639 Days Strong!
Written by
Scarlette Muse
December 2012
Written by
Scarlette Muse
December 2012

            The day the “no bill” came down from the grand jury was the day I knew I was going to have to change my name.  It was the only option for me with regard to being safe. Or shall I say the illusion of being safe.  Even the court ordered criminal order of protection couldn’t guarantee my safety.

I now have a desire to change my name, move away, and simply disappear so that he can’t ever find me.  How strange is it that I want to change my identity when I am still struggling to find myself and who I was before him.  He stole part of me.  And yet, to escape his reach, I want to become someone else.  When does it stop? When do the flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, and hypervigilance end?

Every day I struggle with finding myself.  Once upon a time purple was my favorite color.  Once upon a time I loved a man with all of my heart and soul.  And that love was never enough.

            I always knew that if the law didn’t work in my favor, I’d have to disappear.  Even if he had been indicted, was sent to prison, served his time, was released, he’d still seek vengeance and want to teach me a lesson.  In his eyes, I hadn’t learned that lesson properly.  I had betrayed him by sharing his dirty little secrets.

            And in the end, his prophetic statement that no one would believe me has certainly proven to be true in some sense. Had I not confided in my guardian angel (who definitely did believe me), I am certain I wouldn’t be telling this story. My circumstances would be far different.

            So as I contemplate on the decision to change my name, disappear, and become someone else so that he can’t ever find me, at least I know I am still alive.  Being reborn every day that I am away from him, 639 days and counting.

Surrendering the name I had been given at birth to escape the so-called love of a man who has already taken so much from me is a struggle.  I knew if he could get away with five felonies.  He could get away with anything.

            That night he took my breath away awakened something inside of me, the part of me that wanted to live.  That moment I knew I had to tell someone.  How embarrassing and shameful was that?

            Mr. New York City—my dream guy, my very own Prince Charming was hurting me.  And I didn’t know why.  For the longest time I believed it was my fault. Who would have thought a woman like me, would become one of the statistics? How had I gotten here?

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