This blog is such an important one to me. It's the one where I'm going to tell you stuff that I generally keep to myself. I'm going to share it with you so that maybe you'll think about it and make it part of your mission to create awareness and make it stop!
According to https://www.facebook.com/arighttobesafe?fref=pb&hc_location=profile_browser, 40 women have been killed this year because of domestic violence. Whilst this is happening our government is tightening the budget and cutting back the funds to much needed services. Here's some of me...
I know it's frustrating when you know someone who is in a domestic violence relationship and they stay, dude I've lived it and I still get frustrated with those people but I also know why they stay.
It took a very very long time before I realised what exactly was happening to me because the husband was incredibly sly about it. Before him I was a single Mum, I was having fun with life. I had friendships that I thrived in, I was a belly dancer and I was a University student. I was studying a Bachelor of Arts with a Major in Writing. I had so much, I didn't think I need anything else. Along came Jason. He was beautiful and attentive and said all the right things. He took my son and I to the movies and dinner every week and treated me like I'd never been treated. My childhood was a shady one and my first marriage no better.
He seemed to love me for me, all my quirks and insecurities. He told me over and over he loved me, long before I could return the words. He bought me flowers (something I only ever bought myself. You know when you're at the shop and see a lil bunch of daisies and you think, how pretty and just buy them), big expensive bouquets of flowers. Before long he'd moved in with me and my boy without me really realising. He'd tell me I was beautiful, that he never felt like he did when he was with me, that I was his soul mate (strange that I fell for this particular one when I don't believe in that kinda jazz).
Eventually I stopped going to bellydancing. He'd mentioned a few times that he missed me when I was gone, that it was time we should be spending together. I thought it was sweet, even though it was only 2 hours a week.
He'd make little comments about my friends, kind of planting the seed that in fact they weren't true friends at all. I began to neglect my friendships.
At a point he thought it would be really cute if we had a joint facebook account.
If there was something we'd argue about he'd cry and punch himself in the head. This would break my heart, I'd cry too and beg him to forgive me for being mean (generally speaking I wasn't actually mean but I'd apologise anyways). Once he even held a knife to his wrists and told me he was going to kill himself (over the years he made the same threat - there was the time he pulled the car over and stood on the freeway, cars honking and driving around him. Another time he got rope and locked himself in our room threatening to hang himself from our balcony), I had nightmares for weeks and weeks. I was also pregnant.
When I fell pregnant I was over the moon. I don't fall pregnant easily, I have poly cystic ovarian syndrome. There are 9 years and 1 week between baby one and baby two. For a little while he was thrilled to, and then he really started to change. It was like he was no longer the centre of my universe and my boys universe, he was competing against his own unborn child.
On and on we went like this. He'd make me feel guilty, because he loved me and didn't mean to upset me. Our son was born and I had severe post natal depression. He worked out how to push my buttons and make it worse.
The first physical "event" occured in the car. It was late and I had a UTI, it was painful and we were on a long drive. I begged him to pull over at a motel so I could have a hot shower and sleep but he was having no bar of it. I struggled to sit in my seat comfortably and eventually took off my seatbelt. I turned in my seat so that I was on my knees with my arms around the back. The baby had colic and silent reflux and had woken in pain and began screaming. Please, for him please pull over. He was on the motorway so he wasn't driving particularly slow, he hit the brakes hard. I slammed backwards and my kidney area (the area that was in extreme pain) hit the dashboard. My arse hit the car floor and inertia pushed me forwards and then back again, my head smashed against the dashboard. I sobbed in pain. I had no words. He said nothing just sped up. When we arrived at our destination he was super apologetic, he loved me. He's sorry I was in pain but wasn't it better we'd arrived?
There were instances when I was shoved against the wall or door frame. My head was knocked into cupboard doors. The baby was always in his arms, always a witness to the abuse. He was always sorry.
We reached a point where he'd shave my legs and bikini zone, he'd stand in the bathroom whilst I showered and would wash and dry my hair. He'd even straighten it or curl it. I rarely left the house, and never without him. I stopped driving, it was his car you see.
If there was a particularly abusive moment where a mark was left or my head ached then I was instructed to stay home and he'd take the baby out with him. I found out that he'd tell people that I was lazy, I'd stay in bed all day, I never cooked or cleaned or took care of the baby.
When the time did come and I did flee I lived in a womens refuge. I needed that time. It was a safe haven for me, it allowed me time to heal and to gain the confidence I needed to provide my little family with the kind of environment the deserved. I was also pregnant.
My little girl was born on my birthday, a little miracle.
I've come so far in the last, close to 3 years. He's not seen our son since he was 16mths old and has never met his daughter. He doesn't know her birthdate, he doesn't know her name. I hear that he's an ice addict these days.
Funnily enough, it feels like he will forever find ways to hurt me. Just this morning I received a message which showed a screen shot of a conversation. In the conversation there was mention that he has told people that bikies shot and killed our son. This sickened me.
Here's the thing... He got away with it for so long because no one spoke for me. Neighbours heard the abuse, passed comments about it as I walked to the letterbox but no one called the police. Friends who later told me they 'suspected' something was not quite right also kept their mouth shut.
Once I was told by a girl in a forum that she knew of abuse happening to an acquaintance but it wasn't her job to say anything, her job was to mind her own business.
PLEASE BE THE VOICE THAT I COULDN'T BE, BE THE VOICE THAT SHE NEEDS YOU TO BE.
