This is a post I never thought I’d write. The truth is, I’m still ashamed that I allowed what happened happen. I looked down at women who were weak and allowed men to get a hold over them. I was one of those people who thought “well, if it’s so bad, just walk out.”
Until that weak woman was me.
Until a man that swore he loved me nearly broke me.
He was one of my best friends. Friend of my boyfriend, always around, always an ear or a shoulder to cry on. I felt sorry for him because of his screwed up family life.
When I split with my then boyfriend, he was quick to move in as a new protector/main bloke in my life. He showered me with love and devotion and promises of a wonderful life.
I was 19, and I believed every word he said.
I should have known from the begining. I should have fucking seen the signs. The day I called one of my female friends “babe” and he flew into a jealous rage, I should have known. But I thought myself in love and didn’t want to hurt this broken man anymore, so I did as he asked.
I guess it was because things got worse so gradually that I didn’t notice how bad they were.
It was a little manipulation here, a tweaked story about a friend there and a well placed tear every now and then and suddenly my life and world revolved around the tiny one bedroom flat in Malvern which we shared with his mother and sister.
I wasn’t allowed to go home to my family because spending a night away from him would mean that I didn’t love him anymore.
I wasn’t allowed to hug anyone but him because that would mean that I wanted to be with someone else.
I wasn’t allowed to go to work alone because I may flirt with a customer.
I wasn’t allowed to refuse sex in all and any form because that would mean I didn’t love him.
He became obsessed with getting me pregnant and even went as far as telling his family and friends that I was. If I went against him and told anyone I wasn’t, hell would reign down. He had words that would tear the skin off my body when he was angry.
I wasn’t in love anymore. I was terrified.
And then came the final nail in the coffin. Throughout our relationship, he branded himself as some kind of knight in shining armour because he had managed to keep me away from the cocaine of which I was so fond. Then one night when I’d been paid for a job he said the little words that would warp my life for another 6 months.
“Want to buy some rock?”
Yup. Rock. And after the first hit off the pipe and I drifted away, I knew I’d found my saviour.
I wasn’t allowed friends, I wasn’t allowed privacy, I wasn’t allowed a career and I wasn’t allowed to see my family, but I had found my bright spot in the day. I stole from my family, I stole from my work and he pawned almost everything I owned, but I had my safe place to disappear to.
Even when we got into arguments, and we did, huge screaming matches, and he hit me, and I heard my ribs break, it didn’t seem as bad because I had my painkiller.
Then my angels arrived. I was kidnapped by two people who have since left my life, but at the time were very special to me. They took me away and hid me until I was strong enough and sober enough to tell him what I’d wanted to tell him from almost the very start:
“Get out of my life and don’t come back”
And with that I left him and his family with the remainder of my possessions and started picking up the pieces.
I had to rebuild my life, my career, my friendships, myself.
And it’s a work in progress. But I’ll get there.
I may not be a survivor yet. But I will be.
