The "Victim" ... victim, something I never wanted to be labeled. But this was the title given to me by the media as the result of his arrest. Seeing the newspaper stories with his name spelled out and me referred to only as "The Victim" was kind of surreal.
I had lost my identity once again. The first time was during my life with him, and now after my final escape. Strangely enough, I never thought of myself as a victim. I was strong and I was tough, or so I thought. I had almost pulled off that life without anyone knowing what was happening to me.
That couldn't have been me hiding the injuries, or me nailing the doors shut that night in case he came to fulfill his promise to kill me. It must have been someone else's life, somebody I read about.
No, it was not someone else's life, it was mine. It was my writings in my journal of that life. It was my proof. And that had been me standing in the courtroom reading my victim's impact statement with him some three feet away. Those were my words, my fears, and those are my nightmares.
I remember my first night at the Domestic Violence Group. I sat there on that old worn couch, where many had sat before me, and many have sat since. I was nestled between women I had never met but we were bonded by 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.
I guess the title of "Victim" does apply. It describes a life of fear, injuries, intimidation, but most of all it describes a life of overwhelming sadness.
One desperate night when the memories were just too much, I thought of slipping beneath the dark murky water of the bay. But, somewhere deep inside me there was still a tiny flicker of life, of hope. As I reached down to touch the water, I suddenly felt the warmth of women from the group at the shelter. They held me close. Within their embrace I found the courage to hang on to life awhile longer.
That began my journey back to the real world. Back to face the lies, lawyers and the Judges. But I knew when I turned and walked away from the waters of the bay that night I would fight not only for me but also for all the Victims of Domestic Violence and Stalking. And I did. I was no longer "The Victim" but "The Survivor."
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