My story of domestic violence

I spent my childhood being beaten and abused by my older brother, often being left with bruises, black eyes and in pain. There was sexual abuse too but I don’t want to go into that as I’m now in contact with him and healing.

My grandad often threatened the buckle end of the belt though never carried through.

I ran away from home as a teenager and ended up as a stereotypical runaway in London, gangraped and pimped. The first man I was pimped to molested me but I managed to talk my way out of being raped and he dumped me at Kingscross station in the early hours of the morning where a cleaner let me in to use the phone. I called my mum who called the police and Lewisham police picked me up and took me to the station. They asked if I had been hurt and I lied , I felt ashamed and didn’t want to talk about what happened.

At 18 when I was pregnant with my eldest daughter, I was raped by 2 men in the back of a car, the police picked me up and the investigation at the station was equally traumatising as the rape. It was the early hours of the morning and I can’t tell you how exhausted I was, mentally I wanted to shut down and block it ou , instead I was asked the same questions over and over again then prodded and poked, an internal by a male doctor in a room in the police station with the police detective sat watching, having to stand fully naked on a brown paper bag in the middle of the floor, ashamed and exposed, then having to try to produce enough saliva to spit into a bottle, to have my nails scraped and hair pulled out, it was horrific immediately following the rape itself.

I swore to myself I would never go to the police again.

If that wasn’t bad enough I still had to go to a sexual health clinic and get std testing done and the wait for results, worrying what the impact might be on my unborn child. I ended up suffering psychosis, thinking this baby in me was an alien or demon that would kill me , this continued after her birth, making it hard to bond with her, to pick her up, to nurture her, as a new, young, single mum in my own place for the first time.

I avoided relationships , I had a saying, I don’t do love, I don’t do relationships.

I ended up on drugs and working the streets to support my habit. I couldn’t cope, I was trying to deal with the abuse I suffered as a child, the rejection by my parents and the rape when I was pregnant as well as psychosis and I wanted to be dead.

It hurts to write this out and I’m not even going into details.

I ended up having an affair with a man who was engaged, my 2nd daughters father this lasted on and off for 4 years.

Before I had my 2nd daughter I ended up seeing another guy, Mark. Mark beat me up, threw me through a bookcase and left me for dead which ended our relationship.

I didn’t have another relationship until 2006 when I met the father of my 2 youngest daughters and my stillborn. Martin beat me daily for 6 years, I often had to stay home so nobody would see the bruises or wear a turtle neck to hide the strangulation marks on my throat. Every day I woke up wondering how I could try to keep him calm that day. Plan things he enjoyed doing, keep noise levels down and the kids out of his way.

After I lost Poppy, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore and left .

Next I met Barry, my husband, we married in 2012. I thought he was a good man because he never hit me, and I was so blinded by this that I accepted the emotional and mental abuse and gaslighting. I was still in the same pattern of trying to mind read and work out how to make him happy and please him each day, thinking of I just gave him what he wanted he would love me and be nice to me. Of course, that was delusional thinking.

We separated in March 2016 and by July I was with Damon. I thought everything was perfect with Damon, he was the love of my life, I trusted him and we had a bdsm relationship. What I didn’t see was that he was abusing me too, weirdly I would write in my diary about how the things we did were traumatising me and I would talk to him about that, but I was taking full responsibility that it was my fault and not his. I would say to myself that I had no right to stop the things he was doing as he didn’t cause the fear of them, it was those in my past that had made me so fearful, I couldn’t see at that time that if he cared for me, he wouldn’t care why I was scared of him and what we did, he would just stop doing the things. February 2018 he told me for the first time that he loved me and I find the courage to tell him that there was to be no more sadism, no more domination, that I wanted gentle and loving only. He agreed.  In April 2018 though, he raped me. There is still an ongoing police investigation and of course that was the end of our relationship.

Since April last year I have been trying to heal. I decided no more relationships for me because I can’t trust myself to recognise when I’m being abused and I know I attract abusers.

April last year I tried to kill myself and I still don’t know how I feel about still being here. I have children that I need to be here for, and that’s all I know.. I’m needed, even if I wish I weren’t.

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His new girlfriend

His new girlfriend and her mum have taken to messaging me accusing me of cheating with him or asking if he’s texting to try to get back with me.  The man that raped me! He’s under a police investigation for a serious crime, what would possess them to think he would dare contact me or that I would ever touch him with a barge pole?

