as a result I felt tired and sick all the time. The night of July 12th was especially difficult, as I only slept for about three hours, and then spent the rest of the night wondering what in the world his attorney was going to try to do, what they could possibly use against me, and what lies my abuser might tell. I already knew my abuser to be unscrupulous and cruel; it seemed as if his attorney might be the same way. When I declined their offer of a mutual restraining order, my abuser’s attorney told my lawyer that he would “tear me apart on the witness stand”. Having already been torn apart by my abuser, I could only imagine how difficult it would be to face what his attorney would say to and about me.
Throughout the time between filing for the protective order and the day of the hearing, I often prayed. Sometimes, words wouldn't come, and I just sent my fears and hurts to God rather than sending supplications. I didn't know what to ask for, anyway. During my long, sleepless night on the 12th, I prayed that God's will would be done the next day, and that no matter what the outcome, I hoped that his Spirit and presence would be with me. It was all I felt I could ask for.
The morning of the 13th arrived and I was exhausted. I thank God for the support of my ex-husband, and my friends and co-workers who sat with me in the courtroom and offered their protection and their love. At different times during the day, they held my hand or put themselves between me and my abuser so he couldn’t watch me. Seeing him again was indescribably awful. His attorney pushed him to sit right next to me, but my friends would not allow it; instead, he sat nearby, behind me. After she realized what had happened, my attorney came over and said it would be okay if I moved, so we changed to the other side of the courtroom. There were so many cases being heard that day that we ended up having to return in the afternoon; even though I was scheduled to be heard at 9 am, it was 2 pm before we were sworn in and I had to take the witness stand.
If I had to describe the process of being grilled by a hostile man while the person who had hit and sexually assaulted me watched, I’d say it was like being raped all over again. He made terrible accusations – said I had been drunk and had hit my abuser, that I was the one who had committed assault. He said that I was a liar and untrustworthy. He tried to make the judge believe that I am mentally unstable and have a terrible temper -- to try to prove this, he brought out a two-inch thick sheaf of papers that were print-outs of my Facebook entries going all the way back to November 2009. There was no facet of my life that they left unexamined. He said that I was only doing this to hurt my abuser because I was angry that he had left me -- totally untrue, as I was the one who ended the relationship. I answered all his questions truthfully, even the ones that made me sick, the ones that meant admitting that I had done things I wasn’t proud of. But I had sworn to tell the truth, and I told the truth. I was on the stand for an hour, and during that time, I had to read aloud letters that I had written that were glowing character references for the man who had beaten and sexually assaulted me. The words tasted as bitter as ashes and they sickened me; my body shook and my voice trembled. Finally I was allowed to stop, and my witnesses were called. They told the truth also, and I was proud of the way they answered affirmatively without hesitating when the judge asked if they thought I was honest and trustworthy, especially my ex-husband. After they finished, it was my abuser’s turn to be questioned.
The sound of his voice cut me to pieces. I put my head down and tried to cover my ears. I couldn’t bear to look at him and it was easy to close my eyes, but it was impossible to shut out his words and the things he said and the lies he told. When my attorney cross examined him, he began to stumble, and that is when his lies started to catch up with him. Among other things, his denial of having called me after January 2nd was easily disproved by a quick glance through my telephone records. His insistence that he had only visited my workplace because of the Christian bookstore located there was shot down by his own witness, who happily admitted that they often went to the bookstore together; when asked which bookstore, she told the court they visited Books-a-Million and that he always bought Christian devotionals there. In the end, the judge granted my order. I won.
Maybe I should have cheered, but all I could do was sit there and cry. I can’t describe the relief I felt, but I also felt so broken. Smiles and celebrations came later, but at that moment when the judge said I had proved my character and honesty and my abuser had not, all I could do was put my face in my hands and let the tears roll. I don’t know how my abuser reacted, and truthfully, I don’t care. In the grand scheme of things, it just doesn’t matter. Right now, several days later, I am certain he is raging, thinking of me and what he can do to get revenge. I know him very well and I know the way he thinks. He doesn’t just let go of things. I understand that the order of protection is just a piece of paper – it might make it easier for the police to understand the situation if they are ever called to respond, but it doesn’t really protect me. In the end, I am the only one who can really physically protect me, no matter where I am or who I’m with.
