Domestic Abuse & Me

My nearest and dearest often describe me as strong, loud, resilient, and many other terms similar (mainly loud). My patients have referred to me as "firm but fair" and "take no shit." So you can imagine why for someone like me admitting I was in trouble, admitting that I needed help and admitting I WAS a victim was so hard for me. But, as a nurse in women's services, I couldn't cope with what I felt would be hypocrisy. I need to practice what I preach. All that has kept me going recently is turning the worst time of my entire life into a positive experience, trying to turn myself into a positive role model. Showing my little sister, my patients, other women, and my loved ones that we all deserve to be safe in our homes, in our minds, bodies, and the world we live in.

When you're subjected to unprovoked, unpredictable abuse that ranges from subtle words to fireworks, you'd think a person would live in fear, but that's not the case. Instead an eerie calmness comes over you, a knowing feeling, an acceptance that you will die if you don't leave. I won't lie, I wanted to die. I wasn't suicidal but I felt death was the only way I'd be free. I was taken away from my friends, my family, my job, and everything was taken from me. I was one of the "A man hits me, he only does it once" types. I don't know if that was naïve of me to ever think it would be that simple when loving feelings are involved. He put me through HELL and I called it LOVE. It was always the way I said something, the way my face looked, that I had an answer for everything, that I was too intelligent, whatever it was it was my fault and I made him do it. Then it was I never offered reassurance, that I never comforted him, that my friends didn't like him.

I forgave, forgave, and forgave some more. There was a point where I was willing to drop everyone and everything and run away with him because I believed he was "sorry," I believed "this time was the last time," I believed he "wasn't well." Now there's a massive difference between a bad boy and a bad person and we can't blame all the worlds evil on illness. I wanted to save him, I don't know if it's the nurse in me or just a part of me making up for past losses but I learned the hard way that you can't save everyone. Instead, it puts you in a vulnerable position where you end up being taken advantage of. He would say it was me that was psychologically bullying him and trying to ruin his life. After the countless head injuries, I really doubt that. I couldn't remember if I'd washed my hair in the shower let alone become a cunning sociopath.

"Can you change your hair from purple, it doesn't make us look good together." He inevitably took control of my hair, my money, my car, my house, my phone. I felt like I had to be sorry for anything and everything to everyone. I'd be sorry for sneezing, breathing, sleeping, just for existing.

He would say I used intimacy as a weapon but obviously, I wouldn't want him to touch me. This made me a slag, an ugly slag, an I think I'm so special slag, an in love with my ex slag, a cheating slag. Seriously when would I have the time to cheat?! He followed me to the toilet FFS! Er, how about no? How about you can't strangle me, smash my head off the furniture and the walls and then expect to get the goodies? Boy please. I just have to much respect for myself than reward you when you don't deserve it. 🙌🏽

I really don't know how after nearly a year of torture I found the strength to go back to work. Don't get me wrong, he made this difficult everyday. But towards the end before I knew it was the end I was getting stronger and finding my voice and after that first day in work, the penny dropped. I wanted OUT!! My job is my first love. I love being a nurse. I didn't spend 3 horrendous years at University to let someone just take it from me. I've never ran away from a fight and I wasn't about to start now. I found a way to save behind his back and flee to my own palace that didn't look like a crime scene. I found the strength to take pictures of every injury, every bit of criminal damage, every bit of domestic fraud, every bit of hell he put me through and everyday is a battle between frustration and optimism.

If it wasn't for me having some of the most amazing friends, who came straight to my side when I'd made the hard decision. They fed me, they helped me hide, they helped me heal, and they reminded me how amazing the sound of laughter is.

Like with mental health, there also seems to be a stigma attached to domestic abuse. There's a lot of self-doubt, shame, and belief in what your abuser says. I hid in bed for months unable to move. I felt I'd let people down, I let people make me feel bad for my life choices and I felt I had a lot of "told you so's" coming my way.

Since all this has happened to me, I've felt I've had no control over my life. I've not been able to make my own choices. I don't look or feel the same and I think even that's been taken away from me.

This isn't me wanting sympathy. This is me making a choice and taking back some control. Whilst it isn't even nearly over, I needed to get this off my chest because I don't want to be seen as a victim anymore. I'm alive, I survived.