I’m accused of lying because after dumping him I begged him back.  There’s some misconceptions that a rape victim can think rationally following the trauma   I didn’t talk to him for days after, in that time I had various thoughts in my mind  but this wasn’t a stranger, it was a man I had grown to love and trust. Someone I didn’t want to believe would ever hurt me intentionally   I thought he loved me, I thought he was the one, I had given all of myself to him.  I was in denial and telling myself he couldn’t have meant to hurt me  it must have been a mistake.

I went to his house a few weeks later to get my things  I made sure he was out at work and I took my daughter and her boyfriend with me so I wouldn’t be alone.

He had my house keys and car keys and I couldn’t risk waiting for him to show up at my house unexpectedly

Last night I discovered that on the day he raped me  his girlfriend had walked home from work with him  they had been talking about getting together and I’m sure having a fondle   She says she told him she wouldn’t be a side chick and he told her the next time he saw her, he’d be single

He raped me when he came in and the next day, I went home.  She visited him that evening and made their relationship official   Completely unaware of this, I was at home trying to make sense of the rape and looking for every excuse for what he’d done to me that I could think of.  Less than 2 weeks after he raped me I tried to kill myself   and a month after the rape  I reported it to the police.

His girlfriend has called me a dirty bitch, a rat, a whore, a slut among other things.  She’s also made sexual comments towards me as though trying to make a pass at me herself.  Both her and her mother have called me a liar even though they’ve known him only 6 months now and already both think he’s untrustworthy. The girlfriend tells me that she hates sex with him, she’d only been with women before him and that he’s a weirdo and how she’s better than him and that he’s punching above his weight with her. Meanwhile she says she’s trying for a baby with this man.

When she tried to dump him  he sent messages begging her and declaring how much he loves her, totally out of character and pathetic   Clearly his guilty conscience is eating him up, he needs the reassurance from another woman to make him feel better about the rapist he is –  Karma.  Weak and pathetic man without morals. He will never be the man I thought he was and never worthy of the love of anyone.

He will never be able to feel connected to anyone as he can never be honest. He will live with what he did forever  because the only person that could have brought redemption and closure was me, and I will never give that to him

The audacity

You the rapist call me a dirty bitch…

Your family all shun your brother for being there for me

What irony and evil is this?

You, a rapist who has already moved on into a new relationship  happy, getting on with your life, whilst mine falls apart because of you and what you did. And then to call upon loyalty from family against your own brother, a good and decent man who was there for the woman you destroyed and broke.  Who more deserving than him of support? Who less deserving than you?

Tormenting myself

So, I started reading back on all our messages and noticed that way back September 2017 I had indicated that I was scared of you  that I felt my episodes were increasing and that sex with you was hugely triggering, in October I was telling you how scared I was to visit you and by January I was saying how I felt i had to pretend to a good sub or you wouldn’t love me anymore and how much the bdsm lifestyle was traumatising me and that I was putting pleasing you before my own mental health and wellbeing.  You replied saying you knew I didn’t want to be a sub, yet you still continued to force me? You didn’t stop it.  February I finally called a stop to it all. I told you no more! I told you I couldn’t do it at all anymore.

Through March I reiterated what I told you in February and expanded on the changes I wanted to see and try, to feel connected, gentle, loving and to try to learn to open my eyes and look in yours and to trust you and open up to you.

You still forced me. Please tell me there’s any other definition for what you did – besides rape?

Urges

The nights get darker, the weather cooler, a time where secrets are better hidden.  Magicians aren’t the only ones that hide things up their sleeves!

The leaves fall to the ground, to rot and decompose. No more converting light to life.  Instead the husk is all that’s left of the beauty they once were.

No need though  to grieve for the fallen leaf, for with it’s death still it gives life.  Fertilisation of the earth, homes and food to creatures of the woods. Both in life and death a purpose served.

So let me go, let me leave..or leaf like be.  Eternal, immortal, do not grieve. I lived, I loved and this is only the next stage where my turn it is, to fall. At peace, at one.

BDSM isn’t consent to rape

I spent weeks feeling it was my fault, I led him down that dark path  brought out the sadist that was inside.  It was my fault right? I enjoyed being dominated  I enjoyed playing consensual non consent  for a while anyway, then it just started to re-traumatise me so I withdrew consent for anything rough.   But he’s the Dom and I’m the worthless little sub and I don’t get the last say do I?  What happens when I’m gentle?  he asked me when I confronted him about raping me. What D? I cry? I have issues and I find kindness opens all the locked away pain from being unloved and unwanted for so long? And I get scared that you’ll really see me  without my masks? And that I’ll get hurt again? When you’re gentle, I’m more vulnerable and outside my comfort zone.  But I don’t deserve to persist past this do I? Because even though being rough still triggers me in other ways, traumatise me, at least you’re fulfilled with your own sick fantasies right?

