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I just found out Jordan Hester will avoid his already light active sentence (four weekends in county jail, non-concurrent and around his schedule) based on a legal technicality. The judge had no choice but to strike it, even though he didn’t want to.
I don’t care so much about the incarceration—the jail and prison systems are fucked and abusive themselves—but there’s an unexpected emptiness in seeing him luck out of part of the sentence.
I don’t care about him being “punished” so much as I want him seen for what he is and the harm he has caused.
I don’t expect remorse from him. I don’t even expect him to change his behavior, which is why I worry and care about what happens instead of “moving on”.
And it’s never really “over”, is it? It’s being haunted by his cold, ghoulish, lopsided smirk and the knowledge that there is no “fixing” this for me, or “justice”. “Moving on” just means living with this and coping, not letting it dissolve.
He tried to convince me to have a baby with him and I’m grateful I got out; the next girl didn’t until too late.
There’s always a next girl.
The reality is that no matter what we do, we can’t stop him throughout his life. We’ve just done our damndest to slow down his rate of “next girls” When you Google his name, mine will be there.
That’s a weight I don’t regret and don’t need a cookie for.
But I don’t feel brave; I feel sick. This sucks. And I live with anger and am not ashamed.