Why am I in tears again? I called my mom and amazingly she listened to me, and we talked for half an hour. My tears are now dry. She can be the mom I need her to be, if I really need her. She’s there for me. I have to remember that. I have to remember that my family loves me even though I live far away from them in a different city, and I don’t connect often with them. I want to stay in this city because, although it’s the same city which my ex-abuser lives in, it’s the city I have known for so many years and I have a lot of connections to it. And my dear therapist is here and I still cannot imagine ever leaving him. He tells me that even when I’m not with him, a part of him is with me. Everything that he has taught me over the years remains a part of my present self. The better part of me.
I called my grandfather for Father’s Day. He is hard of hearing. I had to repeat myself several times. I don’t know if he knows that my marriage was abusive. I told him today that I spoke with the DDA and that my case cannot move forward. He has his own opinions and said that, “unfortunately lawyers exploit the innocent.” That couldn’t be further from the truth. My attorney was kind and respectful, and did absolutely everything in her power to do what she could with my case. She spent hours and days going over the written material of my case, and hours talking with her supervisor, before they decided together that my case couldn’t move forward. Damn it! I want justice!! And I’m not going to get it. He is free to abuse other women. But as my mother said, I did what I could to protect other women. I came forward and the legal system heard my voice. I got a fair hearing.
I have to make this short as I’m meeting with a new female friend of mine to study for the GRE. At this rate, studying once a week, I’m not going to make it into graduate school. My mind has been 90% occupied with the prospect of my abuse case moving forward. It’s all I could think about. This friend now knows of my story, the whole thing. It took three hours one Sunday afternoon to tell her all of the details, and she just listened, non-judgmentally. I know I’m not supposed to tell anyone at work, to have word get out, but when I spent some personal time with a co-worker after-hours I figured I trust her enough and just told her about what I did this week, reporting the abuse case to the DDA. She said she won’t talk about it to anyone at work, and I hope this will be the case. She has no reason to. I would like to develop more of a personal relationship with her. Particularly because both of us don’t plan on staying at our jobs at the company forever. It would be nice to make another female friend. I want to surround myself with female friends, and gain strength from those relationships. I am not feeling strong today.
I know I already said this, but I spent 22 hours in bed. Now it’s the next day and I woke up before noon. I made myself coffee with my Italian stove top espresso-maker called a “moca” which every Italian household has. I bought the coffee grounds and they have to be kept in the fridge, for some reason. I sweetened the black coffee with cane sugar, and likely will have another coffee in an hour when I meet my friend to study. Coffee just doesn’t have a strong effect on me. I can do with it or without it, either way, though I prefer it remains a part of my daily life.
I don’t have a TV. I’ve been entertaining myself on my phone, scrolling through Facebook and Twitter posts. I love discovering that a new person has decided to follow me on Twitter, or that someone on WordPress has “liked” my post. I then go to that person’s blog and read about them. I have discovered that a few of my followers are sexual abuse survivors too. Not victims, but survivors. It’s horrifying to read their abuse stories, but I can also identify with every horrific detail that they describe in their accounts. And because I want to become a counselor one day, and deal with these stories on a daily basis by helping other victims of abuse, I figure I might as well expose myself to some of the stories now. All stories come in different shapes and sizes, as do women. We are different ages, at different points in our lives. But we suffer a common theme of mental illness induced by trauma, and we will have to deal with this for the rest of our lives. I want to make someone’s journey easier. The priest who took me on as a daughter four years ago, for two years before he moved to a different state, said that he let another young woman know of my blog. She is a teacher and had witnessed a child being abused, and has dealt with it in self-destructive ways. In reading my blog she realized she is not alone. That is enough in and of itself, to motivate me to continue writing. I hope my words resonate with others, that they can identify with me and my struggles, my hopes and my aspirations, and not look up to me, but look forward with me.