I still don’t know what’s going to happen. I suppose he can appeal the decision, which will mean another day of hell in the same room with the man who sexually and physically assaulted me. Or he might try another tactic to get even. He’s threatened that kind of thing before, too. Either way, I’ll just have to be as strong as I can and get through it the best way I can. Sometimes we lose - my experience with this man was one of those times. But sometimes we win - and even when the victories are small, they are meaningful. Sure, it would have been better if I had reported his abuse at the time. It would have been smarter, and he would have faced criminal prosecution. I made a choice not to report, and I regret that choice more than I can say. Another loss for me, another victory for him. Most of our relationship was that way - and he seemed to feel most victorious when he was able to cause me pain.
On Tuesday, July 13, I experienced a little victory. God was with me, he did not allow me to be moved.
~ Psalm 46 (NKJV)
Tuesday, July 13th, was the date of my hearing. I had been working toward and preparing for that day since May 28th, the day I filed for my order of protection from my abuser. I had been re-reading my journal - though my memory of what he had done to me didn't really need refreshing. I searched through months of phone records and painstakingly marked each call that occurred after the day I'd left him, when I’d asked him not to be in contact with me again. I spoke with co-workers until I found one who'd seen and recognized his car in the parking lot at work on several different occasions - two of those times, he had actually seen my abuser driving the car and was willing to testify to that in court. I wracked my brain to think of anyone I knew who might have seen me with bruises and cuts on my face and then remembered that my ex-husband had commented on the injuries when I'd picked up my daughters, less than 20 hours after the last incident had occurred. He agreed to testify also. I spent time on the phone with my Legal Aid attorney discussing what had happened and I sent her a copy of the incident log I had kept after the second time I saw him near where I worked. A week after my abuser was served, he and his lawyer offered the compromise of a "mutual restraining order", which I declined. Not only are such orders not found on any law books, but they are also difficult to enforce, since they assume a level playing field with abuse and harm on both sides. A friend who used to be a police officer warned me against agreeing, saying that the police wouldn't know who to believe if I called and reported a violation, unless they arrived on the scene and found me bleeding. I had already made up my mind not to accept their compromise; I did not do anything to harm my abuser and I was not going to say I had. My abuser had hired a private investigator who was calling friends and acquaintances from my hometown, trying to dig up things they could use against me. I felt violated.
In the run-up to the hearing, I admit that I didn't sleep well. I wasn't able to eat much, either, and as a result I felt tired and sick all the time. The night of July 12th was especially difficult, as I only slept for about three hours, and then spent the rest of the night wondering what in the world his attorney was going to try to do, what they could possibly use against me, and what lies my abuser might tell. I already knew my abuser to be unscrupulous and cruel; it seemed as if his attorney might be the same way. When I declined their offer of a mutual restraining order, my abuser’s attorney told my lawyer that he would “tear me apart on the witness stand”. Having already been torn apart by my abuser, I could only imagine how difficult it would be to face what his attorney would say to and about me.
Throughout the time between filing for the protective order and the day of the hearing, I often prayed. Sometimes, words wouldn't come, and I just sent my fears and hurts to God rather than sending supplications. I didn't know what to ask for, anyway. During my long, sleepless night on the 12th, I prayed that God's will would be done the next day, and that no matter what the outcome, I hoped that his Spirit and presence would be with me. It was all I felt I could ask for.
