What happened to me- Never shared before. TW domestic violence/ sexual assault

I think maybe sharing this with a bunch of strangers online will be a good first step for me. Maybe then I could build my way up to telling someone else. I never told my therapist what happened because at that stage I was still defending my abuser. I have never told anyone the full extent of what happened. I wrote it all down a while ago just to try and connect to the trauma:

It gets quite hard for me to remember when shit actually began. I put that down to the fact that when I met him, I had no concept of romantic love; of abuse of any kind- or the difference between the two. Its surprisingly hard to find sometimes, especially as a 17-year-old with a lot of growing up to do. I read an interesting analogy about domestic abuse once: if you drop a frog into boiling water it will immediately try to escape- but if you drop it into cold water and gradually increase the temperature, it wont try to escape until its too late.

Often, I make the mistake of thinking it was the time he burned my hand with a lighter and in the same week punched me in the stomach and played it off as a joke. Sometimes I think it was the first time he really beat me up. But before those things, wed got into arguments where hed pushed me over. And before that, hed torment me with accusations such as you lied about being a virgin. And even before that, from the first time we slept together, he had no consideration or care and it hurt a lot. I think as a woman- and a sensitive one- itll always sting that the first person you ever gave your body to just hurt it. So, looking back on things, he was actually abusive from the moment I met him. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

I remember some weird little specifics; on May 16th, 2016, he accused me of still being involved with the boy I was seeing before I met him. It was so ridiculous to me that I didnt take it seriously at first. I remember the date because in my eyes, it was very obviously the catalyst for everything that happened for the rest of the relationship (because he learned he could get away with it little by little- hello, Frog Analogy). Torture is defined as ‘the action or practice of inflicting severe pain on someone as a punishment or in order to force them to do or say something- it sounds very dramatic, but theres not a doubt in my mind that thats what I had on my shoulders, especially still being a kid (as I see it now).

The month that followed is when the incident with the lighter happened, just before his birthday (on which he asked for drugs money). This was also around the time when I first learned the full extent of his cheating from the previous six or so months- it was record breaking by anyones standards. We broke up, but I was so trapped already that there seemed to be no real way out. People like to ask me why I stayed as if I had a choice, but I didnt. If you had the choice to be black and blue for a solid year, or not…youd obviously fucking leave!

I never have been and dont think I ever will be as scared as I was then- for myself, but also very much for my family and friends. If I ‘broke the rules or did any small thing to aggravate him, he would instantly turn to death threats and worse. If you think theres no worse threat than death, its because youve thankfully never been in an abusive relationship (and youre not Hermione Granger: (…Another clever idea to get us all killed- or worse- expelled)!

I still feel like refraining from telling people was the best way to protect them- not just from him (and he would have gleefully hurt anyone who opposed him)- but also to protect them from the pain of knowing what had happened. It makes me feel cold to imagine them all thinking they shouldve known or done something to help. There was absolutely, positively fucking nothing they could have done beyond the things they did. They knew something was amiss, and despite my silence, harshness and occasionally cruelty, were always beautifully supportive. I thought then that if I let anyone within a good six metre radius of me, they would spontaneously combust with the weight of my situation! This and the fact that I was tired, frightened and constantly in pain, made it quite easy to become an awful person. It remains my biggest regret that I felt incapable of reaching out.

The first time he ever properly beat me up (‘properly probably means something quite different to victims than it does to anyone else), was around July of that year (2016). Someone had been anonymously messaging my friends shitty things about me- namely that I was still seeing the boy Id dated before him, along with a barrage of scarily unimaginative name calling. Classic teenage cyber-bullying. I of course blamed him, assuming it was his attempt at justifying another emotional attack on me. I know now that I was right but wish I had left it alone and never accused him. Its astonishing how fast ‘classic teenage bullying brought around something that has defined my personal struggle for the past four years.

