Dirty Work

I remember thinking that as soon as I got out of the relationship I would be free. It seemed only logical that after I spent months being abused and belittled, and then had to somehow muster up the courage to leave him, the hard part would be over and done with. 

I don’t think the abuse affected me nearly as much as the stalking did. We broke up and I felt more trapped than I ever did when we were together because at least then I was the one choosing to stay involved. After we broke up he was determined to stay just as involved in my life, except now it was against my will. He lingered in common areas, watched me go to the bathroom, and stopped me when I tried to go back to my room. He watched out the window for my car, sent friends into my room to report back to him, and came to knock when he knew my roommates weren’t there. He trapped me into talking and repeated himself for hours, day after day. He said I was depressed: that he could tell from the way I was dressing and knew that I was skipping class. He said he would never let me go, that we would be together again, that he was going to kill himself and it was my fault. 

I went to my campus police, filed a report, and was able to later obtain a no-contact order. It said he couldn’t talk to me so he made sure to sit closer, and talk louder to everyone around me. I went home that summer with his number blocked and hoped that distance would bring me some sort of peace. He just found a way to communicate through someone else. One of the girls he was friends with was telling me all the things he journaled and all the notes he drafted, his plans to be everywhere I was the following year and to never let me go. 

My entire life everyone has told me how mature I am. I had never been in a situation where I felt that I wasn’t old enough to handle it. At nineteen I stood in front of a courtroom and thought I am too young to be here. I thought no teenage girl should have to stand next to her lawyer and explain to a bunch of strangers why she is scared to go to school next year. No teenage girl should need a court-ordered document to prove that she is unsafe. No teenage girl should have to wonder if her story of abuse will be believed. No teenage girl should be afraid she doesn't have enough physical proof for the justice system to make the decision that keeps her safe. 

I was lucky the order passed, but it only lasts for a year. They essentially told me that the abuse I went through wasn’t enough for the court to renew it after that; it would have been different if he hit me. I was devastated when that year passed. Heartbroken that the only thing I had truly protecting me just vanished into thin air. I was lucky that my fears remained fears without turning into realities, but nothing changes the horror of being in that courtroom and listening to him deny all the things he did to me. 

We learn that trauma is a lingering thing, that hurt is not easy to fix, and that healing is a long process. No one tells you that sometimes you think the hard part is over when it’s really just beginning. I think the only thing harder than experiencing a trauma, is realizing that you have trauma from it. Like everything else though, it’s something we learn to live through; I didn’t think I could last through the nightmares and flashbacks, but before that I didn't think I could survive the court process, and before that I didn’t think I could get out of the relationship. Now I look back and they’re all just things I lived through. This is one of those topics where I wish I could tell you a magical way to cheat the system, turn off your feelings, and make it not hurt. I can’t. But I can tell you that you don’t have to know how you’re going to make it through in order to make it through; you just will. It’s hard and it hurts, but nothing is stronger than your will. For all the tough times that get tougher, know you are strong enough and know we are here with you.