This
is a story, my words and my feelings which I have needed to write to free myself.
This will become part of my healing. It’s about me and only me. I know now that
I am beautiful, kind, warm, friendly, generous and passionate. I feel most people
like me. I am usually happy and I know I am intelligent, creative, clever and
inspirational. But back then I was none of those things…to both him and myself.
None of you will believe what happened to me and that I allowed it to happen. The
misery and desperation I went through every day deep inside on a physical,
emotional and sexual level was completely devastating. It much easier to write this
now having fled and where healing has begun. But healing has been a very slow
process unlike the abuse.
Over
a 20 year period I had come to believe that I was unintelligent and worthless;
that I would never be anything or anybody. All I ever wanted was to be loved
deeply by the most important person in my life – my husband but sadly this was
not to be. I wanted so desperately to be loved unconditionally by him. I simply
wanted happiness; not a lot to ask for one would think. I realise now that with
this man this was impossible.
I had lived the first half of my life
with an emotionally abusive father and went onto marry a mentally abusive man. Both
men were extremely clever, intelligent and held senior professional positions
in the work place; both were workaholics. Both were arrogant and had huge egos,
were always right and were very controlling. Both of them made me feel that I
was difficult to live and deal with and that they were the victims by having to
put up with me. They both made me feel I was not good enough for them and never
would be. I always felt second class and never accepted for the good in me. it
wasn’t until much later in life that I realised subconsciously I had mirrored
my father in my husband.
Most people are aware of physical
abusers, hitting and beating their victims, because outwardly bruises and black
eyes are visible. But we have to remember there are other abusers, the silent and
unseen types, slowly chipping away at their victims self-esteem and confidence,
playing with the psyche and wearing them down mentally and emotionally. Abusers wear many hats and come from many different
backgrounds, they all have different tactics, all extremely damaging to their
victim and abusers do not necessarily look like abusers – whatever an abuser is
supposed to look like.
My abuser was well spoken and
dressed, highly intelligent and moving in high circles of power. We attended
flamboyant dinner parties with people of stature and I was expected to behave,
dress and communicate appropriately…I was the fluff on his arm. If I ever
stepped out of line I was succumbed to mental, verbal and sexual abuse behind
the front door of our beautiful five bedroomed home.
I was living with an abuser who
controlled me so intensely and by doing so destroyed my personality and confidence
and I became isolated, lonely and desperate.
I couldn’t stomach the stress of social gatherings and the pretence and
lying and the “performance” I had to give to ensure people thought everything
was OK and that I like being treated the way I was being treated. I became entirely his solitary prey. Even my mother wouldn’t visit anymore. I was
intensely scared of him, he was constantly threatening me and I believed he
would hurt me if I challenged him. It was easier to toe the line and conform. I
was the ever faithful wife. I lost all my friends and had no one to confide
in. I was ashamed and scared to tell
anyone, even my family. I came from a respectable upright family where abuse
was never spoken about or contemplated and where marriage was an institution and
“you just got on with it” and your marriage vows were for life. No one in my family
was divorced let alone abused; why was this happening to me I asked in the
darkness every night; I prayed every night for a better day tomorrow.
He got a huge kick out of frightening
me; maybe just driving too fast in a dangerous situation until I couldn’t breathe,
would hyperventilate and throw up and he would laugh. He knew what he was doing
and was unconcerned, he loved the feeling he got from this past time. I could
do nothing right from cooking to cleaning, to ironing his shirts to my makeup.
As a size 14 I was always too fat and overweight. My driving was crap and I
didn’t know what I was talking about.
My abuser was cunning and clever, to
the world he was “Mr Charming” and no one ever believed that he could possibly
be abusing me. In front of people he was always the nicest man in the world,
caring and respectful. In the early days he was clever enough to contain his
temper and physical violence so there is nothing for anyone to see, therefore
no one believed and nothing can be proved. But as time went on he was unable to
control his temper and eventually became physically violent which got
progressively worse. Then there was his threatening behaviour and disrespect, subtly
making me believe white is black, until he confused me so much that I believed
I was going out of their mind. I believed I was mentally unstable and succumbed
to his abuse further. I was nothing and only good enough to be his puppet.
He continually informed me I was and would
be nothing without him. When I threatened to leave he sarcastically reminded me
that no one would have me, there was nowhere to go and on top of that I had no
money of my own. Consequently I believed that my abuser owned me and that my world
would not turn without him. He took away my free will; he spoke for me, made
decisions for me and allowed me no choices or opinions. He forced me to make
professional, personal and reproductive choices I didn’t want and wouldn’t
normally make. In amongst all this turmoil he forced me to have a child or he
would divorce me on the grounds of non-consummation of our marriage. He
threatened to humiliate me as a non-fertile woman again degrading me and
ensuring I felt worthless.
He raped me on numerous occasions forcing
me to have sex because he needed it and held me down even through my tears. He
ensured the act was completed on his terms, in his time frame and satisfying
his own desires. He was demanding, kinky and rough and did not stop when asked.
He showed no compassion for me even when I suffered gynaecological problems and
had no empathy or sympathy and was still extremely demanding and rough sexually.
When he was particularly vile he with-held affection and used affection and sex
it to blackmail me. He definitely got a kick out of degrading me and enjoyed his
power of force; power and force in the bedroom definitely turned him on.
