I thought I could change him

Whenever I looked into his eyes, I just wanted to go swimming to paradise in the deepness of his blue eyes.  I wanted him to wrap his big manly arms around me and tell me how much he really loved me and wanted to be with me.  During our three years together, that day never came, but it didn’t stop me wishing and praying for it.  At the beginning of our relationship I loved him and bedtime for me was the best part of the day because it meant I could be so much closer to him, I guess I was infatuated with him, I had to be up close and person with him, our bodies touching, skin to skin, he made me feel so very safe but at the same time, I was so scared of him, whilst watching what seemed like a little boy lost, in a mans body.

Some days it seemed as though he had the weight of the whole wide world on his shoulders but he never wanted to open up and talk to me.  It was usually someone else’s fault, they had done him wrong, in particular an ex partner or two and they would usually punish him by preventing him from seeing his children.

As he told me his story, inside I vowed to myself I would never be like them and how could they treat him that way.

When he hit me for the first time, he was so full of remorse, he couldn’t stop apologising to me and promising it would never hit me again.  Of course I believed him, why wouldn’t I, I loved him so much and he loved me so why would he want to hurt me again, this was just a one off.

I can’t remember what our conversation was about but I know we were in the bedroom, he grabbed me as I tried to leave and as I turned around he slapped me around my face.  I think my pride and feelings were hurt more than a stinging slap.  I just stood in shock, blinking back my tears.

As quickly as it happened, his promises and apologies came quick and fast, my heart was telling me, aaah look at his face he’s so sorry but my gut was telling me something so very different.  I stayed with him, hoping and praying it would never happen again – but it did.

I left several times – the first time I foolishly thought my actions would have shocked the behaviour out of him.  He always found me and would tell me what I wanted to hear rather than what he meant.  He just wanted to sooth me with words of I love you so I would move back in with him and for a couple of weeks it would feel as though he had changed.

Deep down, I knew I wasn’t his typical type of woman and each day I was with him, I felt lucky he chose me.  At the beginning of our relationship I couldn’t stop smiling or believe he wanted to be with me.  Soon I was eating, sleeping and breathing him – he really was under my skin.

Everyday I tried to do all I could to make him happy; some days I succeeded and others I didn’t.  I quickly learned beer made things better sometimes.

His tipple was usually cider but one night he had been drinking whisky and I saw a different side to him that night.  Up until now he had only every slapped me, tonight I was punched by him.

The next morning he had no recollection of what had happened the night before.  I’m not sure if this was part of his act or he really couldn’t.

Sometimes he would talk to me as though I was the best thing that had ever happened to him and that gave me a little bit of hope that he might just change and I really wanted him to change but more importantly I wanted to be the reason he changed.

He gave me a little bit of hope that he would change but then that complex cycle would simply start all over again.

Looking back, maybe I stayed so I could change him, maybe I found it a challenge or perhaps I felt sorry for him.  I know one thing for sure and that was toward the end of the relationship, I simply feared him.

The reality was, no one could change him, he had to want to change himself but he just didn’t want to do that.

He craved on that power and control, he loved the impact his actions had on me, his sadist behaviours often making me fear for my life.






Easy to remember but hard to forget

It all happened so very quickly and in the blink of an eye everything changed and two weeks later I moved into his flat.

I lost so much for falling in love with the wrong person and what we had was more of a hardship than anything because it certainly didn’t feel as though we were friends and I had no idea what sort of relationship we were really in.

My life changed completely, whereas his stayed however he wanted it to be.  The hardship for me was I had fallen in love with someone who just didn’t want to love me.  Were we even in a relationship, what was happening between us?  I had nothing to compare it too, so I accepted and tolerated his behaviour toward me.  I was soon to find out that his love was something very different indeed.

There are so many things I remember about you, most of them bad, you are easy to remember and hard to forget.

