Relationships

After reading other survivors stories in various books I've come to realise it is only natural for us to end up in abusive relationships sometimes, but not leave them for fear of not having a relationship again or fear of being rejected, or sometimes for fear of the partner themselves. For me, it all started fine. We had a few arguments, and at the beginning I was still going through my turbulent mood swings and in therapy. He was unsympathetic at times, and didn't like me trying anti depressants. After I was off them he would berate me for considering going back on them, saying that I wouldn't be me if I was taking pills to control my mind. This put me off seeking help again while I was with him, and it gave him an element of control over me because I cared too much what he thought of me.

Later in our relationship he became possessive, and emotionally abusive. I went for over a year not going out other than to work or to the shop. I didn't see any friends or family in all that time, because he was agoraphobic, couldn't stand being left on his own and was paranoid that any time I was away from him I'd leave him or do something with another man. He even began to restrict who I contacted, always wanting to know who I was talking to, what about and why. As time went by he became even more controlling, and would not accept me wanting to do my own thing to the point of looking over my shoulder all the time or even getting violent over disagreements.

He was never as outwardly physically violent as the most common abusive partners, but he was restraining. He would pin my to the floor by my neck or drag me across the floor out of the room and leave me crying on the landing. He sometimes pushed me across the room or down onto furniture, and all of this played on my hatred of weakness. He was stronger than me and made sure I knew it.

Eventually, when his depression turned him towards alcohol I found the struggle even more difficult, I would often come home to him laying on the bed clutching a half empty whiskey bottle knowing it was most likely full just a few hours previous. He would be barely conscious but have enough energy in him to fight me if I tried to take the bottle from him to protect him from his own self destructive habit. He was threatening, to his own safety and to mine.

It didn't take long with him drinking and my own problems still unresolved for me to turn to alcohol too. I was drinking dark rum, mixed with energy drink, so I'd be up all night with no sleep, blind drunk just to cope with him being drunk, and isolating myself by spending all my time online. I tried to start going to another room overnight, taking my pc with me just for some peace, but he wouldn't leave me alone because he was dependant on my presence. My work suffered, and I nearly lost my job. I'm amazed I didn't crash some days, driving after several days without a wink of sleep and doped up on as much caffeine as I could get. Days went by me completely without my noticing.

When that relationship came to an end I was a wreck. It ended one night with us both drunk, in seperate rooms. I was at the end of what I could take so told him it was over, at which point we went through various stages of arguing, violence, struggle and times when I was utterly terrified for my own life and for his. He tried to shut himself in the kitchen and turn on the gas to kill himself that way, thankfully I was able to push in, open the windows and turn it off before he killed us all in an explosion.

Later he had the air rifle we'd bought years previous for fun and was threatening to shoot himself or me if I didn't do what he asked. I called the police while barricading myself in a bathroom and though he got me to put the phone down insantly they rang back, and I had to talk to them. I lied and said I'd had a panic attack, hoping they would accept that and he would be pacified enough to leave me alone. They sent a car and a couple of officers anyway to get a report, I hid the gun and he tried to hide himself in a cupboard. They came and found him, while he made a half arsed excuse about being in the cupboard to get paint for decorating. We gave them the story seperately and they left, he had to agree to leave me alone or I'd call them back.

He went quite for an hour or so, and I got worried why I could hear nothing from him so I went upstairs. I found him paraletically drunk having kept on drinking over a litre of whiskey on an empty stomach, and terrified I called paramedics. They came out and tried to help him, getting him to sit up and letting him vomit whiskey back up into a bucket (I can't even stand the smell of it now after that night) but he was swearing at them, being verbally abusive and asking to see me. I had been taken downstairs, and was sobbing over a cup of tea waiting to see what happened.

The ambulance crew were afraid to go near him, so they called the police. 2 or 3 cars turned up, including the officers who'd been there earlier. They advised me to pack up my essential belongings and move out in the morning. A short while later I was moved to another room out of the way so they could get him out of the house and into the ambulance. I was so relieved he was out I practically collapsed on the bed. I must've fallen asleep after a while because at 3am I was woken by the hospital calling ot say he was ok and could someone pick him up. Well, I didn't have a car so I couldn't do it. I gave them his father's number to call instead and sent a text message to my boss. I didn't know what else to do but I knew I wouldn't be able to work the next day. Unfortunately they didn't listen to me or try to understand I'd been through the worst night of my life and had to move out, and they called me in the morning to berate me for letting them know in such a manner.

By 7 or 8am I was woken by his father bringing him in, both of them were angry and his father refused to listen to me trying to tell him how much misery his son had put me through and instead kept trying to reconcile us. I believe he just wanted to avoid the burden of his suicidally depressed offspring and would rather I was the sole live in carer putting up with his crap for a few more years. Well, I agreed only to stay in the house that day because I had to pack a few things and contact my mother to see if I could go and stay there. She picked me up in the evening after work, and after what had probably been the longest day of my life babysitting the man I'd just dumped for trying to hurt himself and me. I spent hours cleaning up the broken glass coffee table, light fittings, and other things that had been broken in the various struggles overnight. I guess after that I learned my lesson about how violent men could be once again even if they seemed trustworthy at first.

Now I still find it a little difficult to trust my boyfriend. He's younger, shorter, and physically weaker than me, our mutual friends have assured me he's a complete pacifist and I never have to worry about him being anything like my ex was or hurting me that way, but for some reason I still can't feel at ease completely. We don't argue, but any time we don't agree or he disagrees with someone else or argues with another person I see elements that terrify me and make me want to run away, even though I know it's perfectly natural for people to argue sometimes.

Another incident that has made me weary was with my second boyfriend when I was 17.I was ill, he had just dumped me on the way home from the pub(he was drunk, I was sober and at the time teetotal) but I was in a town far from home supposed to be catching the train back in the morning. After he ended our relationship on the grounds of my psychological problems at the time, even knowing my past which I had foolishly entrusted him with, he asked me if we could have sex "one last time" before I went. I remember clear as day wanting so much to please him even though we'd just split up, feeling so ill I could barely walk into his room, but submitting to his request for sex. I cried through the whole thing, though he kept asking if I was ok I just said yes, wanting him to finish as quickly as possible so I could cry myself to sleep with the illness, the heartbreak and the shame. I should have said no, but I just couldn't. Even though he had just hurt me, we'd broken up, and I was so ill I could barely think straight I couldn't deny him from using me for his pleasure. I guess at the time it was all I felt I was worth, or like I owed him something for being so insane he didn't want to be with me.

I think the one thing I should tell survivors from all of my experiences is that if someone hurts you they do not deserve your affection. It's they're fault they are hurting you and not yours, you shouldn't suffer for a single moment at the hands of someone who claims to love you. Even if they are mentally disturbed, they should be sent to get help and if they cannot stop hurting you or themselves either they or you need to go away and be safe. You always have the right to refuse someone's sexual advances, you don't owe anyone anything in that way and your needs can come first even if it feels selfish. I might have trouble believing all that myself, but it makes more sense to advise others to trust the common sense that we all lack sometimes in the haze of emotions.