So my consent.. Was unnecessary to you, because you get the last say and  you decide when it’s over, not me

Of course, you have your defence all ready, as soon as I confront you, you’re answer was armed ready to shoot  like you knew it was coming didn’t you?  All prepared!

What did you say? Well you have all the agreements and what I like… Never mind they were from months and years earlier and I spent from February 16th to March 30th texting you removing consent, making all before null and void.  No, never mind that DF, because you get the last say don’t you? The worthless sub doesn’t get to remove consent, to say no more, to say stop.

The killer? The smug look on your face as you laid back resting your head on your arms whilst I cowered in the corner, shaking and wondering what to do and whether it was my fault, the smug look when you admitted you were seeing someone else within 2 weeks of raping me.  The smug look I imagine you had when I took my overdose and you thought you’d got away with what you did forever.  The smug look when you could attempt to make out to others that I had been to blame for the break up. The smug look i know you’ll have on your face when you get away with it because I know they won’t prosecute or that you’ll confess, you’ll own up and convince them you had good grounds to rape me!

No remorse for destroying me, for making me scared to be with anyone again.  To feel no man is going to want me now, whilst you pose for the photos with your new girlfriend and her children and happily have it on display all over Facebook, weeks after raping me and after refusing to ever have anything about me public.  I mean you really know how to make someone know how worthless they are don’t you? You said you loved me and then within a few weeks did that.

Bpd – the gifts

One of the symptoms of bpd is a sense of emptiness, a void and a feeling as though we don’t know who we are, lost.

These are positive symptoms if we approach them with a sense of determination.

An empty cup can be filled with any drink of choice, you can choose to fill it with something sweet, delicious and good or with bitterness and poison.

So too can we fill the void with love, respect, honour, care.

Not knowing what something is or is meant to be, means we can become our own designers, creators. We can mould ourselves into what we desire. We can choose our interests, values, priorities. We can think freely without bias or prejudice. We can look outwardly for inspiration and trial and error.

We can become…

Bpd = self creation more than self realisation.

The trick is not to allow others perceptions to embitter us and for this we need to continually return to our centre.

Bpd = an eternal capacity to love unconditionally

The most beautiful part of me is my severe ’emotional dysregulation’ it is the strongest part of me that drives me, that creates action and change, that sparks fire and passion, that prevents procrastination. My emotional instability is what inspires others to action also. Yes it can mean I spend data or weeks in tears and isolation at the other side of the pendulum swing, but often I think it’s worth it.

Bpd = fire in the heart.

Bpd = a phoenix that rises from the ashes. You watch us burn over and over and wonder how we possibly get back up again, but each time we fall, we resurrect ourselves. Even our tears heal others souls.

When we speak, you hear us, you feel us, we make hearts tremble and knees weak, we strip you naked and reveal all your fears.. And then we show you how beautiful and perfect you are just like that as we hold you in sacred space and honour you.

For some this becomes too overwhelming and they can’t handle their true reflection and give in to the fear and run. This is a natural and common reaction that sadly leaves the bpd’er with further feelings of rejection  abandonment and a sense of unworthiness.

Some describe us as a cup full of holes and that no matter what you do to fill us, the void will always remain  I say that as you fill us we simply use what is stored to fill others cups from our own stash and therefore need others to replenish us.  We do not just ‘take’  we give of ourselves so much without holding anything back for ourselves

Mental health awareness week

I wanted to talk about how PTSD affects me and why it can make relationships really difficult.

A child whines and my jaw clenches, my heart picking up speed just a little as I measure my breath to try to stay calm.  I try to handle whatever issue has caused the whining, it feels urgent.  She talks in a way that the words can’t be heard and I feel myself becoming quickly reactive whilst I beg her to speak clearly so I can understand her.  Whilst I’m still trying to find out what the problem is, he rushes into the room  throwing the door open in frustration. I flinch and shrink into myself as he raises his voice, demanding she stop the whining and talk properly. My breathing quickens, in my mind I’m trying to focus on my breath  I can feel my thoughts drifting to another time  another man, another place, I can almost smell him, the musty scent of his rage, I can already taste the coppery  blood in my mouth. Everything has gone quiet now and the only sound is the blood rushing in my ears as my body shrinks further into the safety of the corner of the sofa. I feel the soft leather around me as I bury into it and I take my head to another place, a warm place wrapped up and hidden away, I’m a little girl now, hiding under the bed, my quilt cocooned around me as I him and rock   I’m no longer in the room where there was loud noise or conflict.

