I'm a victim?

Today I put the finishing touches on my domestic violence statement documenting my ex's pattern of abuse both when we were married and now since my children and I have moved to the great state of Texas.

I never realized how much evidence I had. I have a giant, thick manila envelope sitting on my desk ready to go- just as soon as I record him on the phone being his mean dirty vulgar self, I pop the tape into the envelope and send it off to the local police department, to the Criminal Investigations Unit. The phone conversation I'm not looking forward to but on the other hand, I am looking forward to sending everything in and being done with it all. All I have to do is sit back and let the cops and the DA do their work. I hope it amounts to something. I hope it's enough. I hope this works. If it does, I'd very much like to file for sole custody of the kids and pray that he gets stuck with supervised visits. After all he's done and having already been court ordered to anger management classes, maybe they'll see he's a volatile mess who shouldn't be allowed to pass on his disease to the next generation the way his abusive father passed his illness onto my ex. For the sake of someone's daughters who will someday be my sons' girlfriends or spouses, I hope so.

The weirdest thing in putting this all together is I didn't realize I was a victim of domestic violence until now. I thought my ex was just a huge colossal jerk- but it's so much more than that. Reading through all this stuff about verbal and emotional abuse and recognizing it dead on was very scary. I'm not a dumb person, you know. But it's hard to tell what is verbal abuse and what is just someone being angry and saying mean things- but there really is a pattern. And I can't believe I got stuck in it.

On the other hand, my first memory of even being alive involved my dad and mom fighting- my dad literally battering my mother- so I guess it's no surprise I walked back into it on my own. I guess I didn't really recognize it because there was no hitting. But the things my ex said and the way he made me feel- I wish he would have just hit me instead. I've had nothing to do with him since we split. But when he starts his hatred over the phone, it's like I instantly transport back in time to all those years ago, like I never left.

But filling out the statement made me stronger. Made me more ready to take him on without worry of him getting ahold of the kids. Honest to God, when my youngest turns 18, I'm going to beat that man over the head with a sockful of pennies. I'll go to jail, I don't care. As much as he's put me through while doing absolutely nothing to help-I'm going to break his nose. It's gonna be great. I can already see it in my mind. He'll be at my youngest child's graduation...well maybe, since he can't even be bothered to call on the boy's birthday... but still maybe we'll go over to take pictures and there in one frame will be all of us smiling soooo nicely- and in the next frame it'll be me swinging something- something large and blurred into my ex's ugly mug- and a look of triumphant joy/madness plastered across mine...oh, God I can't wait...

Ah, well. I've got years before this ever happens. But- finally- it at least gives me something in life to look forward to...