My Survival Story; coercive control; the rest is unwritten:
I haven’t spoken about my separation last July (15th Sunday; World Cup Final) 2018. I haven’t spoken about the devastation; the untrue tales told about me; and leaving the business I had given everything to over six years. I suffered domestic abuse in the form of psychological/emotional abuse; coercive control; financial control and gaslighting.
This is the truth; the cold hard facts; I won’t rewrite history.
I didn’t leave the only life I knew; a business I loved; the customers who got me through each day and work I was passionate about for trivial reasons. People saw the hard work and the contribution I made every day; some might have seen me struggle to fight back tears. Some people probably thought I had a great life. I could come across as a strong confident person I had to put on a show at work. I; always ‘had a cold; hay fever’ any nonsense to excuse for the puffy eyes from crying and zero sleep. A very successful ‘diet’ explained the weight loss 7 stone 12 when I eventually left, at 5 foot 7 I was underweight and living on my nerves; low blood pressure and later on PTSD, severe anxiety and panic attacks! But I survived. A sequence of seemingly trivial events gave me an epiphany. Somehow against all odds I managed to keep a great group of friends I refused not see them, or my mum or get my nails and hair done. Something in me; a last shred of shattered resilience just managed to keep my head above water. I have no idea where that strength came from. I still haven’t worked it out. However thankfully it was there and I call on it every day to continue to get my life back to live a happy peaceful life free from abuse.
I met my ex-husband in 2007 six months after I separated from my first husband. The relationship moved fast. My mum never liked him she said he was too harsh and looked dead behind the eyes. Obviously to begin with there were red flags; however; I didn’t see them. He had separated from his wife of 18 years and it turned out he had been cheating on her for the last 10 years. Further when he separated from his wife; his now ex-girlfriend/mistress wanted to start a full-time above-board relationship even although she was now married and had two young children. I was shocked by these revelations but I was more shocked by his callous remarks about this much younger woman. He said he was no longer interested in her ‘now she’s spat out two kids; physically she’s went right to the dog’s’. It was so rude, cold and nasty it was the first time I had seen this side; unfortunately; it only the start.
Truth was when I eventually left; I had simply had enough; I could take no more psychological abuse in various forms - coercive control; financial control; emotional abuse and gaslighting. It was getting worse and I was sinking; I’d been marginalised and isolated so much that there actually came a point where I simply had nothing more left to lose.
End of Part 1
Part 2
Sunday 15th July 2018 enough was enough.
That day started unremarkably enough. I had stayed at my mums on the Saturday night; I did this regularly. I did so for numerous reasons: one; to spend quality time with my mum (I’m an only child) and two; it gave me rest-bite from my miserable abusive existence.
My mum and I were at Silverburn (the local indoor shopping centre close to Glasgow). He was in the pub; gambling; drinking and watching the World Cup Final. I can’t bring myself to even say or type his name. He wasn’t a big drinker however it did exasperate his horrendous; sometimes uncontrollable rage. He had a huge problem with gambling and I knew that from early on in the relationship. Whether it had any bearing on him wanting to psychologically destroy me; I really don’t know; it certainly didn’t help. He had numerous issues that probably contributed to his need or urge to control and psychologically abuse me. I no longer try to figure it out. Believe me I did for a very long time. Why does someone try to destroy another person; why?
Anyway; the arrangement was that I would drop my mum off back home then pick him up at the pub around about 6pm; although I would text when I had left my mum’s. Bizarrely or ironically it was texting that was an extreme issue for him. I have no idea why over the course of our decade plus relationship he was obsessed with me and my phone and what I did on it. Now obviously I know what was going on I was shocked I never saw any red flags, pieces of the abuse jigsaw. The clues were all there I’d say as early as the actual start of the relationship; lies; wild stories and affairs.
I duly sent the text; I’d left my mum’s and was on route to pick him up at the pub local to the house we owned in Glasgow. I never referred to it as home it was always ‘the house’ not a single happy memory do I have from it. I remember the night he smashed up the office; his face purple with rage; spitting and screaming. My precious JRT Rocky cowering with me in the spare room as printers and laptops were smashed to the floor. I can’t remember what sparked that incident but I’m sure that’s the night I took up permanent residence in the spare room; early 2018 probably.