I'm lucky, he didn't kill me... 40 women so far this year don't get to say the same thing.
According to https://www.facebook.com/arighttobesafe?fref=pb&hc_location=profile_browser, 40 women have been killed this year because of domestic violence. Whilst this is happening our government is tightening the budget and cutting back the funds to much needed services. Here's some of me...
I know it's frustrating when you know someone who is in a domestic violence relationship and they stay, dude I've lived it and I still get frustrated with those people but I also know why they stay.
It took a very very long time before I realised what exactly was happening to me because the husband was incredibly sly about it. Before him I was a single Mum, I was having fun with life. I had friendships that I thrived in, I was a belly dancer and I was a University student. I was studying a Bachelor of Arts with a Major in Writing. I had so much, I didn't think I need anything else. Along came Jason. He was beautiful and attentive and said all the right things. He took my son and I to the movies and dinner every week and treated me like I'd never been treated. My childhood was a shady one and my first marriage no better.
He seemed to love me for me, all my quirks and insecurities. He told me over and over he loved me, long before I could return the words. He bought me flowers (something I only ever bought myself. You know when you're at the shop and see a lil bunch of daisies and you think, how pretty and just buy them), big expensive bouquets of flowers. Before long he'd moved in with me and my boy without me really realising. He'd tell me I was beautiful, that he never felt like he did when he was with me, that I was his soul mate (strange that I fell for this particular one when I don't believe in that kinda jazz).
Eventually I stopped going to bellydancing. He'd mentioned a few times that he missed me when I was gone, that it was time we should be spending together. I thought it was sweet, even though it was only 2 hours a week.
He'd make little comments about my friends, kind of planting the seed that in fact they weren't true friends at all. I began to neglect my friendships.
At a point he thought it would be really cute if we had a joint facebook account.
If there was something we'd argue about he'd cry and punch himself in the head. This would break my heart, I'd cry too and beg him to forgive me for being mean (generally speaking I wasn't actually mean but I'd apologise anyways). Once he even held a knife to his wrists and told me he was going to kill himself (over the years he made the same threat - there was the time he pulled the car over and stood on the freeway, cars honking and driving around him. Another time he got rope and locked himself in our room threatening to hang himself from our balcony), I had nightmares for weeks and weeks. I was also pregnant.
When I fell pregnant I was over the moon. I don't fall pregnant easily, I have poly cystic ovarian syndrome. There are 9 years and 1 week between baby one and baby two. For a little while he was thrilled to, and then he really started to change. It was like he was no longer the centre of my universe and my boys universe, he was competing against his own unborn child.
On and on we went like this. He'd make me feel guilty, because he loved me and didn't mean to upset me. Our son was born and I had severe post natal depression. He worked out how to push my buttons and make it worse.
The first physical "event" occured in the car. It was late and I had a UTI, it was painful and we were on a long drive. I begged him to pull over at a motel so I could have a hot shower and sleep but he was having no bar of it. I struggled to sit in my seat comfortably and eventually took off my seatbelt. I turned in my seat so that I was on my knees with my arms around the back. The baby had colic and silent reflux and had woken in pain and began screaming. Please, for him please pull over. He was on the motorway so he wasn't driving particularly slow, he hit the brakes hard. I slammed backwards and my kidney area (the area that was in extreme pain) hit the dashboard. My arse hit the car floor and inertia pushed me forwards and then back again, my head smashed against the dashboard. I sobbed in pain. I had no words. He said nothing just sped up. When we arrived at our destination he was super apologetic, he loved me. He's sorry I was in pain but wasn't it better we'd arrived?
There were instances when I was shoved against the wall or door frame. My head was knocked into cupboard doors. The baby was always in his arms, always a witness to the abuse. He was always sorry.
We reached a point where he'd shave my legs and bikini zone, he'd stand in the bathroom whilst I showered and would wash and dry my hair. He'd even straighten it or curl it. I rarely left the house, and never without him. I stopped driving, it was his car you see.
If there was a particularly abusive moment where a mark was left or my head ached then I was instructed to stay home and he'd take the baby out with him. I found out that he'd tell people that I was lazy, I'd stay in bed all day, I never cooked or cleaned or took care of the baby.
When the time did come and I did flee I lived in a womens refuge. I needed that time. It was a safe haven for me, it allowed me time to heal and to gain the confidence I needed to provide my little family with the kind of environment the deserved. I was also pregnant.
My little girl was born on my birthday, a little miracle.
I've come so far in the last, close to 3 years. He's not seen our son since he was 16mths old and has never met his daughter. He doesn't know her birthdate, he doesn't know her name. I hear that he's an ice addict these days.
Funnily enough, it feels like he will forever find ways to hurt me. Just this morning I received a message which showed a screen shot of a conversation. In the conversation there was mention that he has told people that bikies shot and killed our son. This sickened me.
Here's the thing... He got away with it for so long because no one spoke for me. Neighbours heard the abuse, passed comments about it as I walked to the letterbox but no one called the police. Friends who later told me they 'suspected' something was not quite right also kept their mouth shut.
Once I was told by a girl in a forum that she knew of abuse happening to an acquaintance but it wasn't her job to say anything, her job was to mind her own business.
PLEASE BE THE VOICE THAT I COULDN'T BE, BE THE VOICE THAT SHE NEEDS YOU TO BE.
I'm lucky, he didn't kill me... 40 women so far this year don't get to say the same thing.