It was my birthday. I was spending the evening with a friend to celebrate the occasion. It was nice and hot. We ate on a terrace. Then my phone started ringing. Calls, texts, emails.
On my voicemail, several messages were accumulating. ” Where are you ? I’m downstairs and you’re not answering. With whom are you ? Answer. ” I did not answer. We had been separated for two years. A few days later, I pushed open the door of the police station.
Despite many years of living under the yoke of a violent person, I had never considered reporting him. This right, I did not have it, or rather I did not give it to myself.
Until the symbolic evening of my 30th birthday. I took what little hope I had left and went to meet a policeman. To come home immediately.
In order to avoid harming him, it was suggested that I send him a formal notice. I seriously thought about it. A few days passed, the merry-go-round resumed. It was even worse.
I took a deep breath and walked back to the police station. I would go back three times over the course of the year, each time making me relive painful traumas. The police force, the investigators, the detective sergeants as well as the prosecutors treated — and still treat to this day — my file with professionalism. But.
When my ex-husband broke his conditions of release, an option was offered to him to avoid detention: undergo closed therapy for several weeks. At the same time, he lost his job, certain friends and acquaintances, in short part of his social network. But.
He was given the “chance” to get help. To be assisted and supported by specialists in the helping relationship, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
He was given the time to take the time, to ask himself to think about the reasons that could have led him to commit such actions. He didn’t have to pay anything, he didn’t have a child to take care of. He was able to pause. The care was taken care of. Rumors say he has changed.
Meanwhile, my child and I are not changing. We remain stuck in the past.
Systematic refusals
Although our request for qualification was accepted by the IVAC (compensation for victims of criminal acts), I come up against systematic refusals from all the people I contact.
And it’s not for lack of trying! Expanding the search perimeter does not change anything, the answer is always the same: “Unfortunately, I cannot put you on the waiting list”, “We are full”, “I advise you to consult the Order [des psychologues] “, ” Good luck. »
My child has recurring nightmares. He sometimes hits his head against the wall, mutilates himself, and even regresses psychologically. He can’t sleep alone. The slightest event reminds him of episodes where “dad hurt mom”. He is paralyzed at the thought of losing his mother.
So I have to turn to intermediate resources, such as shelters for women who are victims of violence, while working three jobs and having a diagnosis of post-traumatic shock myself.
As if nothing had happened
I must continue to go about my daily business to ensure my child a decent standard of living while being a single mother, as if nothing had happened. Because that’s what I’ve been asked to do for over a year now: act as if nothing had happened.
Act like my heart won’t stop beating every time I get a letter from the CAVAC (Crime Victims Assistance Center), a call from the investigator, or when I meet a man who looks like my ex -spouse turning the corner of a street.
I would like us to ask ourselves about the price it costs to denounce a violent person (how much are the nights lost, the days of work missed, the days spent in the dark, the tensions, the love hurt ?). We are asked to do our homework, take the legal route and face this machine called justice without being warned of the lack of support that comes with it.
The rehabilitation of violent people is necessary. I want to believe it. But what about the victims? They too want to take control of their lives and look forward.
We are asked to take the legal route and face this machine called justice without being warned of the lack of support that comes with it.