So; text sent the arrangement was I would pick him up from the pub and dinner would be sorted out back at the house. Although I didn’t get this text and went to the house by mistake first. I had no inclination of what lay ahead. Although experience had taught me to always walk on egg shells and be ready to defend myself or run. I always got the ‘dry treatment’ as I referred to it when I’d done something for myself; going to my mum’s; getting my hair or nails done or going out with friends. ‘Your friends are arseholes’ that was a favourite insult; yet he still has them on Facebook and likes their picture’s. ‘Your mum trailed you up; that’s why you are what you are – you’re pathetic’.
On the hour drive to the house then five minutes round to the pub my mind would wonder; as it often did; could I make it on my own could I have a happy life; could I survive, thrive even? Or at 42 should I just accept my fate; I’d made a bad choice I’d picked an abusive partner and that was that. I’d compartmentalised my existence and I was very successful at it. I was abused and miserable with him. However the time I spent with family and friends was precious and although I suffered the consequences of spending time with them; the furious huff’s all the abuses including verbal abuse; ‘you’re too thin; too ugly; nothing without me; you’re and idiot; no-one likes you; the customers hate you or feel sorry for you; the staff hate you; your pathetic; your brownies are rotten’ I could actually write a book of insults and character assassination that went on. I thrived on spending time in the Café (in an industrial estate in Cumbernauld, near Glasgow) I was front of house and I loved it and I lived for my customers; chatting nonsense across the counter whilst I made coffee and prepared buffets. It was hard work but I loved it and I was good at it. It was escapism until the shutter came down every day and the show was over. Sometimes he would lose his cool and abuse me in front of the customers and I would battle hard to stop the tears. At times it was an absolute cluster shambles of shouting (him) and tears (me) no one seemed to bother.
Once when I lived with him in Dublin; he sat me down and actually as cool as you like gave me a top ten-character flaws I had, I kid you not, and I sat there and listened! This was under two years together. It’s incredible to think; why didn’t I run for the hills why did I stay; why did I apologise to stop the silent treatment why did I cry and beg for him to treat me right, why, why, why it’s so sad and heart breaking what lies within someone to abuse another person to try to break them down peace by peace destroy them; to what end; to what possible satisfaction is there to be gained; is it a control thing; an anger thing; a deep seated unhappiness; a combination? Who knows; I don’t and I’m glad to say I’m no longer interested; I remember once in Dublin I found him in the flat we shared; sitting in tears with his laptop he was gambling on the Euro Finals 2008 and it was out of control apparently; I never understood the urge to gamble it was never something that interested me, like most people a fiver on the Grand National and watching it come in at the back of the field was enough for me. He first threatened to hit me in Dublin; again as cool as you like ‘if I ever hit you it will only be to take you down a peg or three’ ‘you think your something special; dressing like a teenager’ ‘people are laughing at you’. I remember thinking what have I done wrong to spark that; I must try harder and I did.
End of Part 2
Part 3 Finally
So; I’ve arrived at the pub; after going to the house; now sitting outside in the Range Rover Evoque ‘that he bought me’ for my 40th Birthday 2015. Actually he Lex auto leased it for himself to show it off at the Café business we ran together; although according to him we were penniless and certainly I struggled to keep it going in fuel from my meagre ‘allowance’ I had to beg for every month for my long hours worked in the Café. I kept my Volkswagen Polo because I knew one day the ‘Baby Range’ would be gone. Still got my Polo. He phoned me once; he rarely phoned always texts. Anyway he informed me ‘I see on the Range Rover tracker you’ve just stalled it on Rutherglen Main Street; if you can’t fucking drive it, I’ll take it off you’ I retorted ‘you do that then; I genuinely don’t care’ and I actually didn’t. He would scream at me about my parking of it in the driveway, he put a marker on the fence (I still have the photo) and I was strictly instructed that the rear left wheel must be parallel to this marker at all times and sufficient room should also be left for the wheelie bins to pass by. He actually dragged me out the house to show me the marker he had hammered into the fence in a furious temper again the face was purple with rage and he was spitting in my face. It was relentless and getting more bizarre; he was losing control with each passing day and I was actually beginning to believe that the time was coming when he would do something crazy.
Once carefully parked up on the pavement I sent him a text saying I was sat outside the pub and whenever he was ready just to come out. I got no response; I text again, no response; I was now on high alert. I tried to remain calm he must know I’m here. I wasn’t going into the pub; the place looked wiped out; it was after 6pm on a Sunday; the World Cup Final Day 2018. Eventually he came out; face purple; here we go.
