Society loves the abuser. The criminal. The ones that hold no value for human life.
Everyone knows the name of the most infamous serial killers. The most notorious abusers. The worst criminals known to man. The monsters. Their names go down in history.
Ted Bundy. Paul Bernardo. Albert Fish. Charles Manson.
The newspapers write about the infamous people who tortured and killed. Novels are written. Movies are produced.
The abuser is led through the parades of media, escorted to a jail cell, fed three meals a day and clean water. The average inmate costs taxpayers 100, 000 a year.
The victims are left in the dust.
The victims of abuse and crime are left to their own devices. For a short time the police will offer them protection; lawyers promise to fight for them and psychiatrists offer medication.
And then everyone leaves.
One day the criminal will be given parole or set free. They will be healthy and clean and adopted into society.
The victims won’t be remembered. When the scars of trauma drag a victim into addiction and they spend long nights crying on their worn mattress, they won’t be remembered. Their names will be lost on a file in the back of a cabinet. There will be no one and nothing for them.
That’s what it was like when I watched the police walk out of my door one last time. He was set free and he walked straight into the door where the police left their shadow. The police, the lawyers, the psychiatrists, the therapists – when my abuser walked in – they were only a shadow.
And I was only a file.