You were such a cheeky chappie but you thought you were invisible to everyone and everything, as though you were owed so much but in return you thought you had to give nothing back

Life’s Journey

It’s not a race, running toward the finishing line to win the race and start all over again.  Sadly, it’s not that easy, it really isn’t.

So many evil words will be tucked neatly away inside your subconscious mind, popping out every now and then, rising to the surface when you least expect them, with no warning or a clear warning why.

Closure very difficult to find when so many unanswered questions are left behind, leaving you wondering why, time and time again.

You’ll doubt yourself, blame yourself and hate yourself, thinking it’s all your fault, brainwashing and manipulation seeping through your veins as the abusive behaviour comes from the person who claims to love you.

Days will be difficult and nights even darker but the light will shine through for you.

It’s about taking baby steps, one day at a time and at your own pace.  Your recovery journey is as unique and as individual as you.  Only you can, and will do it.

The traumatic experience that you have experienced simply doesn’t leave you but becomes a part of you and you learn how to deal with it because you don’t have any other choice.  Going back won’t change a thing but instead restarting the complex cycle all over again.

Isolation might still play a huge part in you life but it can be filled with whatever you want to fill it with.  You can be in control of your own life all over again.

Temptation needs to be completely pushed aside, listen to your gut it will be true to you, unlike your head and heart.  The false promises of, it’ll never happen again and the untruth in the words I love you when spoken, are empty words said in the hope to lure you back into the arms of your abuser.  It changes nothing, not who they are or what they do.  For a second or two it might change your perception of them, until the abuse starts all over again, and again, and again and again.

It might leave you feeling dishevelled about yourself, having your self worth sucked out of you feeling as though you can’t cope without the influence of your abuser, that’s their manipulation overpowering you.

When you leave, you might feel as though you are living in the unknown, not knowing what will happen next but your abuser is being proven wrong – you can and you will live and survive without your abuser because you are so much stronger than you think.

Insecurities live deep inside your abuser because that is what they are, which is why their abusive behaviour makes you feel that way, so they can feel better about themselves.

People, such as your friends and family, really do love you but you are led to believe the exact opposite so that the ripple effect is you relying completely upon them – as though you owe them everything – including your life.

You might feel empty from time to time, complicating thoughts eating away at you, thinking about the whys and what if’s.

You have been moulded into someone you aren’t, a person you don’t want to be or even like, but because you love your abuser, you do what you have to do for them to love you.

You might feel as though you still love your abuser, but ask yourself, is it love or fear.  Don’t be impressed by their superior personality and pretend words of promises to change.

Fragments of domestic abuse can exist in our life as you choose to leave the abuse behind you but it is achievable to survive.

You have no knowledge of your future other than taking one day at a time.  You have a long journey ahead of you, a journey of a thousand miles starting right at your feet.  It’s about focusing on you, who you are and where you want to be.



Professionals treat you different, depending on the crime!

Professionals treat you differently depending on the crime

I used to be a Legal Secretary before I met my now ex deceased abusers and life back then was very different to when I was a victim of domestic abuse.

Always suited and booted, I loved work and the people I worked with.  I was part of a team, people spoke to me with respect and they liked me for who I was.  Deadlines were a huge part of my job and I loved nothing more than beating the clock to get my work done.

Solicitors, Fee Earners and Paralegals would talk to me as if I were one of them, not as if I were beneath them.

From an early age I knew that I wanted to work in an office but not sure in which capacity.  I soon found my feet as Conveyancing Secretary, answering the phone, relaying messages and typing up important documents really were my thing, I loved the whole package.

As a young 19 year old, I was a bubbly and confident person, full of smiles and passion in all that I d did.  Nothing faxed me and more importantly I loved life and all that it had to offer.

So many professionals crossed my path as I lived with my abuser; housing, police, legal, judges and I had never felt so judged in all my life.