‘Why the fuck didn’t you come in?’ ‘Why didn’t you respond to my text’ on and on it went as I drove back to the house. It was escalating as I went into the kitchen; he was screaming; I was prepping the dog’s medication in the corner at the microwave. I was actually for some reason standing up for myself; ‘I did not get your text’ I showed him my phone as proof; can’t argue with that. Wrong. He was now next to me; face purple; spitting, smashing my phone off the counter; ‘this fucking phone; this is the root of all the problems’ ‘you’re never off your fucking phone’ on and on I was terrified I’d seen this rage before however this was different I was defending myself; he was losing it and he had me cornered; I had my phone back; he then started smashing his own phone. I said that I had no idea why I wasn’t getting his text messages. I found out why a few months later and the reason was truly shocking. He was still purple; still screaming, still spitting in my face. I was cornered and terrified a gut instinct told me this had gone too far; he’d lost it. I genuinely believed he was going to thump me. I knew the car keys were on the edge of the sofa just on the other side of the kitchen door; if I can get past him; out of this corner; I can grab the keys and make a run for the front door. The Baby Range was parked on the street the Café Van was in the driveway.
I summoned word’s ‘I’m actually in fear of my life’ I’m terrified’ at that I made a break for it; I ran out the kitchen grabbed the keys and my bag and I was sprinting for the front door. My heart was racing tears streaming down my face; but I was off and running and I didn’t glance back. Out the front door; the sun was blazing it was surreal out the gate in the car and racing out the street. I knew at that moment I would never be back; I’d escaped it was finally over. There was no turning back; not this time.
I’d turned back many times before and I’m sure he was expecting me to turn up puffy faced at the Café on Monday morning; the show must go on blah blah. I’d usually go to my mums for a night after an abusive incident then turn up at the Café the next working day; business as usual.
I’d been in the house less than ten minutes and I was now on the M77 motorway heading back to my mum’s I’d only dropped her off less than 2 hours before. As I drove down the motorway my head was cooking. Something had changed I was over the line; I wasn’t going back; not this time.
I arrived at my mum’s (again) just before 7pm. I was in floods of tears and shaking like a leaf. Unfortunately; she had seen it all before many times. She was a little shocked as I say I’d just dropped her off at around 5pm less than two hours before. I got in the house and told her what had happened. She stated that this abuse couldn’t go on and was I going back this time? I said I wasn’t going back; I’d said that before many; many; times. I don’t think she believed me.
End of Part 3
Part 4 And I’m gone.
This time I did mean it. I don’t know what had changed but something thankfully had; whether it was the reality of a genuine belief that if I had stayed in that house a minute longer, I would have been hit and probably hit hard. My mum wanted to call the police; I didn’t. He had a considerable height and weight advantage; or was it the sum total of seemingly trivial events stemming from mid-November 2017.
I’d left before; all abuse survivors probably have. The most significant incident was Christmas 2012. It was the Café’s first Christmas. I think it was the 27th December; my mum would know; unbeknown to me she was diarising the lot; every incident; what happened and me always going back. Anyway, he decided that the Café would open between Christmas and New Year and that only him and me would work it. It was a recipe for disaster and gave him ample opportunity to abuse me. I always offered an opinion; I might have been abused but for some reason I always spoke up and stood up for others; even if it inevitably didn’t end well for me. I hate injustice in any form more so for others than me. I merely stated that having worked in retail for many years; customers don’t go out looking for a cooked breakfast or similar between Christmas and New Year; they might cook it for themselves in the house or do without because they are too busy eating turkey and chocolate. Well that opinion was not welcomed; ‘what the fuck would you know anyway’. There wasn’t a customer in sight and hadn’t been since the Café had opened that day. At lunchtime I said again that perhaps the Café should close for the day.
