I Am Me, Not You

“I don’t think people realize how much strength it takes to pull your own self out of a poisonous situation with someone you love deeply. So if you’ve done that today or any day, I’m proud of you.” - Anonymous

I'll start with the background,

16-years-old thinking I knew the world, how to handle situations, naïve and... in love.

I met this man (emphasis on man). He was 7 years older, beautiful head to toe. Dreamy irises which looked like sunflowers, olive skin, and a body to die for. Why in the world would he be interested in me, a 16-year-old girl who lived with her Nan and had no job due to JUST moving into the area? From the start, I was besotted.

The first 6 months were amazing, I had done things I had never done and to be completely open, the sex was amazing. 30 weeks later, the violence started. Pinned to the ground in the early hours of a Friday night, I was slapped, shaken, and screamed at. I still remember the anger in his face and the spit hitting mine. Why did I stay? I was in love.

Months went by and all there was were silly little arguments people in regular relationships have. Right? Then it would happen again.

Weeks went by and all there was were tough times where you both are feeling the pressure, like everyone else. Right?

Punched, kicked, used as a human target for remote controls, shoes, anything and everything.

It then became a regular occurrence. Once, twice a week maybe. The problem was that where we lived it was the "Thing." Men were at the top of the hierarchy and as they saw it, I probably spoke to him in the wrong manner, have our home in tip-top condition, or have dinner ready and waiting for him to finish work. I was in the wrong. Although people heard my screams, no one ever asked if I was okay.

I wasn't okay.

But you forgive, you never ever forget. The pain is there engraved in your brain and you go about your daily life like everything is normal. He normalised the pain.

One day in November 2016 shortly after his birthday I woke up early and went to the shopping center and brought all the bits I needed for cleaning and dinner. Our place was spotless and dinner was in the oven, all warm and delicious. I went to work but I didn't even hear anything from him, no phone call or text message to say thank you. That's all I wanted, a simple thank you would have satisfied me. Nothing. I arrived home.

Beer cans everywhere.

Empty lottery tickets caked in white powder lying on the floor.

Butts burnt into the floor, showing the evidence of whatever "banging bud" the Dealer had in that day.

Beard trimmings meshed in with the threading of the carpet.

No, that was it for me. Funny, isn't it? The mental and physical abuse wasn't enough but black bag items not in their home were...

I was going to leave the next morning. Wait for him to leave for work and then off I go. 10 minutes after him leaving he phoned me to tell me his Mother had passed away overnight. Her beautiful soul had floated off to bless everyone in the next life. He was devastated and so was I. I couldn't leave him then, could I? Right?

In his Mother's passing, he was given their family home. It was delightful, way too big for the pair of us. Backed onto a reservoir, we had little lambs and their mothers in the springtime visit the back of our garden to eat whatever vegetables we had in the fridge. Never at the age of 19 would I have thought I would have a house like that to call my home.

It got worse. Pushed down the stairs. Locked in the house. Locked out the house. Money stolen. Phone taken. Every name under the Sun spat at me. I could even say the abuse and excuses as he was saying them. But in all of this, I was winning in a weird way. I had gained a neighborhood. Although they were his friends growing up, they heard my screams and cries and called the Police on the weekly.

I lied. Like the 16-year-old I was a few years previous, I was naïve and in love. I couldn't send this man to prison. The Police coming to the house and/or him spending his night in a cold cell was enough... In all my victim's statements he never put a single finger on my cheek or spoke to me in the wrong tone, he was the perfect boyfriend, you couldn't get any better than this!

One night he was arrested—naked—and it was my fault as I let them into the house. It was a domestic and the Police would have come in one way or the other. I was asked about the carpet burns on my shoulders, my swollen face, and bleeding mouth but "it all happened at work Officer." The Police returned at 4 AM to do another witness statement and assessment, funny as people don't really put makeup on or changed their clothing at 4 AM.

This was all over me working at the local Pub. I was sleeping with the regulars apparently. He also found messages on my phone from a boy I went to college with. A good male friend. In the messages both my boyfriend and his girlfriend were mentioned, it was just a general catch up with no "x's" or sly comments. I was told to leave the house for a couple of days but as I had nowhere else to go I stayed above the pub I worked at, which he was okay with (?!). I had to take videos on my phone to show where I was and answer my phone within 2 rings or that was it. He showed up in his car in the pub's car park numerous times just to see if I was where I said I was.

I decided to have some time away at my parents who live about 2 hours drive away and after a week I was back because you know, everything is fixed within a week!

I visited his house but had to hide if someone came to visit and keep quiet when he was on the phone, especially on the phone to his father. His father knew what kind of person he was and called my boyfriend out when needed but still trod on eggshells around him.

One day, June 2017, we visited a lake around 15 minutes drive away from the house. It was cut off by hedges and trees on one side and the other was completely open, it was deathly quiet though. This still didn't stop him asking for sex. Before, I would have said yes. I kinda like that whole thrill of possibly getting caught out in public. But I said no.

No.

No.

No.

No.

He pulled down my trousers. Bent me over. I couldn't scream. My body wouldn't let me. I couldn't even cry.

He finished. We left.

Pregnant. Due date: February 2018. (Work out 9 months previous). I can't leave him now, can I? (I had a miscarriage).