I desperately wanted to leave and move from the matrimonial home I had once shared with my ex but at the same time I wanted to be near my family for moral support.  With low self esteem, I went to my local housing office and explained my situation.  At this point, I was looking for a flat in the local town centre, after telling the adviser I wanted this location because I had family living there, my reply was quite shocking and completely unnecessary.  She blatantly laughed at me, telling me there was no way I would ever get a council house and my only option was to move into a woman’s refuge for at least 6 months and then after that time, I might be considered for a council house.

When I first got with my partner, I moved into his flat, I did move into a refuge once but he found me and persuaded me to go back home with him, which I did.  After I had my Tegan, I stayed with my parents for a short time and then saved for a deposit and then moved into a privately rented house, which was in my name – to help keep me safe and if anything happened, I could kick him our if needed but at least Tegan and I would still have a roof over our head.

The tears pricked my eyes and the water trickled down my face as this professional sat in front of me, laughing.  It wasn’t just the fact that this woman was telling me I couldn’t move or get a council house – which in fact, I had never even asked for – what hurt more was she knew my situation, that I had experienced domestic abuse, I was a mother to a newborn and how I was petrified of the man that I once loved, her laughter was simply mocking my life.

It hurt, the fact I finally had the confidence not only to speak out but to ask for help too, only to be ridiculed.  I didn’t ask the council for help again as a victim of domestic abuse.

My next experience with my local council was quite a few years later when our home had been broken into.  I had been split up from my ex part for about 8 years or so at this point and Tegan and I were living in a Housing Association house in a deprived area.  We were staying at my parents that weekend, it was my birthday and I had a voicemail on my phone from WMP explaining what had happened.

They had ransacked Tegan’s bedroom and taken most of her electrical goods – probably for quick cash – the break in effected Tegan quite badly and I knew we had to move but I wasn’t sure how.  I couldn’t afford another deposit for a private tenancy and there was no way the council would give us a house.

A Chief Superintendant came to see me when our home was broken into, he stayed a while, asking me questions and reassuring me all would be done to catch those who had done this to us, although he had a good idea who the criminal was who had committed this crime.

The Superintendant told me all the precautions that would be put in place for my daughter and I, including a door chain to help keep us safe.  He told me that Tegan and I were classed as vulnerable because it was just us two living together.  This planted a seed and it made me think about visiting the local council but without really getting my hope us.

The woman I met couldn’t have been nicer to me; she was so nice and helpful.  Before I knew it, I was registered with the local council and I could bit on properties.  Less than a month later I had a council house.

I couldn’t believe the difference in how I was treated, depending on which crime I was a victim of.  Even though the Police were well aware of whom my abuser was, his background and capability, they never offered to put safety precautions in place for me.  Nor was I classed as vulnerable but instead judged on whom I was and why I stayed rather than being helped to leave.  Police suggesting I move or leave but no steps taken to put me near family to support me.

As a victim of domestic abuse I was judged and when I really needed help, there was no one to hand.

I saw it as a way out

The whole room was spinning as I lay spread eagled on our double bed.  I was staring up at the ceiling, it was dark and I couldn’t really focus on anything.  I had to lick my lips over and over again to keep them moist as my mouth felt dry.  I should have gone into the kitchen for a glass of water but my whole body felt so heavy and my energy levels were so low.

Over the last couple of years, life had been one very bumper rollercoaster of a ride for me, all because I fell in love with the wrong man.  Someone who could only show me love through abuse.  I had lost my job, my friends, my family, my life and my identity and at this particular time as a victim, I guess I had just had enough.

My life was so very dark and I just couldn’t see a way out, let alone ever seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  I just couldn’t take any more.

I can’t remember how many or what tablets I had taken, I knew they were some kind of sleeping tablet though and I had taken paracetamol, plus some others.  I’m not really sure if I took them for a cry out for help or if I actually wanted to die.

Lying on the bed, I was crying and screaming but to no avail, he was at the pub as usual and no one would come to my aid, they never did.  We lived in a block of flats, so many residents knew exactly what was happening to me and what was going on but no one wanted to ever get involved or to help me.

