A Reflection of Emotional Abuse

Lucy - 11 Jul 16

I was 17 when I walked into a bar and clapped eyes on him for the first time-for the sake of the story, we’ll call him The Germ. I was supposed to be at school, but a post GCSE slight rebellion of education, meant that I didn’t spend too much time in school, I spent it mainly going to bars and getting drunk. So there he was, The Germ. With his moped helmet tucked under his arm-nobody drove actual cars yet, everyone drove mopeds. He was perched on a bar stool. With my frizzy, pre-GHD badly dyed hair, and awful ‘I’m trying to make an identity statement’ clothes, I wasn’t much of a magnet for the opposite sex. Looking at The Germ, with his clear confidence, and heavily chiselled features, I knew that this trend would continue, and that the chances of him noticing me were slim to none.

You can imagine my surprise when The Germ came to sit at our table. I assumed he’d come to talk to one of my friends-that friend that everyone has who every man wants a piece of. When he was talking to me, I thought he was just trying to get to her. Hours later, and several flaming sambuca’s later, and I found myself snogging the face off The Germ. A week later, me and The Germ were officially a couple.

It started very slowly, the emotional abuse. It started with him placing doubts in my already unconfident head about my appearance. He gently skirted around rumours that he’d ‘heard,’ where people had said that they weren’t sure why he was with me-he was out of my league. Apparently he was telling me so that I could red flag the people who’d said them-he wanted me to know they were no friends of mine. He gallantly told me how he’d shot them down and dared them to speak about me like that again.

Before I knew it, anything that I wore, and anywhere I went, had to run past him. ‘I think you should change,’ soon became ‘if you wear that, you are just shouting ‘slut’ to anyone who walks by you-take it off.’ Sometimes even making it out of the house was impossible, and if I did make it out, The Germ would often turn up where I was, and physically drag me home-even a 3 hour car journey to Cornwall wouldn’t stop him doing that. In my naivety, I believed that he acted the way he did out of pure love for me. He’d had a hard upbringing, and I assured myself that he’d gotten the lines blurred between love and possession, somewhere along the way. I wanted him to change and was sure that he would.

I found myself isolated from my friends, and all the dreams I had for my life. I spent all of my time with him. I only went out with him, and when I did, I spent most of the time looking at the floor, not wanting to be accused of trying to catch another man’s eye, hoping to avoid the inevitable punch that would be thrown if he felt that someone was looking at me. He once threw a bottle at me for talking to somebody he didn’t approve of, and told me that I needed to stop provoking him, and that the shards of glass covering me and my outfit would remind me of this.

I lived a life of repressed anxiety. I didn’t recognise it as anxiety at the time, because I was too busy trying to pretend to everyone that I had the perfect life, convinced that The Germ was over passionate in the way he chose to show how much I meant to him. He fit no kind of stereotype for an abuser-he didn’t drink, and turned up to work in a suit. Elderly people adored him, as he was suitably charismatic and charming around them. But he was subtly eating away at me. He’d shredded any confidence I had left, and I was tired of pleading and doing battle with him, just to be able to see someone he didn’t want me to be seeing. I was just his puppet, to do what he wanted, when he wanted. I became frightened to leave him, because I was trapped in the safety net he had created for the two of us, and I was worried that I’d have no friends, no support, and wouldn’t be able to manage on my own without any of these things.

Besides, I had been suitably brainwashed with ideas such as: ‘Nobody else will want you anyway. I will never let anyone else near you-I’ll ruin every relationship you try to have. I’ll see to it that you will never be safe if you go out alone. I will kill myself if you ever leave me.’ Buckling under the strain of wanting to be rid of him, and the fear of being rid of him was taking its toll on every fibre of my being. I was no longer able to eat without being violently sick, and my clothes hung from my skeletal body. I had to be sent home from work when one day my mind went blank, and I couldn’t remember where I was, or what I was supposed to be doing there. A member of my team drove me, telling me it wasn’t safe for me to drive-instead of taking me home, she took me the GP, and asked for an emergency appointment there and then.

I knew that I was going to rid myself of The Germ, despite all the fear. To make it easier, I did something I’d always wanted to do, that The Germ would never hear of-I went travelling. While I was away, news reached me via social media that The Germ had seen through on his threats-he was in hospital with a suspected overdose. I wasn’t going to let that ruin the first thing I had done for myself in 7 years. I ignored any further messages, and continued to enjoy my trip, trying to sort my head out along the way-it was my own personal Eat Prey Love moment. When I got back, I worked on extricating myself from The Germ, and making sure I never saw him again, despite his ceaseless bid to make this happen.

With the hindsight of experience, and now being in a stable, beautiful relationship, I often reflect on the shame I feel that I knew this behaviour was wrong, but I let it continue for so long. I reflect on my weakness, that I was too scared to walk away, and naïve enough to think there would be change. I feel angry that I was robbed of my early twenties-what should’ve been some of the best years of my life, that I will never have back. I’m angry with myself for not believing the friends I had been distanced from would not still be there for me after so many years, and come running to help me. I wonder about him, and his motivation for doing what he did. I wonder if he will ever change, or seek the help he so desperately needed. Although the panic that seized me for a long time following the end of our relationship has ended, I’ve been left with nightmares, which pop up and remind me of what happened-these make me angry that The Germ can still infect my life after all this time.

But now, as a mother of boys, I know that my boys will be brought up to love, respect, and nurture the women in their lives. They will be kind, caring, considerate, and compassionate, just like their dad. I am fierce in the belief that I will never see such behaviours perpetrated by them, or to anyone in my life who I love. This experience has changed me, but has made me a better mother-standing up for myself and my children with a strength I didn’t know I had. I never thought I would find it within myself to trust, love, and get married and have a family. Even though there are times that motherhood has made me feel like I lost myself again, just when I was beginning to find myself, losing myself to two little people I have created is the perfect way to be lost for a while. Although motherhood can make me cry, and make me endlessly frustrated, it can also make me smile when I thought I’d never smile again.

‘The moment that you start to wonder if you deserve better, you do.’

Lucy

I am a frazzled, and slightly lost mum to two young boys, finding my place and way through motherhood with plenty of humour, cheese and wine. I have an antisocial addiction to Netflix, and live in Bristol-one of my favourite cities in the whole world, when I actually get to go out and enjoy it! I blog about my massive fails, comical daily struggles, and some serious stuff, at www.thismumslife.com

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