Maybe minutes later or maybe hours  I don’t know because I no longer have any sense of time, I start to become aware of my surroundings again, and feel a rush of emotions overwhelm me, a deep heart wrenching sadness  and I finally let out a breath as I sob. I don’t want to be like this anymore  I don’t want to live in this fear that carries me away   And now I’m angry  – I’m angry at me, I angry at everything that brought me to this point, at the past, at all the men that hurt me, and I’m angry at him..for triggering me. I start saying awful things to him, I tell him he’s aggressive and I can’t handle it, he knows I have ptsd, he knows how it affects me. I tell him he’s just like them. I know he isn’t, I know this is me. I know he would never hurt any of us, but..I don’t want to be scared anymore, I don’t want to feel hurt anymore.

Later I apologise, he tells me it’s ok, but I can see the pain in his eyes. He tells me he’s sorry too.

Everything gets swept under the carpet as though nothing happened… Again.  I don’t get over it though, I feel insecure  anxious, I start worrying about our relationship and the damage I’m doing  how long he’ll be able to handle it for, how long until he breaks and dumps me. I get scared he’ll stop loving me or already has. It fester and plays on my mind as I try to control my insecurities  I tell myself this is me not him. I try not to look for reassurance or act needy. Sometimes I fail and other times I wonder if I’m coming across as cold and distant in my attempt not to seem so needy. I want him to hold me, to tell me it’s all OK, that he loves me, forgives me, that he will try not to do that again, and that most of all, I’m safe. I ache inside as he keeps his distance from me, giving me my ‘space’

Dear abusers

I wanted to write a letter to my abusers, you know who you are

I want you to know what you did to my life and my inner being.  I’m 40 years old and I still can’t have a healthy lasting relationship with anybody.  I’ve lost everyone I ever cared about and loved.  They can’t handle the damaged pieces of my soul or the scared little girl that I still am.  I contemplate suicide every single day, I still wake up shaking every morning and fighting back the tears, so that I can get on with my day.

I imagine you all getting on with your lives, unaffected by what you did to me.

The pain inside gets so bad at times that it physically hurts my heart, I sob from the deepest parts of me but the tears never wash away the stains left behind by your hands.

Sometimes  I get flashbacks and memories flood in and I can smell you again, you now exist in every place that was meant to feel safe , I see you in the eyes of those I love  and I’m terrified

Then they leave me because they can’t handle it, they can’t cope with my fear, pain or reliance.

I want to die. You did this to me.

Vulnerability at our core

We’re all the same at our core being, from the kindest of humanity to the monsters, all scared to reveal that part of us that makes us the same, beautiful vulnerability… When we let someone touch that part of us, they have the ability to change our world, for better or worse.

The masks we wear is what makes us diverse, how we choose to react to protect the core. But when it’s stripped bare, we are one, connected.

Despite our belief that we need to protect that part of us, it can never be truly harmed, damaged or destroyed… We peel away layers, each of those parts can be destroyed, but they can be rebuilt, reformed.. The core exists beneath all of that in the deepest part of us, and only through laying it bare, facing our fear face on… Can we truly connect and be our authentic self. Even in death, that can never be taken away.

It can hurt when others hide their true self, when we see the pain behind their mask and we can’t reach inside, but the best we can do is stand naked in this world, free of our own masks and let them see that neither light can blind nor darkness shadow, that fire can not burn nor water dampen.. And when they see that, we can hope they find courage to reveal themselves too.

We live in fear created by establishments and the faith in the system be it religion or government, led to believe that everything will fall into chaos, mad max style if given true autonomy, though the more we try to control and create order,  the more destruction we create.  The tower topples.

To let go of our beliefs, of faith in the wrong things, of the illusion of control and of ownership and attachments, we find ourselves creating a peace from inside ourselves that emirates outwardly and envelopes one another.

Change and the unknown are scary, trust and faith in ourselves and each other, is terrifying, but through it, we can change the world. Through giving up control to the universe and faith in humanity and natural order rather than man made order, the old falls away leaving space for the new.

First we must face the pain and believe it will make us better.

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