My emotions were completely mixed; I just wanted him to stop hurting me and to start loving me.  On the other hand I felt as though I had let my parents down and brought nothing but shame on my family.  Maybe what I had done was a coward’s way out but I felt it was the right thing to do.

We lived on the 9th floor of a block of flats, yet that night after taking those tablets I somehow managed to leave the flat, get into the lift, leave the block and walk a good ten minutes, including crossing over a main road to the local put where he was.  I can’t remember much after that but I presume that I collapsed and then an Ambulance was called for me but I don’t know who by.

I vaguely remember being in the waiting room at the local hospital and a member of staff telling me off for using my mobile phone.  I can only imagine I was calling or texting him or his mum.  The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed; the sheets beneath me were wet.  I felt nothing but sheer embarrassment as I told the Nurse that the bedding needed changing.

Quickly after that, I signed myself out and walked back home.

I’m not really sure of what sort of welcome I would get from him and I had no idea what to expect when I got back.

Of course, I should never have expected anything else because his reactions was how I was such a selfish bitch and how could I do something like that when he needed me because his Granddad was dying.  During our relationship, I had never actually met his Granddad nor can I recall him talking about him or even calling him.  But it was still my fault.

He never once asked if I was ok or why I did it and as quickly as it happened, it was over and things went back to normal.  Whatever normal was.

We went to a pub the next night and I ordered and drank one shot of every spirit they had.  Looking back it was quite ridiculous really but for me in and at that time in my life it was a coping mechanism.

I became a little braver when intoxicated – I remember going to the local Police station and telling them everything – but more importantly, it numbed my pain from the physical beatings I got from him.

I was the bad one when I had a drink but it was always acceptable for him to do what he did to me.

Those choices I made never made the situation I was in better, it didn’t change anything and it was not a way out because I am still here to tell the tale.

A Grim Discovery

That person you thought you knew, is an abuser, you too were fooled by their manipulation and brainwashing behaviour.

Every time you saw them you thought they were a caring partner and to the outside world, they were but if only there were as caring behind closed doors.

I often wished that the other side of him I so often saw when he was around others; he would smile and just be so nice to them.  I would often pray for the day when he would treat me that way.

Many people knew what he was like with me but no one really spoke of it.  I think many just thought it was my fault for staying, not his fault for abusing me.

The grim discovery for me was his parents knew and never did anything to stop it.  If I dated to leave, I was called and told how he was a good lad really and I should give him another chance – which I always did.  Whenever I threw him out or left him, I was the bad one.  They condoned his behaviour but not mine. I often think about how I might have reacted if my son was an abuser.  I think I would be mortified, embarrassed and upset – so many emotions would be running through my veins.  I don’t think I could take it all in my stride without having a stern word or two!

His mum seemed to be his back bone and the only woman he loved and respected.  She still treated him like a baby – mothering him far too much, not letting him fully let go of those apron strings and it often felt as though there were actually three of us in the relationship, she knew more than I did about what was happening in our relationship.

Through the 3 years we were together I barely had a proper conversation with any of his family.  Maybe they thought as long as he’s with someone, he’s not our problem.

A grim discovery is often when you find out that people know what you were going through, yet never did anything to help you and by that I don’t mean getting directly involved.  All it takes is one anonymous call, especially if you see an assault actually taking place.

Ignorance isn’t always bliss.

I often found myself making excuses for his behaviour, sort of brushing it off as if it didn’t matter, as if I didn’t matter but it was only I left the relationship, I realised I was worth something.

A grim discovery is when you aren’t believed but your abuser is.


And Still I Went Back

Looking back now, it is so easy for me to say the signs of him cheating on me were there but when you love someone you are completely blinded by their actions, no matter what they do to you.

Right at the beginning I should have walked away; when I was in the foyer of the flat, a woman walked in and asked around for him.  When I mentioned it o him later that evening the smile on his face and brightness in his eyes really told me all I needed to know.  He assured me she was just a friend and the she meant nothing to him, but whenever she turned up to the flat, there was always that sparkle in his eye and how I wished he would look at the way he looked at her.