Well what happened next will stay with me for the rest of my life. He started screaming and bawling I was all the useless didn’t know what I was talking about c*nts under the sun; fairly standard fare and I was used to it by now I’d had nearly 5 years of it by this point. He threatened to hit me in Dublin but never actually carried through with it. He could reduce me to tears so easily with psychological abuse, emotional abuse; coercive control; gas lighting and financial control. The Café opened in May 2012 (I think) and it was now my only means of income. I got a measly allowance and I permanently struggled financially. My mum was furious at the situation she could see that I was being slowly but surely destroyed and isolated. I had decided to go to College and had started a full-time HND in Beauty Therapy the previous August. I loved it; I was excelling at the course meeting new people and escaping the misery that was for 20 hours a week. He was fuming. This rage was mentioned during this particular incident; I knew it would. I didn’t retaliate; it would be a good few years before I threw caution to the wind and would stand up for myself.
Anyway; after a good ten minutes of him screaming and balling he had worked himself up into a frenzy that’s when it came.
‘Get to fuck out my shop; or I will kick your fucking head down the fucking street’ (Dunneswood Road, Cumbernauld). I didn’t hang around. Got my car keys and handbag and got in my Polo and headed to my mum’s. I stayed at my mums until the shop opened again around January 4th. He worked the shop himself in between times and no-one knew I’d been away. I went back after he cried and apologised and begged me to go back; he’d change he was sorry it’s the only time he ever apologised for his actions. I believe he only apologised because he knew he couldn’t run the Café without me. I’d told some friends what had happened and everyone who knew what had happened were shocked and upset. I was back at the house only two days when he informed me that the reason was I was mentally ill as I’d been trailed up by my mother; who wasn’t much better apparently; and I just run away from my problems. Mmm; you did tell me to leave or you were going to attack me!!!
End of Part 4
Part 5 Bottling it up!
There was a definite tide turning moment after that incident. I’d left but gone back. I now believed that he thought I would never leave. I even thought I would never leave; my friends and family were disappointed. I stopped telling people what was going on. It seemed easier just to keep it to myself. This was when I started compartmentalising my life; and I loved College perhaps that was a way out. It wasn’t.
There were many incidents when I would arrive back at my mum’s either in the Polo or the Baby Range that supposedly was bought for my 40th Birthday in 2015. He was always the showman. From providing employment in the local community to what I referred to as ‘paying for pals’. Obviously; the abuse was progressing and I was after many years finally recognising for what it was. The saving grace during the first 5 years of the relationship was we both worked full-time. I had always up to this point had good jobs and earned well. I love working. Since leaving its been strange not working as it was always my saviour from the relationship and gave me a sense of purpose during such a bleak time in my life.
What I discovered when the Café opened was just how insecure he was. I worked years in retail and know how to handle customers. Customers are customer’s and you are providing them with a service which they are paying for; no more no less. He could not grasp this concept and seemed to think everyone who came through the door was a potential new friend. I was quite taken aback to be honest; it was at times pathetic and at other times absolutely cringe worthy. Some customers saw it as an opportunity to get something for nothing I said nothing at this stage I still wasn’t standing up for myself. I had College to escape to 2/3 days a week and I loved it. This was to set the scene for how things would go late in 2017 and up to when I left in July 2018.
The incidents kept on coming some worse than others. The Café never opened over Christmas and New Year again. I successfully finished College with two A Grades in June 2014. The Café was much busier and any thoughts of me having a career in Beauty Therapy or even a side hustle were battered down with a ‘the Café needs you full-time’. That was that; I no longer had that escape. Anyway, I would concentrate on my customers and building the office buffet business and I did. I accepted my future as an abused partner and would make the best of a bad lot. I was now standing up for myself and was keeping up with friends; going out and getting my hair and nails done. The customers loved hearing about my social life and every second Tuesday was the big reveal of the latest nail art! My nails were more popular than me. There was great chat and gossip with me running front of house. The customers loved it.
We got married on 28th December 2015 in Las Vegas. To say my mother was disappointed as were my friends was a vast understatement. All I can say was that the previous 6 months in the lead up to the marriage were relatively calm; well slightly calmer and like many survivors of abuse you always hope they will change and suddenly start treating you right and being nice to you. It’s all I ever wanted; I genuinely believed being married was the answer. Remembering that I had accepted my fate after 2012 and was trying to make the best of a bad lot. How very wrong I was.
