I Heard My Voice Scream Out in Court “ I’m Gonna Fuckin’ Kill You!”

Try explaining that to a magistrate

Today’s prompt suggested by Ishika is, Since March represents the Month of War what was the biggest battle you’ve had in your life?

March was named after Mars, the Roman God of War, but my battle started a little earlier.

In 2013, I met a man who was the most caring person I had met online. The morning we met for coffee, I had my arm in a sling. I had a problem with my right shoulder. Unlike other men I had met for coffee, he didn’t try to avoid paying for my coffee, and asked me if I’d want “a bite to eat”.

I had just come from an early physiotherapist appointment (for my shoulder) and hadn’t eaten breakfast so I was hungry. He ordered eggs Benedict for both of us. I was immediately impressed. When our meals arrived, I realised I couldn’t use my knife to cut the toast, so he cut it in bite size pieces for me. Wow!

He then offered to feed me which I refused. I thought he was taking this “looking after me” too far. I later found out why.

I enjoyed his company and was flattered when he asked me out that night. I had to explain that I had made plans with my sister and wouldn’t change them. He understood and agreed that family is important.

Who knew that just over 4 years later, he would take me to court on several occasions claiming domestic violence. When we finally had a different magistrate to the one who had been on our case for previous occasions, he was granted a 5-year DVO against me where I was not allowed to go within 500 metres of any of his family. His claim was I wanted to kill his grandchildren. Nothing was further from the truth. I did nothing but love his grandchildren as if they were mine. (I had none of my own at the time.)

But also, I was not allowed to mention his name nor share any photos of him for 5 whole years. It seemed like forever. We had travelled together on a number of occasions and I loved the photos of us together. They would often come up in Facebook memories.

He had a lawyer. I did not. He had kicked me out with only 11 days notice on the advice of his three adult children. Italian families stick together, you know? I was in shock. I though he loved me as much as I loved him. I made excuses for him — his mother had died less than 2 months previously — and he wasn’t himself.

My ex-husband whom I had divorced 17 years previously had contacted him and handed him 84 pages of lies about me. Who stays bitter for 17 years? But my loving man believed every word my ex told him. The lies were so outrageous I read them and laughed. I shouldn’t have. But in case I had misremembered events, I had my kids to back me up. It didn’t matter.

Back to the courtroom. After bawling my eyes out barely able to speak and not being able to present my evidence at all, the magistrate who had none of the previous proceedings, awarded him the 5-year DVO. I was still crying but as I was walking out of the court, I heard myself yell at him, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

It wasn’t me. It was another part of me that I didn’t know existed. And in true Ross-style, he reported me straight to the police station. The DVO had been in place mere seconds and I had broken it. I had to go to court, again, and plead guilty and bear the court costs and a hefty fine. And if I ever violated the DVO again, they wouldn’t hesitate in throwing me into jail.

That’s exactly where my ex from 17 years ago wanted to see me, either that or destitute and living in the streets. My revenge is that my children love me and don’t even acknowledge him as their father any longer.

The man whom I thought loved me didn’t love me enough. His children thought I was only with him for his money and the lifestyle we enjoyed. I worked full-time for the entire time we were together and my lifestyle now is better than it was back then. I don’t have to eat pasta every night. I can travel when and where I want to.

Since 2018, I’ve had two European trips for 4 months, a 3-week trip to the Philippines, and a 6-day trip to Tasmania last month. That’s not counting the many camping trips and beach stays I’ve had with my daughter and her family at Woodgate or Borumba.

I’m not writing this from jail and I’m far from living on the streets!