The would be blatantly flirting right in front of me, mocking and laughing at me but even then, he would persuade me, he loved me.

I was 9 years younger than him and she was 9 years older than him and she was besotted with him.  Over the years I learned that he was abusive to her too when they were in a relationship together.

She really tried to cling onto him and really beg for his love and attention.  She really would have done anything for him – and probably did – but he just treated her like crap – the way he did with me.

Looking back, I was just naive to the whole relationship, her turning up on the doorstep and answering the phone whenever I called I called him when he stayed out for nights, they were clearly warning signs but he was so completely under my skin, I just believed everything he told me – every manipulative work that came out of his mouth, I believed.

I wonder how she saw me – I remember bumping into her when I was pregnant and her face just crumbling like her whole world had come crashing down around her when she asked if it was his baby and I said yes.  After, she kept telling me how many times they slept together whilst I was at work; how he loved her but hated me.  Obviously, I didn’t know if that was true or not but she seemed to revel in the pain she was causing.

Maybe she did see me as a threat and maybe she did love him – either way I knew they were sleeping together.

I remember the night they slept together whilst I was in the next bedroom.  I remember his fact in the morning after the night before, how literally remorse he seemed, he guilty and ashamed he looked but that didn’t stop him staying with her the whole day, not answering his phone when I called and then coming to the pub causing a scene and then blaming me for everything.

And still I went back

Even after moving into my cousins flat, trying hard to ignore his calls and texts, he would often sit outside the front door, declaring his undying love to me, leaving me half dead flowers and cassette tapes just for me, proving how much he really loved me.

Looking back now, it is utterly absurd that time after time I returned to his clutches.  I guess you could say that he was like my drug and I had to keep going back to him because in my mind I couldn’t cope or live without him and that is something he always made me believe.

He was just so powerful in everything he said and did to me and because he had crushed every ounce of me, I let him treat me that way.

Our whole relationship was based on a lie – he cheated on me more than once but would always justify his actions and I would accept them.  It was as though I had to fight for his affections and attentions because he revelled in the thought of two women fighting over him.  One night he told me how I wasn’t a proper woman because I refused to get out of bed and hurl verbal abuse at another one of his ex partners who turned up drunk early hours of the morning.

How the same said person turned up drunk and he let her into he flat just so she could verbally abuse me and how his friend stood up for me more than he did.

He must have made the same promises to all of us and we must have fallen for his lies.

In time and thanks to my daughter I became so much stronger and so thankful that I did leave because without my daughter, I would have stayed and wouldn’t be here today.

Tickboxes don’t always tick the right boxes

Through my own eyes, I could see how everyone was judging me, looking down their nose at me, drinking up every inch of me with their judgmental attitude.

They couldn’t see how psychologically beaten and wore down that I was.  Tired of living and too tired to keep fighting to live.

People asking me why didn’t I just leave, people saying have you thought about moving and others telling me I was stupid for leaving and moving over the road.

Called out to “yet another domestic”, out comes the paperwork again, asking the questions laid out on the paper in front of you, no empathy, passion or even compassion, clock watching as you write down a few things here and there.  Never once asking me how I was, just asking bog standard questions that were compulsory to ask in order for you to tick your tick boxes against the questions you had to ask me, another statistic in the system not a survivor surviving real life.  Just opening my eyes each morning meant that I had survived one more day.

Once the questions were asked and you had been and gone, this statistic was just another number that had paperwork attached to it.  Not one more thought would have been given about me but no matter how many tick boxes that had been ticked it wouldn’t stop the abuse or tell me how safe I was and that everything would be okay for me.  No understanding of how it wasn’t about me not wanting to leave the abusive relationship that I was in but more of a, I couldn’t leave.  It was just assumed that I was unwilling to engage so nothing more could be done for me.  No one asked, what’s stopping you from leaving or how can we make it easier for you to leave.

