It's Only A Rough Draft

So in starting school I have Essay's and papers to do. Part of chosing the Mental Health Technology course was to figure out my own head in hopes of being able to help others. My first essay assignment was a reflective essay of my life. What thoughts are up front. Well seeing that I'm not "managing" as well as I would like; this is the rough draft of the assignment in English.

Reflective Essay
Jennifer

I remember the day we married, Thursday, May 13, 1999. In a court room downtown because it wasn’t about the frills and fuss; to us, it was about love and all the struggles we had overcome in the four and a half years we had been together. We had a couple very close friends and a handful of family witnessing our vows, but we were the only ones that mattered.
He was my high-school sweetheart, my hero for surviving childhood abuse, a car accident that should have killed him and ended his goals in the military, and for beating (or so I thought) drug addictions. He was my first true love, my best friend, and the father of my children. He could make me laugh and cry. He gave me confidence and took it away. He gave me hopes and dreams, and then he crashed those as well. He helped to form who I was then he destroyed me completely.
“How did it come to this?” I thought to myself sitting in the cold and crowded court room. After almost eight years of marriage, two beautiful kids, two cars and a perfect house; I sat waiting for his plea arraignment trying to soothe my soul and our eight month old baby girl.
As my luck would have it, we would be close to last to hear his plea. I watched restless as one by one people approached the judge, most pleading no contest, receiving court fees only or time served for offenses ranging from speeding, failure to appear, DUI’s, assault, driving under suspension and even two other Domestic Violence charges.
That’s when my panic set in. “Here we go again” I actually whispered to myself while looking at our child. They won’t look at his past charges. They won’t hear my cry for help and the system will fail us yet again. Not to mention, his family knew the judge. Then, because I’m sure she could feel my uneasiness, my baby girl became fussy and all of this had me close to tears. I hadn’t slept since that night two days ago. I am still hurting head to toe and can still feel his arm tight around my throat and his hand pressing the back of my neck. My lungs burned in that moment just the same as they did that night.
The judge calls his name. My heart is beating through my chest as I’m, pacing the back of the court room by now, not only trying to quiet the baby, but also to try and settle my nerves. I see he’s not coming in as a TV monitor turns on and a prisoner comes in front of it. I don’t turn to look as I approach the podium used by defendants and attorneys.
“I presume you’re Mrs. Gibson, the victim?” The judge’s voice is harsh and judgmental.
Fighting back tears and a world of fear and solitude, “Yes Sir” I reply.
Through the corner of my eye I can see him on the screen. I‘m feeling mad, scared, hurt, lost and confused at the sight of him. The entire court room was silent as the judge read through his thick file. My heart is in my throat and it’s taking all I have to calm my trembling. The baby is crying now, her eyes locked at Daddy on the TV.
After what seems like forever the judge turns to the monitor and reads the charges of domestic violence and the events that lead to them that night. He explains the severity of the charges and that they carry jail time. He reminds my husband that he has the right to an attorney and then asks for his plea. My heart is racing now as my eyes see nothing, blackened by fear. As I’m feeling I’m about to pass out “guilty” is what I hear his voice say and it echoes through the court.
I’m listening and following along but my head is spinning as my ears continue to keep me informed. “Do you understand the charges against you and that they have the penalty of jail as you enter your plea?” The judge sounds as shocked as I feel.
“Yes your honor. I tried to kill her. I went there that night with those intentions. I was drunk. I strangled her. I am sorry for that.”
For the first time in almost twelve years, there he was taking ownership for his actions. “Possible jail time” was repeating in my head. I stood there praying “God give me strength. God give me courage.”
I must not have heard the first time the judge addressed me because as I grasped back to reality, I was being asked to hand my baby to the judge. I stood there confused and holding her tight not wanting to hand her to anyone.
“Please Mrs. Gibson, let me hold the child. She is produced from this marriage, correct?” He seemed somewhat softer as I nodded and approached the bench. He took her from me and held her close to him as she settled. He turned his chair to face the monitor my ex was appearing on and the camera he was being seen from. It was then that I looked at the screen, into his guilt filled and wet eyes. As he started to bawl, the judge spoke, “This child, Mr. Gibson, and the other not present today, is why you are going to remain where you are at. Your children deserve better.” He spoke some more and those words elude me for in that moment my heart broke more than I thought it could.
The judge turned to me and handed her back. I was crying by then as well and I’m pretty sure, those remaining in the room, were all at least close to tears.
“I sentence you to forty one days incarceration. You will attend and complete an anger management course. You will be monitored on probation for duration of no less than five years. If I ever see you in my courtroom again I won’t be so lenient.”
Then it was my turn, “As for you, Mrs. Gibson, I am entering a thirty day temporary protection order. It is up to you to go downtown and put something more permanent in place. Stop at the front desk on the way out and they wall advice you on how to do so.” His voice was as harsh as in the beginning and today I understand that. “This is as much your fault as it is his. Only you can change this. You have a beautiful daughter, be her Mother.” Today I understand that as well.
That was it. No words needed to nor could come to my mouth as I turned from there to find all eyes on me. I gathered our things and returned to the lobby. I bundled the baby from the cold and snow outside. I retrieved the information I was directed to get as well as information to Artemis. Then I walked outside. Once inside the van I changed the baby’s diaper and made her a bottle. There we sat in the parking lot, me crying and her eating. As I watched her and let my emotions flow from fear to somewhat relief and thankfulness and back to fear, she grasped my finger and looked at me and smiled as formula escaped the corner of her mouth.
That is when everything changed. My fight and struggles were truly beginning. We had nowhere to go. No money for I was a stay at home Mom and that didn’t pay. However, I had everything I needed to survive. I had my children and a real chance to be a woman and a mom. Losing my marriage and my love and the only way of life I knew would break me, but my fight, my story and my children have made me who I am today. I have my freedom and most importantly, my life. This was the day I no longer was a victim. It was that day, January 16, 2007, I became a survivor.