This sick man criticised every move
and action I made; he was never satisfied with anything we did or owned. Nothing was ever right and he was never
thankful or grateful. He controlled, isolated,
threatened, terrorised, insulted and belittled me. He told me I was crazy, a
head case, got a screw loose, stupid, dishonest, a liar, psychotic, mentally
unstable, should be locked up, put away and that I had a personality disorder. These
types of abusers confuse their victims so badly that the victim eventually
believes the propaganda being thrown at them.
You feel dirty, humiliated and disgusted with yourself. The abuser tells you over and over that you
are crazy and paranoid. Mine often said
I had a personality disorder and behind my back and unbeknown to me he wrote to
my GP stating this. He damaged my whole being
with his mouth, mind and fists.
Thirteen years later I now realise all
the above are classic forms of abuse and are more painful, dangerous and lethal
than the kind that leave bruises. Bruises
heal and go away but words and mental torment stay with you a lifetime. All
forms of abuse leave deep wounds and scars and I believe you never totally get
over an abusive relationship. You can try to forgive and understand but you
never forget. There will always be a tiny nugget of damage remaining deep
inside the brain for the rest of your life. No amount of therapy or forgiveness
can ever heal this minuscule nugget. What happens is, over time, it doesn’t
surface as often or as traumatically, the hurt becomes less raw.
There are many kinds of abuse, some
of them obvious, some of them not; all of them dangerous and degrading. Some are more insidious than others; the most
insidious are subtle; their victims not only believe them but also blame
themselves for the abuse they are suffering.
When the psychopath is really clever he uses all of his tactics and
convinces his victim that it is her fault, or that the victim imagined it or
that they get everything out of proportion.
These subtle forms of abuse are the hardest to stop because it is
obviously harder to see. My abuser used all these tactics with no conscience
and no remorse.
I was driven to severe depression and
alcohol abuse; I was on anti-depressants for years. Abuse at any time, of any
kind is potentially fatal to the victim.
I became an alcoholic and suffered an eating disorder and the worst part
of my situation was I believed it must all be my fault and I must be a very bad
person. I stayed; trying to make it right but consequently fed my abuser which
authorised him to continue. I never complained, consequently he didn’t realise
how unhappy I was. I protected myself by denying it was happening. It was too
painful to admit what was happening to me, too embarrassing to tell anyone and
I didn’t know if anyone would believe me anyway. I didn’t want to believe that the
person who should be my soul mate and confidante would treat me this way. I had suicidal thoughts on numerous occasions
and I stopped crying because I couldn’t, I was all cried out. I became numb and
felt nothing; nothing could hurt me. I had a cold façade and became a
symptomatic alcoholic. I drank to hide
the pain and to be able to deal with him.
It dulled my senses and I didn’t care what he said or did to me. I spent
the last few years of my marriage living in a fog, drifting from day to day,
merely functioning. I looked twice my age and I was like a time bomb waiting to
explode; a prisoner in my own skin. I
stayed out of the house as much as possible to keep away from him which only
made for a bad time when I eventually got home.
It was only when I was pushed almost to
the edge that I faced what was happening to me. Nevertheless, I had no money, a
child, and nowhere to go so it wasn’t easy to see a satisfactory way out. I
knew I had to run away but where was I to go and how was I going to finance it.
Being abused for me was like a drug and giving it up was extremely traumatic. For
years I had known nothing else and I was leaving all my possessions and my home.
I felt so guilty breaking up the family unit and hiding his daughter away but I
had no choice. After I left he called me every name under the sun, threatened
to kill me and kidnap my daughter. I didn’t see my personal possessions again
for thirteen years.
No one is exempt from abuse; it can
happen to anyone. The best jobs, schools
and backgrounds, low or high incomes will not assume no abuser behind someone’s
front door. I am smart, intelligent, attractive
and well educated but domestic abuse did not pass me by. When I finally plucked
up the courage to leave I finally had a good career and a little money of my
own. I would never have believed I would
become a victim to a psychopath; abuse doesn’t discriminate by colour, race,
religion, spirit or socio-economic background.
It can touch anyone any time and often when you least expect it. I never believed it would happen to me; this
wonderful free spirited me. Never stereotype or assume.
Over the 25 years of our marriage I
realise he thought he could buy my loyalty, love and affection by giving me a
grand home with a high income. He would constantly tell me how lucky I was,
that he did everything to make me happy and that I should be extremely grateful
to him for everything we had. He would tell me that he went to work to earn
enough money to ensure I had everything I desired and wanted. But “things” can
never make you happy. I needed love safety, peace and contentment. I live alone
now but I have never been happier and at peace with myself and the world. He hit
me three times. The third time I had it
recorded at a solicitors and the doctors, as I knew no one would ever believe
me and he would always deny it. His
behaviour was the epitome of domestic abuse.
He almost destroyed me. Eventually I
summoned up the strength and courage to “flee” one Monday afternoon with my
daughter after school to a hotel. We hid for days while he subjected us to
verbal abuse. The police and my solicitor were informed and our address was
made a safe house. We moved around a lot as I was paranoid he would find me. For
two years or more I felt he was following me. He never did find us and slowly
we accumulated a home again but the post-traumatic stress I suffered was almost
as severe as the abuse. My daughter was traumatised and under police guard at
school for a while. She also suffered an eating disorder and depression. Thirteen
years later we have both recovered to the point where we can live again and are
no longer scared of him at all, but it has taken thirteen years. We both have
good careers and work hard and take care of each other. Her relationship with
her father is still very estranged. But today we wear the proud badge “survivor”
and “thriver” and live peacefully in the world.
