Abuse of Power

THE clearinghouse on police-perpetrated domestic violence

...our need to be heard is overcoming our fear

Shelter Life

The windows are locked, the curtains are drawn, the cameras survey the grounds. Phone calls cause alarm and are carefully screened.

This is much like I imagine prison life would be, only I am the Victim — not the assailant. I no longer have an address, my own clothes or my car.

As I entered the Shelter I entered a world very different from the one I left. The shelter was full of strangers, but as I looked around I saw women just like myself. Afraid, confused, shell-shocked.

I was in a world I knew nothing about. The pain of remembering my home was just too much at times. Memories of napping on my couch in the afternoon with the sunlight warming me through the windows. Walking through my garden in the summer. Or just hearing the crickets as I drifted off to sleep by an open, unlocked window. That was before him of course. I would beg God not to let me remember too much — I would surely end my life if I thought too much. "Please don't let anything remind me of home," I would pray.

The life I left behind is out of my hands. For the time being this will be my life. All because he refuses to let go. All because I made the decision to be free. (If I can call locked doors, dark windows, and no identity being "free".) But I was, at least, safe for the time being - I hoped.

I left my family, my friends, my home, my garden, and my dog. I can no longer walk out to the mailbox to get my mail. I don't get mail. I remember that I no longer have an address.

At times the memories of my life before him are overwhelming and I think I can no longer stand it. I miss the simple things of my previous life — like privacy and freedom.

Even though my Stalker was arrested and said, "Yes, your Honor, I am guilty," the Judge didn't put him in jail. The Judge didn't take away his freedom. He took away mine. My batterer went back to being a police officer. Like nothing had ever happened. But I will never go back to a normal life again. I will forever be looking over my shoulder.

After a day or two at the shelter, I began to realize that I was finally safe — safe in a new world. The people here wanted to help me. Some put their own lives on the line to protect strangers like me.

It was safe there, no one expected me to get up, get dressed or even eat. I was able to take the very large world I had once lived in and turn it into a tiny place where I could exist. Where I could finally feel safe — my world, I could breathe there, for then anyway, and I longed to stay there. I would not have survived being "The Victim" if it were not for that wonderful place.

Words could no longer hurt me, fists no longer discolored my skin. I could sleep without fear, at times anyway. That place I existed in was safe for me, I was in a dream-like cocoon where I could curl up in bed like a child as the sunrise faded into sunset without any acknowledgement from me. Where morning, noon and nighttime all blended into a blur of sleep, awakening and then back into darkness. The pills helped and sometimes the alcohol to provide the numb feeling I needed in order to take another breath.

I was immune, for awhile from the lies, the lawyers, prosecutors and finally the Judge who would decide if it really happened or not. At times I awoke and for a moment, I could not remember where I was, but reality soon set in and as I looked around I would see that I was not in my own home. But I was safe. Safe here in this tiny room with the beige colored walls and the locked windows and door. I couldn't walk on the floor here and feel the soft carpet of my home beneath my feet, but I was safe. I was many miles away from him and only my "new friends" were aware I was here, and they would never tell. I had no address, no job, and very little money.

The first time I went to the "Group" I sat there on that old worn couch, where many women had sat before me, and many have sat since. I was nestled between women I had never met, but we were bonded by our similar experiences.

I listened as the stories were told, one by one, all the same, my words, fears and thoughts repeated over and over without me even speaking. It was not until that moment that I realized I was finally free to speak out loud and no one here would doubt me. It was also the first time I actually thought of myself as a victim.

Listening to those brave women speak, I could accept the title "victim" without guilt and without fear. As the meeting came to a close we stood in a circle, held each others' hands and said a prayer for strength. Strength to stay free.

That was my existence after the escape. It was what I needed, my time with the women from the "Group," my time with people who knew and understood what had happened to me. But as much as I wanted to stay there forever, I knew I could not. Soon it would be time to leave the shelter, but I could stay long enough to gather up the courage and strength to fight back.

Because of those women I was no longer a defeated shell of a person. Because of the strength of my sisters I was and am able to fight back. And I will, if not for me, for them. I was in fact too strong to let him destroy me as he had told me he would.

When I think about those women now, I wonder where they all are. But you don't leave a forwarding. You just say goodbye. Many times I want to go looking for the women I met in that group but some must not be found, or even want to be found.

I left the shelter carrying in my purse the constant reminders of my new life — copies of my restraining order, police cards with cell phone numbers and a physical description of my batterer / stalker - just in case. The questions haunt me —"What do I do now? Where do I go from here?"

Yes, life is different now.