Tag Archives: AVO

Light on the train

02 Tuesday Sep 2008

Posted by in The Incident

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The story so far (in chronological order):

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Friday morning arrived – a whole week after that horrible night. And it was time for action. I needed to finalise the AVO so Andre could never come near me again.

My body still doesn’t feel as though it belongs to me. And I’m terrified, utterly, that Andre will turn up to the court.

For those unfamiliar with the Australian AVO process, it goes something like this. The person making the complaint obtains an emergency AVO with valid reason as decided by a magistrate. The person about whom the complaint is being made doesn’t have to be present at this point, but the emergency AVO is only valid for a week, or until a hearing can be organised at which both parties can be present. However, the other party doesn’t have to turn up – this is simply an opportunity for them to do so.

I have no reason to think he won’t turn up, and I have no idea what I’ll do if he does.

For seven days, I’d lived with broken glass in my front door, and I didn’t want that reminder any longer. So I’d emailed my landlord and asked for contact details of any glaziers they used. And at 7am that Friday he was coming to make that scar invisible, if not forgotten.

Right around that time, my mother was due to turn up at my place. Prepared for war if need be. There are definitely some things my mother is great at, and one of them is playing the avenging mother in times of need!

As if in a dream, we’re walking to my normal go-to-work train station. Except today’s destination is the Melbourne Magistrate’s Court, at the ‘toff’ end of town. Despite the official nature of my trip, the best I manage to dress myself in is jeans and sneakers.

I am clutching print outs of pictures I made my sister take. Pictures of my face all bruised and beaten up. A black eye, an extremely down-trodden look in my eyes. And the front door, with its jagged edges silently whispering of the violence that has been. I have purposely not worn any make up so the marks Andre left on my face are plain to see.

We board the train and I feel like I have a secret – one that all the other people on the train couldn’t guess. And I look around at my fellow commuters. Those I would normally be going to work with.

Being the yogi that I am, I’ve been contemplating the nature of human suffering in my attempt to understand what happened, what’s still happening to me every nano-second.

And then I see it.

I truly notice the faces of everyone on the train. I see them more clearly than ever, as if my own pain has sand-papered away my air of indifference.

Everyone around me – everyone – looks utterly miserable. Or angry. Or upset. Or bored. Or… And I think – wow – is this what they look like every day? Is this what I look like??

Quick as lightning, I realised that when on public transport, everyone is in their own zone. Doing their best to ignore the too-closeness of other people packed tightly around them. And because of this, their thoughts turn inwards. And for many people this is not a happy place. Whether they are thoughts of self-hatred, physical or emotional pain, anger and so on, it is suffering. The human condition of suffering. Right there in front of me, plain as day. Unconcealed.

This was an “ah-ha!” moment – where I first realised that suffering is an every day, moment to moment experience for everyone. Previously, my idea of suffering had been that people suffer over an incident, like being assaulted. But I what I saw made it clear that everyone is suffering all of the time – unless you are enlightened ofcourse! Others may beg to differ, but in my philosophical understanding of the world – it made sense. It still does.

And wow, did that put where I was at into perspective. Despite what I’ve been through, I am no different than anyone else on this train. I felt my heart open up and melt into… I have no idea what! Actually, the sensation is one of expansion, incredible expansion.

My train trip transformed, I was still terrified, but no longer feeling so alone at that moment. It was the first major descent of Grace following the assault.

Luckily for me, Andre didn’t show up – for which I was extremely grateful. However, being in court for two weeks in a row still wasn’t my idea of a good time. I still shook, I still cried and I still had to tell another magistrate I didn’t know what had happened. I had to show my shame and my fear in public to ask for protection, and that sucks. I offered my face up for scrutiny. I showed her the photos, which made me feel both strong and miserably weak. But I got my AVO in place. And finally, finally, I started to feel a tiny bit relieved.

Since that day, I always try to catch people unawares on public transport. I try to read what their faces give away. And yep, it still stands true. It’s not always every single person on the train or the bus. Occasionally there’s a being that looks truly happy, serene and content. But they are the exception rather than the rule.

My response is always the same – to feel my heart opening/expanding, and try to send the energy of love as much as I can to any and all of my fellow transiting folk.

Peace be with you all.

Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

~ Svasti

(Next: Quietly Devastated)

A day and a week later

18 Monday Aug 2008

Posted by in Depression, The Incident

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The story so far (in chronological order):

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Buffy got me through the night. Til it was Friday morning. For that, I will always be gratefully loyal to the Slayer. But I hadn’t had any sleep yet. I was still crying on and off. My face still burned every moment. The nightmare continued in the daylight, but at least there were things to do now.

K woke up, needing to get to work and left amidst hugs knowing that my sister was on the way over. I still hadn’t explained to my sis why I needed her to come, just that I really did. I think she heard it in my voice.

