This is really personal, and it’s also very real, and it’s also very hard to say and I have friends who will read this who have no idea or who cannot relate or who cannot understand or fathom. I want you to read this. I don’t want help, I don’t want sympathy, I want people to understand this is very real and happens on a daily basis and there’s nothing we can do. All we can do is love and support others, no matter what fucking low socio-economic status they were born into, no matter what race they are, even if they’re Nigella Fucking Lawson with tons of money and fame, we need to recognise this is something that affects all peoples in many different ways. It’s hard to read and write about but I want to change that.
So as I write this, I am almost a month out of an abusive relationship. There were many failed attempts to leave, which is normal apparently. This time it’s sticking. This time it has ended with a court order that says he cannot be within 500 metres of my home. That’ll do it.
The fact that I will never get an apology, an explanation (is there one?) or justice is what drives me to write this. It’s therapeutic, it’s cathartic, it’s helping me realise I have a lot to offer and that this does not define me. Not now, or ever.
There are a lot of women (and men) out there who are hurting. There are a lot of people who are afraid. Almost 500,000 women in Australia reported abuse in 2004-2005. This figure has only increased, since. (see: http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/domestic-violence-drives-state-crime-rate-higher-victoria-police-say-20130828-2sp9n.html)
Sorry it’s the age, I know.
What also drives me to write this, is that there is no cure, only support. I know at this time, personally, very few women who have experienced this, or who want to broach this subject. It’s very, very isolating. Those months or years spent in an abusive relationship are the most lonely you will ever have. I want other people to recognise their born right for safety and dignity. They are not to be given up for anyone or anything.
I have thought about it many times - It was only once all the red flags were being waved, all the warning bells were going off that I did in fact realise: This is not right. This is not healthy. This is abuse.
And then, it’s too late. I relied on that person for a roof over my head, for self esteem, for love, there was no self-love in that time. Every instance of abuse, or where I felt threatened, I felt I had to take it in my stride to prove my love for him.
The funny thing is, I was hardly ever scared. He easily could have hurt me, even killed me with his bare hands if he were angry enough, but I was never scared. I was totally, and utterly, irreparably in love with him. Every time I tried to walk away or move out, I was over come with guilt and pressure. “You never loved me” “Your love is a lie” I once even heard, “This is not abuse. If it was abuse, you’d have run away by now.”
I was also somehow convinced that all along, this was not abuse. Me! A fairly intelligent well-adjusted 23 year old woman was convinced she wasn’t being abused. I know what abuse is. I have read about it in books, in magazines, I’ve heard funny jokes about it on TV and in comedy routines, I have seen it whilst walking down the street in shady and even not-so-shady suburbs, I have had friends and family be subjected to it and felt utterly fucking helpless, because of it.
But even when I live it, when I have bruises, lumps, a dislocated jaw, a miscarriage, I am easily convinced it is just tough love.
Why didn’t I run away? I’d spent almost two years trying to love someone who was not accepting of any love, who was unable to receive it, and who made me believe I was incapable of giving it. Every wrong move I made, such as not washing the dishes, or talking to a male friend, proved to him further that I did not love him. It drove me to insanity. I went to extreme lengths to hold onto a relationship that was never worth fighting for.
I have spent the last few weeks obviously on a proverbial roller coaster of emotion. I have wanted to break things - and have smashed many things, I have wanted to burn the offenders house down, I have wanted to run to him and have him hold me (this sickens me to no end), I have wanted to die, I have felt free, I have felt powerless, I have felt sick, I have felt used up. I have also told myself I should be better now. Better now? It’s been weeks! I’m giving it years. Unfortunately. I’m trying not to put pressure on myself. I’m trying to be normal when I am screaming, dying on the inside. I get up every day and try to eat breakfast, go to uni, rekindle all the friendships I lost because he made me feel like HE was all I needed.
There was also the hiding, the lying. I spent a week at a friends house for escape, for safety, only to go back to what I felt was my real home, with him. I didn’t tell anyone. I was afraid I would be convinced the limp was real, the bruises were real, and that I needed to leave. I was afraid someone would actually grab me and shake some sense into me and that I would be without my lifeblood. I didn’t know any-fucking-thing else. I didn’t know who I was, what my purpose was, all I wanted was his validation. I wanted to prove to him I wouldn’t run away next time, that I truly loved him. I would even go as far as to hide my pregnancy from my own family, whilst telling them all I wasn’t with him when I was living with him. I would go as far as to have him convince me I would be an awful mother and that I would be ruining his life if I kept it. Well, I would go as far as miscarrying anyway due to all the stress, and he would be the last person by my side during it all.
Luckily for me, trust and friendships can be rebuilt with time.
I’ve been told I shouldn’t have been there. I’ve been told I should have left him already and it wouldn’t have happened. I’ve been told I could have his legs broken by an anonymous bikie group. Oh, yeah? Be my guest!
I’ll never make anyone feel like a victim, and I will never make anyone else in a similar situation feel like they had a choice in the matter. Both of these things feel awful, dirty, shameful. Feeling like a helpless/hapless victim is something that’s very hard to swallow when you’ve got a lot of pride, too much ego, and you know that you’re a smart person. You don’t ever feel like you’ll be taken advantage of, or be manipulated. You feel in control of the situation, you tell yourself “it could be worse”. You tell yourself, if it gets worse, only then you will leave. For now, it’s “not that bad” and he’s trying to be better…. You aren’t in control though. At least, I never was but he convinced me I was. He made me feel like I could leave any time I wanted. Does he remember when I had NO POWER? I do not forget.
I thought I was better than that? I can spot psychopaths, sociopaths, and plain jerks from a mile away! Maybe this is my own problem I have to come to terms with. Maybe I still have not (most likely) accepted the truth of the matter - I was a victim of abuse, at the hands of someone I loved.
I yelled at a police sergeant today
just reply to people on okcupid with a score /10
KIDNAPPING YR OWN CAT
a dark photo
Cat Toy - 2013 (Alt. title: Hanging in the balance [my life])
it’s unfinished. i’ve started oils.
i was so exhausted, and i had been laying there for a long time trying to sleep. finally, i was just, almost, so close to falling asleep when he asked
"do you have an instagram account?"