I see my frown in the reflection of my phone. I hear your voice “you’re a miserable cunt”. I try to upturn it into a forced smile. It doesn’t look right.
Today was a doozy. This week was a doozy. Hell the past three months, 10 years, 20 years have been pretty fucked. Yes, there have been moments of joy, pride, laughter, fun, beauty, passion, excitement - but the stress, heartbreak, anxiety, frustration - sure has made me into a miserable cunt, as you might say. It’s not a constant. But how is one to find joy when stuck in a cycle of stress and survival.
It’s been just over 3 months, 90 days, since we last saw each other, since you last saw or spoke to our daughter. It was a real shitty send-off. You on top of me, pinned down, screaming, stomping, slamming, hands on my chest, thrown to the ground on the floor of our daughter’s room, off her bed. I didn’t react, I froze, I watched you, waiting to see what’d you’d do next. I knew if I fought back you’d really hurt me. It was like tunnel vision. I didn’t hear a word you said as you screamed at the top of your lungs.
When it ended, when you got off of me and retreated to our bedroom, I ran downstairs to check on our daughter. She wasn’t where I had left her just a few moments before - sitting at the table eating dinner. I called out her name, she didn’t answer, I looked in the playroom, glanced in the bathroom, I called her name again, looked in the playroom again, out the front door, came back and found her hiding in the bathroom, on the floor between the toilet and the tub. I scooped her up and began packing. I went back upstairs past the room you were in, to the room you assaulted me in, our daughter’s bedroom. I grabbed bun bun and owl. I didn’t know how long we’d be gone or where we’d go, but I know she’d need them. Back downstairs trying to grab things quietly, pack, console, answer questions, I heard you upstairs. I hid our bag. You came downstairs with a laundry basket full of clothes and walked out the front door without a word to either of us. I kept packing. We left 10 minutes later. You texted a few hours later saying you were coming back. I told you we left and wouldn’t be back for a couple days, that we couldn’t be in the same space. You crossed a line. You asked if I called the cops on you. I hadn’t at that point. I spent the night sleepless, looking out windows, calling DV hotlines, consoling a scared 7 year old. I couldn’t get the image of her hiding out of my head, of your hands throwing me across the hall and onto her bed, of you on top of me, shaking me, hands on my chest, throwing me to the ground. I said out loud “he assaulted me, that was assault”.
It wasn’t the first time you put hands on me, but it was the worst. It was terrifying. I called the police to see what my options were for documenting the abuse, having a record in case it happened again. Jokes on me, right then and there I lost all control. The lady cop on the other line backed me into a corner, threatened me “there’s a child involved, if you don’t make a report I will”, asked me your name, I refused, starting searching “I’ll find him either way”. I told her I needed time to process and still had questions. She gave me 30 minutes to call who I needed to and then said she’d call the sheriffs office in 30 minutes and if I hadn’t made the call she’d report me too. So helpful.
I made the call, I met with the officer, had pictures taken of the fingerprint bruises on my arms, told him what happened. I told him I didn’t want to ruin your life, that it was scary, I just wanted it documented, that I couldn’t get the picture of our daughter hiding out of my head. He said that the state takes DV very seriously, that he’d be going to the house to interview and most likely be arresting you. It was out of my hands. A DHHS referral would be made. You were arrested, in and out within an hour, $60 bail.
I was left to pick up the pieces. Process the assault, the abuse, process the trauma witnessed by our daughter. Answer the hard questions. Meet with DV advocates, deal with CPS, have forensic interviews done on our daughter in her playroom. How fucked. Tell her teacher/guidance counsellor what went on. Try to get her into counselling. To wipe her tears, to wipe my own. To process the trauma and the grief all in one, for both of us. Go to work, then have to take off work the rest of the week to deal with CPS, and then care for our sick daughter. It was a whirlwind, and a nightmare. Here we are 90 days later, again picking up ALL the pieces alone.
We were at the ER last night, got home at 4am. She’s sick for what feels like the millionth time the past few months. Like clockwork, every two weeks a new illness. Catching puke on Mother’s Day, coughing and fevered for April Vacation, illness after illness, all on top of working full time, juggling sports, Girl Scouts, the dog, the house, the house work, the finances. Texts from teachers about our daughter’s behavior at school. All on top of the grief of losing you, again. All on top of processing the assault, our past, our history. I’m at the end of my rope. The lawn mower wouldn’t start today. That was the straw. There’s been a million straws, but that was today’s. I cried, and cried, and cried.
I’ve got no village. No one to call to fix the lawnmower. No one to give me a break. I borrowed money from our daughter to get gas for the lawnmower that then still wouldn’t start. I’m running out of food and don’t get paid til Friday. I’m at the end of my rope. I never once asked you for child support, but the last 2 years you had finally stepped up and were helping out, equally contributing. That hurts even more. It had been “the best it had ever been”, or had it?
What happens next? Another court date coming up. Did you get your shit together and get a lawyer? Will these bail conditions stay in place for another three months while this gets drawn out. Will you continue to not try to see or talk to your child, even though she’s NOT named in the bail conditions? How do I continue to explain that to her. Do I get a lawyer, do I need to go to family court - get parental rights established, child support? What fucking life is this. I never envisioned this for myself, for my child. I cried for my mother today. I needed my mother today. I needed someone to step in and save me, to raise me up, to take care of me.
I’m doing the best I can. Today was hard. The urge to escape so strong. At 13 I used to cut, and cut, and slice the pain away, then it was drugs. I thought of all those things today, to escape. I tried to message for help. Hints for someone to come fix the lawnmower (because that is the issue! Haha). No one came. I called a friend in Idaho. I cried, we laughed. I rage posted arguing with homophobes on the Internet. I got distracted. Then I did the dishes, and made dinner, and fed the dog, and argued trying to get our daughter into jammies and ready for bed. I went on with life. Alone. Again. Ready to wake up tomorrow and start all over.