He started by grabbing my neck, hitting my head against the wall and choking me. He then pushed me onto the floor and kicked me in the stomach. He spit on me, then went into his garden to smoke. He texted me from outside that if I wasnt naked by the time he came back up, hed just carry on as before. I disassociated heavily while he was having sex with me and didnt ‘snap back until a couple of days later. I had no idea how to feel. I feel pretty sick thinking about it now.

On my birthday he elbowed me in the ribs on the train, smacked my head every time I made eye contact with people in public, and stole 200 from me. I made no plans to celebrate with what few friends I had left. The rest of that summer blurs together slightly. The beatings and resulting bruising and scarring got worse and worse- I was constantly sore and it was an unimaginably exhausting effort trying to hide it.

I cant recall all the separate events anymore (I couldnt count them on eight hands), just certain specific acts and some more general ones. I think I just really needed to lose certain memories, but sometimes I get a little flashback when I see or smell something, and its shit.

Id gone about 6 months without self-harming by this point, but this is when I started again. I first hurt myself when I was 13…purely for attention and because all my friends were doing it. A few years on, I went back to it because Id started to get so unhappy and I knew I was already capable- and it helped. But when I started again this time it was because it was pain that I could control- I decided how much it would hurt, and when (not him). In a way it was the only power I had over my own body, at all.

I dont really want to think about the specifics too long, so Im just going to put down a list, although it seems kind of weird. Its important that I write them down though, better here than in my head and all that.

- He sat on top of me and threatened me with a knife.

- He choked me until I passed out. I woke up shaking on the floor, he was sitting on his bed watching telly.

- On several occasions, he took my bag and hid it, so I would feel as if I couldnt leave. When I found it once, he threw my computer at me so hard the screen broke and I had bloody mouth.

- He hit my face with his shoes, I was hiding a black eye for two weeks afterwards (not very successfully).

- He bit me where it hurts the most- breasts, between the legs etc. A few times he tried putting things inside me, but eventually lost interest when I refused to react.

- He stamped on my foot and broke my toe, because I wouldnt give him my wallet I think.

I could go on but I dont want to. That was all besides the general kicking/ punching and so on. He would punch my legs repeatedly first, until they hurt so much I couldnt stand up and leave. I spent weeks at a time with purple arms and legs. He would make me sit on the floor and grab the back of my neck, then hit my head against the floor. He punched me in the chest to wind me, so I couldnt make any noise. He pulled out handfuls of my hair at a time, not just cause it hurt, but because he liked me to feel as unattractive as possible. He hit me with his belt, wet towels, books etc.

Besides all of this was the sexual aspect. I know what it was really, and I knew it at the time. I dont think Id ever have the guts to say it, but I think thats probably normal and okay. The feeling was worse, more brutal and disgusting than being hit. It felt like having both my guts and my personality dug out with something sharp, all in one go. I would go to the toilet afterwards and sit down to bleed. Mostly it would stop after I wiped a few times, however on a couple of occasions I had to stay sitting on the loo until it finished. Sometimes I would cry, but then he told me it turned him on and I dont think I ever did it again.

Things reached breaking point the year I turned 18, when I went to visit him at university. This was by far the worst of any of the beatings before. I had a broken wrist in two places, fractured cheekbone and bruised ribs. My legs were so shaky after being punched so many times that when I got to the hospital they had to take me around in a wheelchair. It was the first time I had ever been in hospital without my mum. I thank god every day for whoever called the security guards that night, because if it weren't for them breaking the door down I truly believe I might not have survived.

He was sentenced to 18 months in prison (I couldn't bring myself to tell the police everything he had done as I was embarrassed and scared, otherwise he would've been sentenced to far longer). I have a 5 year restraining order which I will have renewed when it runs out next year.

I'm still dealing with it and I think I always will be. I still have occasional night terrors and panic attacks triggered by smells, sounds and certain locations. I dissociate sometimes after sleeping with someone. But I'm definitely getting better at healing myself day by day. It may be weird, but at the end of the day all of the violence and anger and abuse and pain, only ever made me a kinder and better person. So I thank him.

Izzy x