He’s back, or more, correctly, he never left. PsychoStalker that is. My brother ran into him the other day. After the probation office called to inform me he’d been deported. My world is upside down. I had finally settled into a normal life.
I’m pissed at the justice system. I have the right, as a victim of a crime, to be kept informed. They never contacted me after that “he’s gone” call. Turns out, he never was gone, only briefly investigated.
I’m pissed at my country. We won’t let a starving kid from South America scrub toiliets but a European convicted of a crime gets to stay.
And I’m scarred. Logically I think that everyday that goes by without him returning to harm me or my kids means that we’re that much safer, that he’s that much less likely to ever bother us. Suddenly I feel very alone. It’s dark. The kids are in bed. And every time one of the cats (yes, there’s a new one…. but that post will have to wait) makes a noise I jump.
I went in and talked to our employee services lady today. I’m a mess. I can’t sleep. When exhaustion finally pulls me under I can’t wake up. I’m a zombie at work. It takes everything I have to keep it together until the kids are in bed. My fear feeds my exhaustion which feeds my fear. So, she tells me to have a friend come stay for a while so I can sleep and let someome else listen for The Bump for a while. But I don’t have anyone to ask. My friends have families of their own or else live a state (or more) away. But I do have plenty of people who keep an eye out for me, who stop and check, who know when something’s not right here.
It is probably just as well that I have no choice other than to fight this on my own. Really, nothing has changed. We are just as safe today as we were last week. It is only my knowledge that has changed. I never did bring myself to take the copy of the restraining order down. It’s still there. I almost did, just last week, and had this feeling that I wasn’t quite ready yet. In part because I’ve been having awful dreams about him the last few months. Dreams where I try to hold on to him long enough for my children to run to safety before he strangles me and I wake up just as I start to die with his hands around my neck.
But face this I will. If I live the rest of my life in fear then he’s won. The best revenge is to live well. And I will. But first I have to re-adjust, to learn to cope with a new reality. I can do this. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.