Friday, Dec. 30, about 6:30 p.m. : The wacko calls my daughters phone and, sick of the harrasement, she answers. She tells him I do not want to talk to him, to stop calling, and I tell her to tell him I have a boyfriend, which she does, and tells him I was out with my boyfriend. She puts her phone on speaker. Wacko states he is going to beat the shit out of the guy and "I'm gonna come over there and there's gonna be bloodshed."
6:30 to 10 p.m.: My daughter and I are having a nice time shopping, picking out a new mattress for her, looking at furniture, stopping at Walmart. Unbeknown to us, my ex is at my house attempting to break in, among other things.
About 10 p.m.: We arrive home and nothing seems amiss. Until, that is, for some reason I look out my patio window, which is in my bedroom. The big screen (sliding glass doors) has been torn through and is off its track. My daughters bedroom window screen has also been destroyed and is off the window, laying on the ground. I call the police.
Cop arrives. He knows us, of course, having been called to this address numerous times for domestic disputes. We go outside to check things out, and that is when we discover a large boulder has been crashed through the windshield of my car. Inside, the wiper blade switch is broken off, and the rear-view mirror torn off the glass.
My daughter goes knocking on doors to see if the neighbors saw or heard anything. Sure enough, my neighbor upstairs let the scumbag into the building an hour or two before. He saw him at the security door and recognized him, not knowing we were no longer together. He told this to the cop, saying he was knocking on my door, but saw or heard nothing else.
It is very obvious to everyone that the asshole did this damage to my car and apartment, but without an eyewitness, no arrest can be made.
The next day I spend making phone calls, getting an emergency PFA (Protection From Abuse.) They have a great system where, instead of going to night court in Pittsburgh, I was able to go to UPMC McKeesport, via a camera and TV, and speak to the judge, pleading my case. I must give koodos to an organization called Womansplace, which helps victims of domestic violence.
The next couple of days are a blur of phone calls, plans to go to court, anger, threats, hatred and everything else you can think of feeling when someone comes to your home and destroys your property, and is getting away with it.
Tuesday, Jan. 3, 2006: I start the New Year off with a bang by going to court to obtain a Temporary PFA, the next step after the Emergency PFA. I pay $24 for parking for four hours because the mayor is being innaugurated that day and roads in town are closed. I don't know my way around Pittsburgh, so am forced to park wherever I can find a garage. I am granted the Temporary order, but have to return to court in a week to get a permanent one. The scumbag has the right to be there that day to try and fight it.
Wednesday, Jan. 4: I go to the local magistrates office to try and file charges with the DA for the damages this jerk has caused. Again, without an eyewitness, the DA won't file charges because, "Even if he was there, we don't know he did it." Right. He threatens to come over and that there would be bloodshed, shows up, a neighbor lets him into the building, and my car and apartment are damaged, but it wasn't him. What a system. No wonder people take matters into their own hands.
I must go to court again on Tuesday the 10th, and pay more money for parking, and waste more of my time getting this PFA which is supposed to protect me. He can't call me or come near me or he will be arrested. That's great. I see him outside my apartment, and what? Tell him, "Hey, stay put right there while I call the police, will ya, buddy?" He can be in here, kill me, leave and go have a cup of coffee and no one will be the wiser. So I'll be dead, but no one will have seen him do it, so, I guess he'll get away with it.
I keep telling myself, what goes around comes around. It did, a little. I found out he was 302'd (forcibly urged to stay in a psychiatric ward) by the police. In fact, he was served with the temporary order in the hospital. Apparently, he must have tried to kill himself again. This is about the 10th time, and that is no exageration, that he has been in a psych ward, in the two and a half years I have known him. See, it used to work, this attempt at his life. I'd feel sorry and take him back. No more, now I just wish he'd finish the job.
This story wouldn't be complete without mentioning the idiocy of the courts. On the cover page of the PFA is my name, address, date of birth, and phone number. According to the court, when he is served, he gets the cover page. The problem is, he never had my phone number; I had gotten the phone after we broke up. So the court, who is supposed to be helping and protecting me, made and unbelievably stupid error in handing him papers with my phone number on it. I had even told the legal advocate that he didn't have my phone number. And why, in God's name, would you give all that information to the defendant???
No wonder I am stressed out.
