In the media of late I’ve been gripped and touched by a story about a young girl who for a very short period of time dated an older man. An older man who wore a pretty mask and showered her with endless promises and whispered in her ear seductive dreams. She was a young woman who saw the man in the mask as a fairy tale, only her fairy tale didn’t end with a happily ever after. No, the man eventually removed his mask and in its place stood a vile creature that inevitably crushed this girl and forced hate and rubbish into her mind until she broke. Breeana took her own life eighteen months ago.
Today I read an article titled, “He Never Hit Me”. Those words slammed into my head and I think will be lodged there permanently. Those four words resonated within me, I understood them before I even read the article. There have been many times when I doubted I was ever really abused, because in my own tormented relationship, he never hit me. My abuser used emotional abuse and scare tactics. Threats that turned me from a confident, social girl into a scared and lonely young woman. I withdrew from my friends, I ignored their warnings and the concern in their eyes, and my world closed in and revolved around my abuser.
I tiptoed through glass shards on a day-to-day basis, hoping and praying I would not upset him. He had a temper and with alcohol added to that temper, he was frightening. I lived my life teetering on an edge where I would do anything to keep my abuser calm and hide my torment from my family and the few remaining friends that I had. It was exhausting.
My abuser on occasions taunted me with how easy it would be for him to make me ‘disappear’, he reminded me how worthless I was. If I dared have a friendship with another man I was accused of cheating. I endured being yelled at, spat on and pushed. I endured being humiliated in front of his friends and the disbelief and confusion that they never stood up for me has stayed with me until this day.
I used to wonder why a man could so easily and heartlessly hurt a woman, but I now understand. It is because they are weak. So feeble, so insecure, so cowardly and pathetic, that they thrive in the slip of power they are handed when they abuse a weaker person.
My words and personal story aren’t going to stop abuse, they aren’t going to fix the never ending cycle of degradation and hate that these worthless, bitter men sprout. I’m not looking for pity, I’m not looking for admiration. What I hope my words do inspire is power in women. I don’t look back on my abuse with guilt, shame or sorrow, instead I look back on it for what it was, a weak man’s moment to grab the heady thread of power. And I took that away from him. In leaving my abuser I took back my life and I survived, better than that, I thrived. My experience gave birth to a new confidence within me and carved me into the woman I am today. I stand up for myself now, and I will always…ALWAYS, stand up for women who are not yet strong enough to stand up for themselves.
Article "He Never Hit Me"
Article Beeana Robinson
Victim Support Australia
November 25th is White Ribbon day. For the entire month of November I will display the white ribbon as my profile picture across all social media formats, AND all profits from my novel, SAVING ELLA, will go to the White Ribbon organization. Click on the picture to follow the link to whiteribbon.org.