My support was an 8 week awareness course that made me relive every painful memory I had lived through and a support worker encouraging me to use my local Sure Start centre.  But after 5pm and 8 weeks were up, that was it and once my daughter was older than 5 I could no longer use the services.

Whether you have been a survivor for 5 years, 25 years or 55 years the traumatic experience you have survived is still a part of you.  There will be days where memories are triggered or days where you want to cry into the arms of someone who completely understands.  Nights where you can’t sleep because each time you close your eyes, you see your abusers face or at 2 in the morning when you want a chat, the tick boxes don’t help then.  A textbook knowledge or poor knowledge at all doesn’t help me whatsoever.  Your textbook tells me you see me as your job, not a survivor.  You have no idea the strength it takes to speak out, knowing the verbal threats my abuser has made, will become reality if I date to leave.

That one appointment I missed when you thought I didn’t want to engage was because I was being held hostage and threatened to be killed if I left the flat.

The call I missed was because I was sitting right next to my abuser and if I had spoken to you, my kids would have taken away from me and I would have been beaten all over again.

I keep changing my mobile phone number because whenever my phone is found on silent, it’s smashed and replaced with a warning not to every give my number out ever again.

I don’t always visit A & E with my injuries but when I do, I know how frustrating it is when I say I’ve fallen down the stairs but you just don’t understand, if I dare tell you the truth, the job will be finished off for good next time.

Your tick boxes don’t tell you how every single day of my life, a smiled is painted on my face and when you see this, you think all is ok; you don’t see the darkness of fear that lives right behind my eyes.  You don’t see me flinch with fear as my abuser makes out we are the perfect couple because I’ve had to learn the hard way, I must not flinch.

Tick boxes don’t show you how my mouth says one thing but my eyes are screaming out for you to help me.

The devil in disguise


That was the one song that you sang on the karaoke one night in the pub.  I remember it well.  You sang it to me – well, you made it look like you were but I know you had eyes for another woman in the pub that night, but you were using your manipulation skills to make it look like you were the caring partner, singing for his girlfriend in front of everyone in the pub.  You always did have this way of making me feel like utter crap, actually, you were really good at it.  More fool me for putting up with it for so long!

I think the name of that song is quite apt – the devil in disguise.  Perhaps that is who I lived with for three years – the devil.

Music played a big part in my childhood; I was brought up on the swinging 60s and the brilliant 80s with everything else in between.  I remember you telling me how my parents “must have locked me in my bedroom and made me listen to all these songs because there was no way someone of my eye could possibly know them otherwise”.

I loved my music, would always have it on extra loud and momma bear and dad would never once complain, even with all the thump, thump, thumping coming through the ceiling.  Music, for me, was just so powerful.  It could make you sad, happy, cry – all at once sometimes! It put rhythm in your soul and a beat at your feet, such a wonderful feeling.   A memory to go with each song.

You loved your music too but when you put your music on in the flat, my heart broke into thousands of pieces.  I knew what was coming next.  It meant you would tell me, all over again, what an amazing Father you were to your children and how the bitches of mothers (all different) wouldn’t let you see them, no matter how hard you tried.  Your story telling usually consumed of you sitting on the floor, back against the wall, bottle of cider in one hand and fake tears glistening in your eyes as the words poured from your mouth.

Obviously, the first time I heard it, I felt your pain, cuddled you, felt sorry for you but by the millionth time and hearing it at midnight o’clock, I must admit, did get quite tedious and I just went through the motions in the end because I was suddenly thinking, you were probably a right arsehole to them too which is the real reason they won’t let you see the children, but of course, I was never brave enough to say anything to your face.  I just sat and listened to you.  Again.

Those lyrics are just so powerful to me:-

You look like an angel
Walk like an angel
Talk like an angel
But I got wise
You’re the devil in disguise
Oh yes you are
The devil in disguise

I think that describes you perfectly, doesn’t it?

You made out to everyone – apart from me – that you were an angel, and that nothing was ever your fault, always someone.