The morning of the 13th arrived and I was exhausted. I thank God for the support of my ex-husband, and my friends and co-workers who sat with me in the courtroom and offered their protection and their love. At different times during the day, they held my hand or put themselves between me and my abuser so he couldn’t watch me. Seeing him again was indescribably awful. His attorney pushed him to sit right next to me, but my friends would not allow it; instead, he sat nearby, behind me. After she realized what had happened, my attorney came over and said it would be okay if I moved, so we changed to the other side of the courtroom. There were so many cases being heard that day that we ended up having to return in the afternoon; even though I was scheduled to be heard at 9 am, it was 2 pm before we were sworn in and I had to take the witness stand.
If I had to describe the process of being grilled by a hostile man while the person who had hit and sexually assaulted me watched, I’d say it was like being raped all over again. He made terrible accusations – said I had been drunk and had hit my abuser, that I was the one who had committed assault. He said that I was a liar and untrustworthy. He tried to make the judge believe that I am mentally unstable and have a terrible temper -- to try to prove this, he brought out a two-inch thick sheaf of papers that were print-outs of my Facebook entries going all the way back to November 2009. There was no facet of my life that they left unexamined. He said that I was only doing this to hurt my abuser because I was angry that he had left me -- totally untrue, as I was the one who ended the relationship. I answered all his questions truthfully, even the ones that made me sick, the ones that meant admitting that I had done things I wasn’t proud of. But I had sworn to tell the truth, and I told the truth. I was on the stand for an hour, and during that time, I had to read aloud letters that I had written that were glowing character references for the man who had beaten and sexually assaulted me. The words tasted as bitter as ashes and they sickened me; my body shook and my voice trembled. Finally I was allowed to stop, and my witnesses were called. They told the truth also, and I was proud of the way they answered affirmatively without hesitating when the judge asked if they thought I was honest and trustworthy, especially my ex-husband. After they finished, it was my abuser’s turn to be questioned.
The sound of his voice cut me to pieces. I put my head down and tried to cover my ears. I couldn’t bear to look at him and it was easy to close my eyes, but it was impossible to shut out his words and the things he said and the lies he told. When my attorney cross examined him, he began to stumble, and that is when his lies started to catch up with him. Among other things, his denial of having called me after January 2nd was easily disproved by a quick glance through my telephone records. His insistence that he had only visited my workplace because of the Christian bookstore located there was shot down by his own witness, who happily admitted that they often went to the bookstore together; when asked which bookstore, she told the court they visited Books-a-Million and that he always bought Christian devotionals there. In the end, the judge granted my order. I won.
Maybe I should have cheered, but all I could do was sit there and cry. I can’t describe the relief I felt, but I also felt so broken. Smiles and celebrations came later, but at that moment when the judge said I had proved my character and honesty and my abuser had not, all I could do was put my face in my hands and let the tears roll. I don’t know how my abuser reacted, and truthfully, I don’t care. In the grand scheme of things, it just doesn’t matter. Right now, several days later, I am certain he is raging, thinking of me and what he can do to get revenge. I know him very well and I know the way he thinks. He doesn’t just let go of things. I understand that the order of protection is just a piece of paper – it might make it easier for the police to understand the situation if they are ever called to respond, but it doesn’t really protect me. In the end, I am the only one who can really physically protect me, no matter where I am or who I’m with.
I still don’t know what’s going to happen. I suppose he can appeal the decision, which will mean another day of hell in the same room with the man who sexually and physically assaulted me. Or he might try another tactic to get even. He’s threatened that kind of thing before, too. Either way, I’ll just have to be as strong as I can and get through it the best way I can. Sometimes we lose - my experience with this man was one of those times. But sometimes we win - and even when the victories are small, they are meaningful. Sure, it would have been better if I had reported his abuse at the time. It would have been smarter, and he would have faced criminal prosecution. I made a choice not to report, and I regret that choice more than I can say. Another loss for me, another victory for him. Most of our relationship was that way - and he seemed to feel most victorious when he was able to cause me pain.
On Tuesday, July 13, I experienced a little victory. God was with me, he did not allow me to be moved.
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