A simple, little word hiding so much inside. Including prejudice.
This is my own story about abuse.*
Before I got into an abusive relationship I always thought that people who end up in them - and worse of all, STAY in them - are weak and pathetic individuals. In general I think of myself as a kind-hearted, tolerant person but that was genuinely how I felt about abuse victims before. "Why don't they just leave?" I would think out loud. After all, how could anyone who had any self respect or dignity in them allow someone to abuse them?
Little did I know.
When my ex boyfriend started showing signs of abuse - or more correctly I started noticing them - I did what majority of women do; try to rationalize it, make excuses and explain it all away. "He's just stressed", I would tell myself and others, "he has a bit of a temper" or "he's not normally like that". I didn't realize at the time that this was in fact a classic example of the beginning of an abusive relationship.
Like in many other abusive relationships, the beginning was wonderful. Almost too good to be true in fact: he was like a prince charming who would tell me every day how wonderful I am, how I was the only one for him and he was constantly making big plans for our future - everything was also moving along quite fast. It was magical and wonderful.
But very suddenly all that started to change. He got jealous. REALLY jealous. He didn't want me to spend any time or even talk about other men. Little by little he started to isolate me from my friends as well. We moved to a house in the middle of nowhere which made it difficult for me to see many of my friends. Then his need to control me got stronger. He would text or call me throughout the day to find out where I was and who with.
A big issue for us was also money: I was supporting him financially. To be honest I have no clue how that happened.
We moved in very fast after meeting each other and he kept making excuses about money and postponing chipping in on our mutual costs, so I ended up paying for rent, food, petrol for both our cars, also lending him money almost on daily basis for "stuff". Obviously as a good girlfriend my responsibilities were also cooking and cleaning. He expected dinner to be served every night and his lunch to be packed ready every morning. At first this didn't raise any alarm bells because I'm a person who enjoys to fuss and look after the people I love. But after a while I realized that I was being taken for granted and like a dictator he expected these things from me without asking or thanking me.
I later found out that abusive men are very good at manipulating people and they make you feel very guilty if you don't go along with their wants and needs.
As I'm an independent person and also a great believer in equality I always stressed the fact that me paying for everything was a very short-term personal loan: he would have to pay me back sooner or later. I wouldn't budge or let him sweet talk me into forgetting about it - and hence the money issue came a real problem. Although he was working 50+ hours a week as a tradesman and getting paid seriously better than me as a part time receptionist, he would still seem to have no money... After a month or so living together and still having none of his financial support I had no more patience. I told him as a matter of fact that we are equal and he has to start chipping in. He was furious.
It's funny how most abusive men make a big deal about being "the Man" and the provider in the family but in fact 99% of them will try to financially get on top of you by making you pay for everything: leaving them the upper hand as they have not invested any money on the relationship.
For the abuser this is important because he will feel like he's in control. He now owns you because you have no money and he does.
It was very confusing living with someone who you slowly realized was not quite what he pretended to be - yet being already in love with the person made it tormenting.
His need to own me was frightening. His obsession to have me and control me became obvious and it also came as a surprise. How could a person who says he loves you do that? I was torn between wanting to believe in him, trusting his convincing words and opening up my eyes and seeing the facts for what they were.
I wouldn't say I was afraid of him - I am perhaps a bit boneheaded that way - but that was before The Day came, the worst of them all, when all the horridness culminated. He got furious because I refused to buy him beers from the supermarket. So furious that he started smashing things inside our apartment. Shouting at me, barking insults (that was the first and the last time he called me "a whore") and as if that wasn't enough when I told him he had five seconds time to stop and apologize to me he got quiet and sinister, walked up to me very slowly, wagging his finger in my face and spitting out "you better f*cking shut your mouth, or else..". And with that, he turned around and left.
He smashed a few more things as he went, almost breaking the glass door as he slammed it. I couldn't breathe. I looked around me and saw what my life really looked like. It was a mess.
I wish I could say it was easy leaving him. After he left that night he kept sending me spiteful, horrible messages - constantly tormenting me and telling me what a bad woman I was and how no one else would ever take me. He called himself "the best you will ever had". I was trembling. Afraid. I realized he wouldn't let me go, I would have to flee.
Would it surprise you to hear that by the next morning I had changed my mind? I had decided to give him "one last chance". (And I assure you there had been many.) I told a handful of people I could trust what had happened. They tried to talk some sense into me, saying I was in danger and I should leave while I could. I remember breaking down crying, sobbing something about how he deserves a chance, just one more. Luckily I was surrounded by wonderful, strong women who talked some sense into me. The next day as he left for work, I secretly packed my things and left our home. And I was so incredibly lucky to have a safe place where I could return: a house full of friends who loved and cared for me. They understood me when I would tremble every time the front door would open or if I started to cry without any apparent reason. I was scared. Terrified. And when he realized I was gone later that night the messages and calls I received made me a human wreck. I couldn't sleep because I had to get up every five minutes to check if my door was locked. I was sure it was only a matter of time before he'd find me. After all, I knew how bad he could get.
Leaving an abusive partner was possibly the hardest thing I've ever done. I went from a happy-go-lucky girl into a fearful bunch of nerves who was afraid to walk alone on the streets in the fear of bumping into him.
Luckily the local police took me seriously and did everything to make sure I was safe. It was the police who directed me to a safe house/abuse centre where I was able to go and talk to professionals. Even if in the beginning it was mostly hysterical crying instead of talking. It took 3 months of therapy to get back on my emotional feet. And I owe it all to my therapists at the safe house: after our sessions came to an end I was back to my old self, or dare I say: even more brave and confident than before. I was no longer afraid of him. In saying that it did take me a long while to trust another man again.
Alas, time is a healer. I have stopped blaming myself. For a long time I felt like it was all my fault because I was so weak and stupid to fall for his charms and lies.
Which brings me to a sad side note. When I returned to my home country to see my old friends and family, I felt just about brave enough to tell them honestly what had happened. My family had been incredibly supportive since the beginning but it was the reaction I got from some of my oldest friends that completely took me by surprise...
"What do you mean he was abusive? But he'd never hit you? What DID he do then?" were some of the shocking questions I got from friends back at home... I nearly choked: I had just opened up my soul and revealed the most darkest fears in me and they looked at me dubiously and questioned WHY I WAS AFRAID!? I felt so betrayed. And when I tried to hold the tears back and explain to them that not all abuse is physical, that emotional abuse can actually be just as bad if not worse, they wouldn't let it lie. "How can someone be abusive if they don't actually hit you..?" I wanted to scream. I was still in the middle of my therapy and I felt like they brought me back to square one. I felt possibly even more ashamed of myself than ever before.
I try not to blame these friends too much anymore for their ignorant words and pestering questions. After all, they are naïve and hence lucky because they have never had to encounter anything as dark and scary as abuse. And I hope they never will.
Abusive relationship and getting over it has been a life lesson for me. I sure didn't want it, but in a way I'm glad because it did make me stronger than before.
I hope my story can be a part of the important cause of telling people about abuse. It's not always easy to see who's in need of your help. My ex partner never laid a finger on me but his aggressive and demeaning presence haunted me long afterwards: naked to the eye.
All abuse victims don't have black eyes or broken ribs.
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| More about abuse on this website www.loveisrespect.org |
*I have not gone into too much detail about the abuse I went through. Partly because it would make this blog post very long and also because it is still incredibly painful.
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