Even to this day, there are certain songs and singers I can’t stomach listening too, not because I dislike them but because you are attached to them and sometimes when I think of you I feel disgust and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

So much time has passed between us now that I just feel pity for you but saying that, it’s not very often I think about you or our relationship.  Even looking at our beautiful daughter, you are not at the forefront of my mind anymore, I guess you could say that time is a great healer.

Music is a creation, performance and significance – a lot like you – you were created, you gave a fantastic performance with those false tears and you really are of no significance whatsoever.  It can divide people too as to what era was the best, swinging 60s or the naughty 90s – again a lot like domestic abuse does – dividing people into judgmental attitudes and constant victim blaming.

However, the similarities stop where, music is an important part of people’s lives where as domestic abuse is not and, in fact, should not even exist but unfortunately it does.

For me, it’s made me the strong independent woman I have become and I only have the devil to thank for that.




A lost soul

Looking deep into your eyes broke my heart, they were so dark and empty.  Your face looked sad and weathered, as though you had the weight of the whole wide world on your shoulders.

I tried talking to you, hoping you would open up to me but it always felt as though you had a safety barrier all the way around you and you were frightened to let anyone in, including me.

Some days, you would stand in the living room, just staring out of the window, not saying a word.  I wanted to open the top of your head, climb inside and find out was going on.

Your image was that of a bad boy, but looking back that was just what youwanted people to see, you didn’t want them to know the real you.

We could never get very far down the street without someone stopping you to say hello or have a quick conversation with you.  You would always leave wih a huge grin on your face, like the cat who got the cream, saying things like, you must hate me knowing all these people – it was as though you were trying to prove a point, like you had more friends than me.

Thinking back, it was more about trying to fill on empty voice in your life.  Reality was, it was you who was lonely in life, not me, but you had to strip me of everything to make you feel better about your own life.

You manipulated and twisted my life, making out that you loved me, using my love for you as pure justificiation for your behaviour toward me.

I think you were a lost soul, I’d even go as far as saying a little boy in a mans body.  I’m not even sure you knew how to love, more of a, don’t know how to rather than I don’t want too.

Maybe you were frightened to show who you really were because you feared being rejected so you felt the need to be in control rather than being controlled.  You had to hurt others so they wouldn’t hurt you.

You would always use your own personal experiences of bad things that had happened to you in your life as an excuse to abuse, not just me but almost everyone in your life.  The sad reality is, if you had just spoken ou, talked to someone, opened up at the time instead of comforting alcohol as a substitute, things might have been very different.

Being an abuser for so long, it was easier to stay that way rather than changing.  You didn’t want to change because it was so much easier to blame everyone around you, rather than accepting and admitting responsibility for your actions.

There will never, ever be justification for what you did, not only to me but other partners too.  The past canot be changed and nor can a sorry make things better but as they say, time heals.

I have healed and my life has changed from when we were together but yours never did.  As I sit here writing this blog, I feel sad because reality is, you wasted so much of your life and the love I once had for you has turned into sorrow.  I just feel so very sorry for you.

People speaking to you because they really feared you not because they liked you.  Their love for you, turning into fear.  You missing ou on your children because of your bullying behaviour.  You lost out on so much when all you probably wanted was to be loved.

Maybe you didn’t know your behaviour was wrong, perhaps you mirrored the behaviour or you were brought up in a hostile environment in your own home, perhaps you didn’t know any different.

I could sit here and write excuse after excuse but that still wouldn’t make our three year relationship right.  Truth was, what you did was wrong – it was a crime that you made to look like and to feel as though it were love.

That’s the reality of domestic abuse, it’s masked and disguised as so many different things other that what it really is, it’s about power and control.  So charming at the beginning, so controlling at the end, with a mixture of both in between.

You made me feel as though I was living on a rollercoaster and I had no idea how to get off, and even if I did get off, it was still very bumpy.

You moulded me into someone you wanted me to be but now I am moulded into someone, I want to be.