Landing back in Glasgow in January 2016 and well it was business as usual. The abuse was getting worse and I was shocked at his behaviour. He went immediately to his parent’s house to ‘apologise’ for marrying me. Up to this point I had no idea they didn’t like me. We had zero in common however everything had always been cordial and polite. His Dad often said to me when he saw me in tears ‘never mind his temper; he’s just like his mother’. Again; why on the first time of hearing that which I think was in 2010 when I came back from Dublin I didn’t run for the hills; who knows why. I’d spilled foundation on the carpet and he had gone; mental I was ‘a useless clumsy fucker who wore too much slap; not that it improves anything’. I spent that afternoon buying every stain remover; as my life would not have been worth living if I hadn’t scrubbed every molecule of foundation out of that carpet. Lucky for me I was successful.
End of Part 5
Part 6 Jaffa Orange
However that November he told me; I think it was a fairly average Tuesday night that ‘I never wanted to marry you in the first place; I only did it because I felt sorry for you; who else would have you; look at the state of you’. I actually felt like I had been stabbed in the heart I was extremely upset; this particular incident had come out the blue there had been no abuse up to that point that day. He knew how to upset me and reduce me to tears the psychological abuse had been going on for nearly ten years now.
However; the impact of that incident had a positive. This was the first ‘trivial event’ that would get me ‘over the line’. When I told my mum she inevitably said ‘leave him’ ‘it’s getting worse’ what’s it going to take’. She was right. Things were changing; I was changing I was getting more and more physically worn down by it all. I looked a mess; no amount of nail and hair appointments was changing the fact that I wasn’t sleeping and I was living on a mixture of nerves; adrenaline and caffeine. The weight was melting off me; customers were commenting that I was looking ill. I suspected he had told the staff in the Café that I ‘wasn’t well in the head’ he was telling me that regularly now ‘you’re off your head’ ‘the customers think you are crazy and talk complete pish’; ‘you spend too much time talking to the customer’s and not enough time working’.
This was the theme as 2018 started. I knew I looked a mess and I’m certain he had intimated to some of the regular customers ‘his friends’ that I ‘wasn’t well in the head’ his exact words. I bought some fake tan and as a qualified beauty therapist I knew how to use it without ending up orange! I did look better; not amazing but considering I lived in the spare room; didn’t have any meals and didn’t get any sleep and was up six mornings a week at 4:30am with the puffy face and blood shot eyes I did look okay.
Customers passed comments like ‘you’re looking well Hazel’ again just part and parcel of general nonsense chat that went on in the Cafe. He was now getting very jealous. Let me be very clear; he had no reason to be; I just wanted to live in peace and for him to stop abusing me. However, I knew it was not going happen.
Anyway; one Monday night when I had come back from getting my nails done, I got in the house to be greeted with another barrage of abuse. There was always a price to be paid for being out the house. My fake tan regime had wrecked his bathroom. We had always had a joint mortgage on that house since it was bought in 2010. I had always paid my fair share. He told me that the bathroom was wrecked with tan stains and I’d need to pay for it to be painted; and he’d chucked all fake tanning products in the bin, and anyway ‘you look a fucking orange mess anyway’. I retreated to the spare room as I always did. I wasn’t upset; I was annoyed; very annoyed. My attitude to my abuse was changing it was no longer acceptable to me; he was no longer going to control and abuse me. I bought more fake tan; I did not buy bathroom paint. This was trivial incident number two.
End of Part 6
Part 7 Brownies and Braces..
Obviously; there were still incidents that reduced me to tears but I was gradually getting stronger. I knew I could not and would not live the rest of my life like this. I wasn’t sure how I would live the rest of my life; my confidence was still shattered but I knew I couldn’t go on living in abject misery. I was still getting thinner and more and more people commented on how ill I looked; my story of colds; hay fever were not holding up to scrutiny. Customers could hear and see him balling and shouting at me when he lost his ‘cool’. As my mother said ‘people aren’t stupid; people will see’. I had started baking brownies and selling them in the shop. It was February and Crème Egg Brownies were the order of the day. His jealousy was getting worse and his temper also.
My brownies were popular; ‘banging’ as one customer described them. I enjoyed baking; Bake Off had inspired me. I only had one brownie recipe all I did was change the filling; Crème Egg; Triple Chocolate Fudge and Raspberries and White Chocolate. I enjoyed baking; it was therapeutic and it was another thing to chat about with the customers. He cut the brownies for me; as apparently; I was useless at it. He would take the opportunity to tell me they were ‘rubbish’ and customers were only buying them because they felt ‘sorry for me’. I didn’t care the insults and the bullying weren’t working as well as before. This was trivial incident number three.
