Yesterday was the second pretrial hearing of my ex (hereafter to be known as X). The second time that he got up in front of a judge and had his lawyer ask for a “continuance” (ie, more time) to come to an agreement on his case.
X has been charged with Assault and Unlawful Imprisonment. Or, domestic violence and kidnapping. Whatever you want to call it. The prosecutor in the case asked for him to be given 34 days in jail, fines totaling $1143.00, a criminal no contact order protecting me for two calendar years, a mandatory chemical dependency evaluation (and treatment if necessary) and the completion of domestic violence counseling.
In all likelihood, he will just end up paying the fines. It’s not that I want him to go to jail. No, that seems too dangerous of an outcome in a way. X would probably stew in his cell, reciting a constant mantra of that crazy bitch, that crazy fucking bitch. Perhaps he would come out even angrier at the world, at women, and at me.
No, it’s not jail time that I wish for him. It’s clarity of mind. It’s change of attitude and character – so that he won’t go on to hurt another woman. Another partner that he makes his whole world and swears his never-ending devotion to, that he tells is the most wonderful person he has ever met, that he is so proud of and wants to spend his life with…until she doesn’t live up to his perfect ideal of a subservient housewife who automatically knows how to make all of his favorite dishes perfectly. Who was practically a virgin until she met him, but is know well-schooled in how to please his needs and fit his every fantasy. Who is willing to put her own desires, beliefs, convictions – and even her own friends and family – aside for his.
I was never going to be that girl. And I think that the more that X got to know me, the angrier I made him. I wasn’t docile enough, innocent enough, selfless enough…and I had strong beliefs. Perhaps this was the worst thing of all. He once told me that I could NEVER teach our children about feminism.
Feminism, he said, was something he just did not like. When asked if he knew what it was, he became more volatile. X clearly did not have the slightest clue. But any time it became obvious to both of us that I was better educated than him, or that I was more knowledgeable about a certain subject, he would erupt into a state of rage and tell me how truly awful I was for “talking back” to him or for “making him look bad” in front of so-and-so.
There is so much that I want to say. And I don’t know that it is 100% safe for me to say it. But I am sure as hell that I need to say it – or this will just be one more story of domestic violence that goes unheard. One more sad tale of control and abuse that gets swept under the rug and forgotten – by everyone except the person who bears the scars, that is.
I need to repeat to myself: I am safe. I am loved. I will be okay. There is a good and happy future waiting. I do not need to feel this pain forever. I will not spend my life in fear of men. I will not let one angry, hurt man destroy my soul. I will not be controlled and abused. I will protect, support, and love myself. I will move on. I will be strong. I will find new and deeper strength each day.