Tuesday the 13th

I sit with my legs across my lover on the front porch of our house. The day is overcast and the birds are melodically overzealous. My back has the slightest ache as it awkwardly curves between the swinging bench’s arms and my worn-out pillow. I’m two cups of coffee in and entirely unsure where to begin. 

It’s a quarter past eleven in the morning, and I’ve been home for a half hour or so. I spent the morning in the shower singing to tunes from Fearless (Taylor’s Version) and dressing myself as if I were a 90s alt kid gone too soft in the heart. My anxieties accompanied me on the drive to the justice building, where a court date was set in courtroom 4b for nine fifteen am. I parked blocks away, as to retain privacy with my motor vehicle model and license plate, and walked into the courtroom about five minutes late. To my surprise, the fourth floor was bustling with people filing orders of protections, awaiting their hearings and chit-chatting with their attorneys. I sat quietly—still in thought and body.

I had been waiting for weeks onto months onto years for this moment. And from the time of filing the oder on April 1st, I was anticipating a swift resolve to the torment caused by my abuser. When the time came for the hearing to proceed, the judge deflected the gravitas of my account on the basis that the events transpired nearly two years prior; and the other details were too vague in their dateless account. Before I knew it, I was being told there was no ‘immediate need’ for an order of protection to be granted and, in my defense of the harassment of my close friends and family, was told that I was not directly involved… even as each instance was to, in turn, become in contact with me, those closest to me, and to proceed with baseless accusations with the intent to further torment me and my wellbeing.  I rolled my eyes, bated my breath, and left gracelessly.

I journeyed then to my good friend working in a café downtown and grabbed an iced americano, a raspberry croissant (whose jelly then stained my checkered pants) and scurried on home with an iced breve for my love. My mind ran in circles through the events of the past year and a half. How did I end up here, still on the run from my attacker? Still on the run after the handful of spam [Instagram] accounts—created by him—messaged me with malicious intent… still on the run after finding solidarity with his exes through the shared traumas by the same abuser… still on the run after several of his friends have, in the time since, admitted his insanity and personally distanced themselves from the spiral of his destruction… still on the run after filing an order of protection—only for it to be dismissed due to my ‘irrational’ fear of being contacted, harassed, or attacked again by this same abuser. [In the time since the hearing, there has been an expletive remark made against my mother and I have been personally harassed via email.]

As I tired my mind with the occurrences throughout the month of March (his appearance at my 2019 address on March 8th to harass the current residents; his harassment of my friend downtown—and subsequent permanent ban on all of said company’s properties; his appearance at an ex-friend’s new apartment; his countless messages to my friends, partner, and family), I embraced a newfound peace. Legally speaking, I do still feel ‘on the run’ by this abuser. But emotionally and mentally speaking—I no longer am.

I have spent the greater part of the past two and a half years in therapy. Allocating help across trauma and talk therapy and psychiatry. I’ve processed and addressed a lot and, admittedly, still have more work to do; but no longer feel held captive by the hands of this abuser.

I am dismayed and disappointed at the outcome of the hearing today. It’s wrong—and quite ironic—to call it a ‘hearing’ when there was no moment to be heard. But instead of allowing this to disenfranchise my truth, set back my recovery, or fuel a more fiery attack… I have chosen to let these events go. 

Let my story be known, and heed this as a warning: the hearing may not have been in my favor—but I will not be silenced.