I lived in a house with 3 floors. I was in my 20’s and had a daughter who was 11. The man I chose to live with was not her father. Towards the end of the relationship I camped out on the middle floor which had 3 bedrooms. My daughter had one bedroom, the hamster had the study and I had the spare room. I suppose I’m starting from this point although the abuse came much earlier because it’s like somebody has stuck a pin in time and I always land back in these traitorous weeks. We had a blow up camp bed in there. I hated it, even when I put a duvet underneath me I would wake up cold. I wasn’t allowed to decorate that room, so I had the basics, a bed, a wardrobe, the clothes maiden, and a chest of drawers. I wasn’t allowed a TV in there as a way of punishment that I didn’t want to stay in my old bedroom with him anymore. I knew every creek in the house. I would go to bed on the shitty air mattress, that my cousin once popped with his bloody toenail when him and his wife came to stay so it slowly used to deflate which was absolutely brilliant. I would watch ITV player on my IPad like a naughty petulant child and when I heard certain creeks in the stairs I knew he was on his way upstairs. I would turn my Ipad off and pretend to be asleep. He always checked to see if I was awake. I could feel his presence lurch over my body as I held myself still and tried to think of a black plain canvass just so that I didn’t move my eyes under my eyelids. I would hear the door creek, the light switch flick off on the landing and every different sounding squeak and groan of the stairs leading up to the main bedroom.
I would lie in bed and think, I wonder if he would kill me in one of his anger episodes? I would ponder over this for about an hour. Jeremy Kyle brain would now be hosting its bespoke show on how I thought he would do it and how likely it was. I’d then stratigise my escape plan, tell myself not to be stupid with lines like “he’s from a lovely family he wouldn’t do that”. I would then tell myself that I feel vulnerable because when he lost his temper I felt he lost control. That for me was when I felt he was capable of anything. When I had finished writing the great escape in my mind for the 100th time and tried to put logic into mind cupboards I was finally satisfied that an hour had passed from him breathing over me and fast asleep in a comfy bed. I was safe to go to close my eyes and drift off to sleep in my ever delating, cold camp bed.
I quite liked living in the “basic room” there were no distractions. All I had was my IPad and my thoughts. Sometimes I would think that my thoughts took me to weird and whacky places but when I look back now I think it was my basic instinct telling me to get the hell out of the house and out of the relationship. My mind would always lead me back and try and make it work.
I didn’t recognise it as abuse. Abuse was physical right? I used to tell myself that it was just a rough patch and that all couples go through it. From the outside looking in he was funny, outgoing and full of life. He was known for his temper but not everybody saw that. It started with branding me as his princess, his friends knew me as his princess, he even had his name put on a dressing gown with “x’s Princess”. At first I thought it was cute, I had come out of a relationship with my daughters father where I had meant nothing and was massively disrespected and humiliated so for someone to love me so much and hold me in such high regard made me feel good.
Cracks appeared when we had first booked a holiday to Egypt. We hadn’t been dating long, probably around 4 months. We went shopping in the Trafford Centre and he just went from the nicest person to absolutely raging. He thought because he drove that he had the upper hand and that I would be vulnerable 10 miles away from home. One thing my previous relationship taught me was not to take shit. So I rang my mum and got her to pick me up.
We made up as most people would as it was a stupid argument and shit happens. We went to Egypt and he proposed to me. He hired a speed boat to take us to a deserted island where he got down on one knee. I thought I was happy and I thought I could handle his occasional outbursts. I texted all my friends to let them know but none of them seemed particularly happy for us. I would receive either a one word “congrats” or nothing at all. I bet they could see the massive mistake I was making but for this 24 year old girl, a handsome fiance with drive and ambition was all I wanted.
In the whole 8 years we were together I think we went on about 5 nights out together. He would say horrible things to me whilst we were out especially if we were in company. Where I would say I was going to the toilet but just go and get a taxi because I couldn’t be arsed with his attitude and his put downs. One night I just got a taxi to my mums on my own, obviously called by Subway for the 6 inch steak and cheese on the way there. My phone would non stop be flashing up with his name. What part of just leave me alone and I’ll speak to you in the morning did he not understand from the pre- 10000000 phone calls he was making to me? Unfortunately for my mum he had the home phone number that was on her bedroom cabinet. He would ring 2, 3, 4am and be unapologetic for it. My mum would stagger in my room with slit tired eyes wobbling the phone next to me whispering “it’s him”. I would hear my daughter say “Ganma what’s happening?” mum would answer “don’t worry sweetheart just go back to sleep”. I didn’t even get to “hello” and the rant would start. If I’m totally honest I don’t even know what he was saying because the pitch was deafening. I turned my mobile off, put the home phone down and then take it off the hook so that he wouldn’t wake my mum and daughter up again. You would think it stopped there wouldn’t you? 10 minutes later the doorbell incessantly rang. I got up in haze, went downstairs which meant the burglar alarm chirped up only to find a hysterical boyfriend crying and shouting on the doorstep. I told him to go upstairs and for the love of god shut the fuck up and stop waking my family up. He then pretended to fall off my bed made spit bubbles and fake foamed at the mouth. It wasn’t great. I told my mum to ring an ambulance just incase he had been bit by a wild dog on the way here. As soon as the ambulance men arrived the younger one said, mate you’re just drunk but we’ll take you in for observations. Me and mum could hear him banging and punching the sides on the ambulance. I just wanted him to go so I could get some sleep and stop a very emotional person repeating whilst spitting the same sentence at me 100 miles an hour. It was not our night, the ambulance men refused to take him. So I tried to calm him down in my bedroom whilst I rang his older brother to come and get him. His brother came, who was a calmer and more approachable version of my then fiancé. He got him out of the house and then called a taxi. The relief and the knowing that I could finally get some sleep and that my poor mum could finally retire back to her bed was immense.
Absolutely Mental_lity 