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.