Andre’s ex rang me back – I told her what had happened and I discovered that he’d hit women before. We mutually discovered the lies about the sale of my car – he’d tried to rip us both off. Perhaps that was part of why he snapped? Their kids were meant to spend time with him today. She frantically tried to figure out how to get her kids away from him without him knowing that she knew. Crucially, she gave me some missing information I needed to take out an AVO (Apprehended Violence Order) on Andre.

My sis arrived and I told her what happened. She’s always been great, knowing what to do, what to say. We made plans to go to the police station. But the police sent us to the magistrates court, once again telling me there wasn’t much they could do. Thanks guys!

Shaking, always shaking. Feeling disconnected from my body. Except ofcourse the pain in my face. Everything felt surreal. All day long, every moment. I felt like I was living someone else’s life. Nothing made sense.

My sister drove us into the CBD, in the traffic, trying to find a park.

The courts were great. Helpful. They assigned a lawyer from a women’s’ domestic violence group to keep me calm company and explain the process of the courts.

There was some waiting involved. I texted some people at work and tried to give them the short version of what happened to explain why I wasn’t coming in. Texting was much easier than talking to people.

When it was my turn to sit before the magistrate, my appointed lawyer had the courtroom cleared for me, and spoke on my behalf. Bless her.

I sat there, feeling naked and dishevelled and trying to talk without crying and shaking. I couldn’t. I didn’t need to say very much before the merciful magistrate granted an emergency AVO. I did however; need to come back a week later to get the permanent order in place. We took the AVO to the police station in Andre’s local area to make sure it was served ASAP. I think the first time I physically stopped shaking was once the order was in place.

My sis decided I needed to stay at my parents’ place for the weekend. Just bundle up the cat and go. Only thing is, I hadn’t told them yet about what happened. I asked my sis to do it – I was too embarrassed and felt they would judge me, wouldn’t understand.

I might have mentioned this before, but they weren’t the best people to go to in the middle of a crisis. What they are good for is the support stuff, like giving me a place to go. But not when I’m crying and shaking. So whilst the idea of staying with them was good, it meant for me that it was time to get myself a little more under control if I could. Crying and falling apart would not compute.

So the weekend went by in a state of weirdness. I couldn’t sleep much still. My parents didn’t know what to say so they avoided the topic. I sent a few friends some texts to tell them a little about what had happened. But I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone else. To tell anyone what had happened. Mostly because I still couldn’t believe it myself.

Sunday afternoon I went home. Whilst my parents meant well, it really wasn’t the most nourishing place for me to be. So I thanked them, and Cleo and I jumped in my car and left.

Arriving home felt odd. There was the cardboard covering up the broken glass. But otherwise it was all quiet and peaceful. And sad. Invisibly stained by violence and terror.

For some reason, I felt compelled to go to work the next day. I really should have taken the next week off! But, what I really wanted was for all the pain and sadness to go away. And, I recalled that several years ago in the midst of one of the worst break ups of my life, work had been the best respite – just throwing myself into a stupid mindless job had helped. Still, it was a bad idea.

Monday arrived.

I had to cover up my black eye without looking as though the makeup was caked on too heavily. Generally my makeup style is very natural so too much would draw attention. The sensation of make up on top of the bruising was that of a big layer of foam over flesh. I thought it would be obvious to everyone, but apparently I did a pretty good job – years of practice I guess.

I pulled aside a couple of people I’m close to and told them what happened in brief, halting sentences. Every word battled against tears, against falling apart. In that air conditioned place of employment I somehow felt safer. But every meeting with other people meant another effort to hold back the dam of emotion threatening to burst at any second.

Stupidly, I also told my boss – who was a stand-in boss at the time. I think she’s one of those people who sees things like this as a weakness to be used against you. She wasn’t sympathetic in the least. A normal person might have sent me home, but not her. She made me take the day I was at court as annual leave instead of sick leave. She couldn’t have cared less. And that hurt, on a human to human level. Thanks a lot. You competitive and heartless automaton!

I worked with a huge number of people that I didn’t tell. Most of them don’t know to this day. I must have seemed odd to them, I certainly felt odd. Lucky for me the DNA in my body is good at repression, so eventually I began to see it as a sign of strength, my ability to act normally when inside I felt like screaming. I’m not entirely sure how normal I really acted either!

I did however, take advantage of a work program that provided four free psychology sessions a year. I was pretty broke, so free was good. I did my first session on the Tuesday I think. Not that four sessions was in any way sufficient however! Although it was enough to get me started…

Each night of that week was marked with fear – of people, noises, nightmares, falling apart and dread of the upcoming second day in court. My mum had agreed to come with me which was good. But I felt like a deer in headlights – was Andre going to show up for the hearing? Would he contest the AVO? I hadn’t heard from him at all, thankfully. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t.

Every night I locked the security door as well as the normal locks, something I hadn’t done before that time.

I was sad, I was alone. And more than anything, I felt like I couldn’t ask for help.

~Svasti

(Next… Light on the train)