(Post #3 of 4)
The day after discovering the best (or should I say only?) option for getting rid of my husband, I took Baby Bear to my sister’s house 40 minutes away. I dropped him off, then came right back into town and went directly to the courthouse. I waited in lines and filled out paperwork. When I finally met with someone one-on-one, she reviewed my written statement and asked me a few pointed questions. “Has he ever actually hit you?” “No. He pushed me down once, but he has never actually hit me.”
She told me that she could submit my statement to the judge for review, but it was unlikely the judge would order a personal protection order against my husband. There had to be more concrete evidence of physical abuse. She said she would go ahead and submit it today, or I could come back if anything happened.
So, I went home to see if I could “make something happen.” I tried to open the front door, but it was locked. He (I guess I’ll have to give him a name – Mark) came to the door. He was more intoxicated than I’d ever seen him. He normally held himself together pretty well despite drinking beer like it was water, but he was disoriented. He thought I had been gone for 2 days…and he was disgruntled about it…and he wasn’t about to let me in the house. (The house for which I had paid rent for 12 out of the last 14 months.) I saw my opportunity. I knew he wouldn’t let me past the front door, but I started to walk in the front door anyway. He physically blocked me and I kept forging ahead. Finally, Mark shoved me (really hard) backwards into the doorway. Ouch…but victory!
For having my first official experience with domestic violence, I was pretty content with myself. It was too late in the day to go back to the courthouse, so I went back to my sister’s house and spent the night there. The next morning, I went straight to court and successfully got my very own personal protection order.