desiderata310
VIP Member
I called the women's shelter today. I have the papers necessary to file for a restraining order.
When I called at 9 am this morning I was about scared out of my mind at the thought of just TALKING to someone about all this, let alone moving forward with it. I thought I was making an appointment to go in and see someone. Instead, the lady insisted that she talk to me on the phone, determined that my case would be suitable for a restraining order and then took my information. She took my statement over the phone. It was one of the most miserable and triggering experiences I've been through. She would ask me questions and I would have to explain how things would go from fun to scary and painful and from loving to hateful. Details of what happened in the course of an attack. The details of what happened our last night together. How we made the escape. Etc etc etc.
I was majorly triggered.
I held through while she typed this all up. Then she had to read it back to me. I died again.
Finally 1 hour and 50 minutes later I got off the phone. She was having me drive over to their headquarters so I could pick up the paperwork, sign and get further instructions.
The offices of the women's shelter is tucked back in a warehouse district. There was a calm feeling upon entering the waiting room which was essentially a windowed room locked off from the rest of the office. There was a buzzer at the door. Inside there was a huge black lab loafing around.
I pressed the buzzer and waited tensely.
The lady who was expecting met me at the door and ushered me in. She made a grab for the labrador. Was I scared of dogs? No, I explained I was actually quite happy to see him. My first thought was that he was a guard dog. I smiled for the first time that day as I petted "Blue" someone's pet they had brought in for the day.
I followed the shelter worker into an office with the same open airy feeling. "It's all good" in big raised letters were mounted above the window to the hallway. The worker I was talking to has children: their pictures lined the cork board above the desk, Above the cabinets of the shared office were the posters of the women's shelter "Beat the punch" posters lined the high area by the ceiling.
Focus. Yes, I'm ok for now. Safe.
"I'm so glad you came in"
I didn't really want to find myself here at all so that makes one of us. How the hell am I supposed to react to that?
She asked me more about what had happened. I heaved a sigh and started to recount the story. She didn't want everything. Just a way to open the conversation? She had the paperwork ready. She told me I would have to read through it again to validate that what was written was correct.
Oh god.
I read through my narrative of what and why again. I broke down.
"What are you feeling?"
What am I feeling?! Miserable. Sick. You read this! You know what's happened to me. I'm embarrassed, I'm weak.
"You're so brave."
NO! DO NOT f*ckING SAY THAT TO ME! You know what I am? I am scared. I've been living with fear. THIS is just a different fear. I am afraid. I have been afraid. I am not brave. I came here out of fear because the old fear is no longer acceptable. I'm not brave. I am afraid. I want the fear to end. I want my life to be peaceful and happy. I don't want to wake up in a cold sweat anymore. I don't want to be able to feel my heart beating faster and harder every time I hear the phone ring or a email message go off. You know what is going to happen when I file this and the sheriff's office serves him? He will go into a rage. He will become unpredictable. I am MORE scared at the thought of doing this. I am doing this because I can't go on in the other form of fear. I am NOT BRAVE. I am a f*ckING COWARD.
Signed the papers. Got the information on how to file. I have to do that on my own.
I'm exhausted.
My therapist said he would call today to check in on me.
No call.
f*ck it any way.
When I called at 9 am this morning I was about scared out of my mind at the thought of just TALKING to someone about all this, let alone moving forward with it. I thought I was making an appointment to go in and see someone. Instead, the lady insisted that she talk to me on the phone, determined that my case would be suitable for a restraining order and then took my information. She took my statement over the phone. It was one of the most miserable and triggering experiences I've been through. She would ask me questions and I would have to explain how things would go from fun to scary and painful and from loving to hateful. Details of what happened in the course of an attack. The details of what happened our last night together. How we made the escape. Etc etc etc.
I was majorly triggered.
I held through while she typed this all up. Then she had to read it back to me. I died again.
Finally 1 hour and 50 minutes later I got off the phone. She was having me drive over to their headquarters so I could pick up the paperwork, sign and get further instructions.
The offices of the women's shelter is tucked back in a warehouse district. There was a calm feeling upon entering the waiting room which was essentially a windowed room locked off from the rest of the office. There was a buzzer at the door. Inside there was a huge black lab loafing around.
I pressed the buzzer and waited tensely.
The lady who was expecting met me at the door and ushered me in. She made a grab for the labrador. Was I scared of dogs? No, I explained I was actually quite happy to see him. My first thought was that he was a guard dog. I smiled for the first time that day as I petted "Blue" someone's pet they had brought in for the day.
I followed the shelter worker into an office with the same open airy feeling. "It's all good" in big raised letters were mounted above the window to the hallway. The worker I was talking to has children: their pictures lined the cork board above the desk, Above the cabinets of the shared office were the posters of the women's shelter "Beat the punch" posters lined the high area by the ceiling.
Focus. Yes, I'm ok for now. Safe.
"I'm so glad you came in"
I didn't really want to find myself here at all so that makes one of us. How the hell am I supposed to react to that?
She asked me more about what had happened. I heaved a sigh and started to recount the story. She didn't want everything. Just a way to open the conversation? She had the paperwork ready. She told me I would have to read through it again to validate that what was written was correct.
Oh god.
I read through my narrative of what and why again. I broke down.
"What are you feeling?"
What am I feeling?! Miserable. Sick. You read this! You know what's happened to me. I'm embarrassed, I'm weak.
"You're so brave."
NO! DO NOT f*ckING SAY THAT TO ME! You know what I am? I am scared. I've been living with fear. THIS is just a different fear. I am afraid. I have been afraid. I am not brave. I came here out of fear because the old fear is no longer acceptable. I'm not brave. I am afraid. I want the fear to end. I want my life to be peaceful and happy. I don't want to wake up in a cold sweat anymore. I don't want to be able to feel my heart beating faster and harder every time I hear the phone ring or a email message go off. You know what is going to happen when I file this and the sheriff's office serves him? He will go into a rage. He will become unpredictable. I am MORE scared at the thought of doing this. I am doing this because I can't go on in the other form of fear. I am NOT BRAVE. I am a f*ckING COWARD.
Signed the papers. Got the information on how to file. I have to do that on my own.
I'm exhausted.
My therapist said he would call today to check in on me.
No call.
f*ck it any way.
