I was nothing more than a punching bag to the love of my life.
How can you fear the person that you love the most in the world, the person you’ve shared your secrets and dreams with?
Yet here I was battered, bleeding and in fear of my very life.
This is how I spent the first part of my life, a time when most of my friends were out having fun, enjoying life, here I was being controlled by this sometimes monster yet sometimes loving partner.
When I met David I thought he was my saviour, no one had ever loved me the way he did, when he held me I felt safe and wanted,
Every girl wanted him, but he was mine, or so I thought.
I can clearly remember the first time he ever hit me.
We had one of his mates around; he was drinking and getting a little rowdy.
No sooner had I dared to open my mouth to have an opinion, his hand lashed out so quickly and sharply that I can still feel the sting that the back of his hand left on my face.
Amazingly, he knew that once he’d hit me, the abuse after that would never stop, stupidly I on the other hand, thought it was one off and my love could change him.
The abuse intensified and became more regular, on occasions he would become paranoid if I spoke to anyone.
I could work out his patterns of abuse.
Fridays he would be starting to get quite nasty because he knew he would be around to watch me all weekend, then of course Saturdays were a nightmare, that’s when his violence would be the most intense.
It was like living with a time bomb; always ticking away; ready to explode.
The trouble was, his triggers were only known to him.
Maybe it was too hot that day or I cluttered up a shelf too much, there was dust around the ledges or simply he felt like being angry.
It was unpredictable.
Sundays would roll around and I’d breathe a sigh of relief.
I knew he’d be loving and kind, because with Monday approaching, he’d have to go to work and leave me.
His fear was I’d run away from him, and many times I did.
But he’d always talk me around or make sure he alienated me from everyone, so I’d have nowhere to run, I’d have to stay.
My only weapon in the end was to become almost like a robot, showing no feelings.
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