Deleted Detective Emails

 My husband is kind. Peaceful. Breathing deeply beside me, his arm above his head, chin tucked. 

I took a leftover pill from an old prescription because I cannot sleep or breathe or think. It will kick in soon. It will be easier then. 

My thoughts are swirling. I talked about my ex-husband today. Briefly, but the subject was deep, and this seems to always happen. Speaking of him opens a Pandora’s box of anxiety. Panic. Depression. And in my desire for control, I think on the police report. 

I don’t have evidence. The statute of limitations on everything after the nuptials expired 30 days after the incidents. Only one sexual assault charge could be pursued, but without evidence, it’s unlikely anything will happen. Unless he agrees with my version of events, nothing can be done. Right now, he doesn’t know about the police report. I listed as much as I could remember in the report. Though it has been one year, I still haven’t read it. I can’t. I tried once.

When I think of the night I went to the station, my mind of foggy, as if I was dazed during the experience. Certain things are clear, like the seam on my jacket or the photo the detective produced to verify my ex-husband. The embarrassment and shame I felt while speaking. The comfort in hearing that, from what I said, I had been assaulted. The fear when he said they’d contact my ex-husband. 

They didn’t have to contact him. I found that out a few days later. A new detective was assigned my case and we talked on the phone and emailed about the ramifications of pursuing the case vs not. 

Tonight, the fact I chose not to is sitting on my chest with heaviness. He works with children. I wish I could protect them. Logically, it would only cause pain for me. Without proof, it is my word against his. It would invite a response after 3 years of silence. It would invite retaliation. Though I try to think I’m not scared of him anymore, I’ve also never been torn down so mathematically by a different person. He knew me. He knew how to play me. I wouldn’t do well if he tried to reach me again. He is blocked on everything but it is easy to make new profiles. There are ways and I believe my husband is the only reason he hasn’t. But, if I bring the police to his door, there would not be peace. 

I can’t bring myself to read my own police report. I almost did tonight but I also knew it would cause a panic attack and swirling thoughts. 

I searched for the emails between myself and the detective. I know I chose to not pursue for a reason, but I wanted to be reminded… until I realized I’d deleted our correspondence. 

The existence of the emails had been so hard for me, I deleted them. 

I have the detective’s email address, but no emails in my inbox or sent folders. I checked all my email addresses, just to be sure. 

I have five and a half hours to sleep. 

I can feel the medicine calming my system. 

I want to be a hero. Or at least the best person I can be. But I also want to be able to breathe at night. I don’t know how to balance all of it and make a good choice. I have one more year to decide. So, I’ll take my time and try to not feel shame about it.