Tough Love

Over the course of our four year relationship there were many incidents. If I were to recount them all I'd be writing this blog forever more.

I'm sure that there are some people sat reading this thinking why did I not just leave. Well trust me I did try several times. In reality it isn’t as easy as it actually should be. Now remember that this is MY house and mine alone. I had not made the mistake of putting Tonys name on the title register. However, he was very happily ensconced in my home and had absolutely no intentions of leaving. When you consider that he had never owned his own home never even had his name on a rent book, and had never lived in an area as respectable as he now was, it’s not really surprising.

On one occasion feeling particularly brave I decided that I would tell Tony that it was over. We were stood in the kitchen. I explained that I was unhappy and that the relationship was no longer what I wanted. I remained constructive, ensured that I did not lay any blame for the situation with him. It made no difference. He grabbed me shook me slammed me into the kitchen wall. He then opened the back door and threw me outside into the garden. While he threw me he stood and kept his foot on mine, ripping off my toe nail. I fell backwards down three large stone steps banging my head quite badly in the process.

I decided that it was better and certainly safer to keep my mouth shut, put up and shut as they say.

Another occasion after Id tried to end the relationship he went uncharacteristically quiet, so I took the opportunity to go to bed. I made sure that both my daughters (yes I had another to him) were in bed with me thinking that they would somehow protect me. They didn’t. He came to bed muttering, the mutters soon escalated to shouts of abuse it culminated in me being punched in the face. How he actually hit me and neither of my children I have no idea, thankfully though it was me and not them.

Anything and everything became a weapon. His particular weapon of choice was the remote control, not surprising really as one hand was surgically attached to it. I long ago lost count of the number of times it was thrown at me. They hurt. He actually succeeded in breaking a rib once.

The physical abuse is hard to deal with and it can and does cause serious injury, but the number of times that I wished he would just hit me and have it done with. Instead in its place was the mental torture. The long drawn out silences, when I'd sit analysing everything I'd said and done trying to work out what had offended so that I could apologise and make good.