He knew I was pregnant but a kick was still the quickest way down the stairs and sleeping outside in a high crime rate area was the best place for me to sleep...

Off to the Pub I went to live, again.

My parents begged me to stay with them just until my boyfriend had cleared his head. They just thought he was having a tough time dealing with his Mother's death. I couldn't tell them what he had done. As we drove off my Dad said, "I just want to hug him, he looks like a broken man."

One day whilst washing dishes at work, I burst out crying. My mum came running in asking why I was crying. "I miss my friends," I replied. "Not ***," she asked. And that's when it hit. I didn't love him.

There's a fine line between love and hate.

I hated him.

It was all very quick, the break up and me going back to get my belongings. Get this, HE called the Police to make sure there was no breach of peace. HE called the Police.

I'm not going to lie, I did scream. I did shout. I did break down. But I was angry. Very, very angry. Who was he to do this to me?

I found out later he was cheating on me which his best friend's/cousin's ex-girlfriend. Which, strangely, massively empowered me. Even small things like the fact I had bigger boobs than her (I did pick her bra up and laugh...) and that I didn't have a criminal record, unlike her. Silly, isn't it.

So I told the Police. Everything. I wrote my statement like it was a story about to be published. I didn't miss a single detail or date. I had and still have a folder with dividers, poly pockets, maps, post-it-notes, emails, text messages, pictures. I wasn't going to let this boy get away this. I became obsessed with the case. I was more broken and destroyed mentally than I ever was than when I was with him. I spent my days convincing 3 different Police forces, charities, and lawyers that I wasn't lying. I wasn't a bitter ex-girlfriend doing this out of jealousy. I was a victim who had finally grown the courage to speak out.

I knew I had gone crazy and I just wasn't myself. I wanted to kill myself on the daily and thoughts even entered my head to do something to him, but luckily I had no money and no mode of transport at 4 AM to travel to his house. I don't reckon I would have done anything to him if I was to see him then. I saw him again in December 2017 in a nightclub in my town—I had moved back in with my nan at this point. I froze. I then ran. I cried.

I received abusive texts and phone calls for months; he even tried telling me I was better than the people I was hanging around and I would amount to nothing being in their company. The cheek!

The Police decided there was wasn't enough evidence to charge him with the long list of things they had pushed me to go for even though to quote, "Yes, we are all aware of Mr *******, he is an absolute w***er." "Yes, I have dealt with him on numerous occasions." "Oh is that the one I released the other week, the naked fool kicking and screaming for hours?"

On the day of writing this I am 339 days free of him and can I tell you I have never been happier in my whole entire life? Don't get me wrong, I have days where I feel like I'm out of my body and don't want to move from my bed, I was diagnosed with Anxiety and PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) since the break-up but that's who I am. That's me. I've just paid for my third holiday of the year, started studying again, have an amazing group of friends, closer to my family than ever and I have found the missing part of me in the form of a Cockapoo. The cutest and best living thing to grace this Earth (You'll probably hear about him soon).

What I'm trying to say as I've dragged on and on and on and on and on, is that Mr or Mrs Abusive, whether it be psychological or physical, isn't you as a whole. You are your past. You can never get away from it, it's unchangeable, but it's made you who you are. I know I am a million times stronger than I ever have been. I still have my breakdowns and my bad days. I know there are people out there who have been through exactly the same as me and people who have been through a lot worse for a lot longer than I did who are happy, strong individuals. It doesn't matter how long it takes you to feel normal again, even semi or quarter normal again but you do get back there, I promise.

At the age of 12 on Bebo, very rarely did I ever post a selfie, even age 15 on BBM or Facebook I never did. Age 21, I'm confident. I am me and if you don't like that, I really do not care.

To you Mr or Mrs Abusive out there being someone's Parent, Sibling, Partner, Friend or acting anonymously, although you make take everything we are away from us for a time,

You make us strong, not weak.

You empower us, not enslave us.

You make us more knowledgeable, not weary.

We are us, not you.

Just remember a beautiful outside doesn't make you a beautiful person.

Even if they threaten to hurt themselves or worse because of you leaving them or because of what they've done, they need help, not you. It would never be your fault. I stayed out of fear his Nan would walk in the house one day and see him hanging from the noose he would leave on show on the regular, or his Sister would get a phone call that she's lost her Grandfather, Mother, and Brother all in close proximity. It's okay to tell others, and they can help them to get help.

“YOUR ABUSIVE PARTNER DOESN’T HAVE A PROBLEM WITH HIS ANGER; HE HAS A PROBLEM WITH YOUR ANGER.One of the basic human rights he takes away from you is the right to be angry with him. No matter how badly he treats you, he believes that your voice shouldn’t rise and your blood shouldn’t boil. The privilege of rage is reserved for him alone. When your anger does jump out of you—as will happen to any abused woman from time to time—he is likely to try to jam it back down your throat as quickly as he can. Then he uses your anger against you to prove what an irrational person you are. Abuse can make you feel straitjacketed. You may develop physical or emotional reactions to swallowing your anger, such as depression, nightmares, emotional numbing, or eating and sleeping problems, which your partner may use as an excuse to belittle you further or make you feel crazy.”― Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men