It will be a year soon since my husband, a retired trooper, wreaked his final calling cards on my body and soul. Since I am an older victim, I have been slow to heal from the loss of my teeth, injured limbs and herniated discs. The past year has been one of surgeries and countless visits to doctors and therapists repairing the damage he has created. The injuries to my trusting heart will take even longer.
I have learned much: especially about the injustice in our courts regarding domestic violence involving a police officer — where I was humiliated by his criminal defense attorney, labeled a liar and a mental nut case; where he was able to lie his way out of the assault charges. He was absolved by the court of the charges and continued his career in law enforcement. When I limped out of the courtroom on my crutches, he laughed at me and my attempts to hold him accountable.
I've come to know: there is little protection and support for victims like me. My complaints fall on deaf ears. The court advocate no longer calls; I was alone to deal with the aftermath of the verdict and my abuser's revenge for the public exposure. I am perceived by our former friends as an informer and outsider in the police family. I've experienced the tightening of the circle. His fellow officers no longer speak to me.
I understand now: why women in my circumstances are afraid to file charges and remain silent. An order of protection is worth very little and is seen as an act of aggression, adding to his vengefulness and promise to 'get me.' The repercussions are overwhelming and the courts put you on trial for his crimes.
I have lost much: a diminished capacity to work at my own job in law enforcement forced me to resign my position. I have ongoing legal fees to defend myself against his false allegations and phony orders of harassment. I am constantly sidestepping his attempts to entrap and get me arrested. Friends have distanced themselves from my situation because of his actions toward them. Worst of all: the isolation from my family who out of fear will not support me.
In conclusion: I still live in fear, not knowing his whereabouts and when he will strike again; always ready with my bags packed to leave at a moment's notice. He does not allow me to forget he is still out there waiting. In the meantime, I'm waiting for the day I can walk again with the sun on my face without looking over my shoulder. Anniversaries are painful though enlightening as I begin to see a glimmer of what my life could be like when I'm well again and hopefully free of this man.
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