He took me out for dinner; I thought it was strange, but maybe he was changing for the better. Hopeful as always; I don’t learn. I was having quite extensive work on my teeth. I had always been very self-conscious of them and my dentist had managed to get me on the NHS waiting list at my local dental hospital. It would involve braces, top and bottom and an operation on both jaws and several teeth coming out it was not for the faint hearted and would take up three years start to finish. I was determined I wanted to go ahead; although obviously an operation was a big step. He was dead set against it; he seemed embarrassed by it or by me I’m not sure which. During the meal he starting quizzing me about my teeth; he had showed no interest up to this point. I was still in the spare room and we only really spoke to each other at the shop or to discuss our dog Rocky. I explained what I knew about the operation which wasn’t much other than everyone’s recovery time was different. Basically, the operation; two days in hospital then out to recover anywhere between 2 to 6 weeks but it really was different for everyone. He went ballistic; we were in a crowded pub; ‘you’re just going to fuck off out the Café for 6 weeks and not work’ ‘leaving me with the useless muppets (staff)’ ‘well don’t think I’m paying you’ or ‘looking after you’ ‘fuck you’. We then went back to the house; I didn’t respond there was no point his face was purple and he was spitting and a lot of what he was saying just didn’t make any sense. This was trivial incident number four. He was always nasty about other people; everyone apart from himself was either; stupid useless or both. Even people he had tried to ‘befriend’ weren’t immune from his vicious mouth remarks ‘he’s done more in his dream’s’ that one; yet he would practically push people out the way to talk them when they came in the Café; it was both strange and pathetic.
Positive Vibes…. xxxxx
End of Part 8
Part 8 Bursting a blood vessel!
I had a panel interview at the hospital as I referred to it. I had worked in human resources for several years and I have a post graduate diploma in human resource management. When I walked into my appointment, I cracked that as a joke ‘this is like a panel interview; I hope I pass’ there was at least seven people there; this was the medical/dental team that would conduct all the dental work and the operation. The team was headed by a woman; the same age as me. She asked me all sorts of questions; was I prepared for the pain and recovery time; did I have someone who would look after me when I got out of hospital after the operation. I said I absolutely did. I actually didn’t; he’d made his feelings very clear. She went on to explain at length that the operation was severe and painful and recovery was aided greatly by having a strong support network, someone to look after you and give moral support was a necessity; ‘you will be in considerable pain and will not be able to eat’ ‘you need someone to support you through that’ ‘not someone saying well I don’t why you bothered putting yourself through this its only teeth’. I said I had someone; I knew I didn’t. They were not happy with my weight and said I would need to put on weight or they would be no operation and they would refer me on to a nutritionist. I assured them I was fine. They said they were happy to go ahead and start the process; it could be 18 to 24 months of braces before the operation anyway. This was trivial incident number five. I went to my mums after the appointment and contemplated who would actually look after me after the operation.
I still looked ill and was still living on my nerves I’d been reduced to tears that much I’d popped a blood vessel in my forehead. I made a GP appointment about it after staring at it in the reflection of the coffee machine in the Café. I was annoyed that I had got so upset and cried that much I had literally burst a vein. It was ridiculous. I made my excuses to get away early to go to the doctors. It was a locum I was seeing. She was heavily pregnant; anyway; I told her the story about the vein being popped then why it had popped then I burst into tears. After the 2012 Christmas incident I had stopped talking about the abuse to anyone other than my mum; and here I was breaking my heart; explaining how I was so close to the line but couldn’t get over it; how the November incident was the final insult. She was so nice to me it was incredible; this was in late June and I was in bits; lamenting why I hadn’t left in November how I’d ruined my life. She was sitting rubbing her bump and simply said ‘there’s a reason you didn’t go in November’ ‘I’m a fatalist; you will go and you’ll go soon; you can see the line and you’re close to it’ ‘and each time something happens’ you’ll either cross the line and go or you’ll get closer’ ‘you’re 42 you can start again’ ‘you’ll do this’. She wanted to see me again in four weeks and the appointment was set there and then. I left feeling up-lifted; strangely. This was trivial incident number six.
Then two weeks later it was Sunday July 15th July 2018; the World Cup Final. She was right. I kept my next appointment with her it was a Friday I told her ‘I’ve done it; not sure how but I’ve gone and I’m staying gone’ and she said I had actually made her weekend; I cried again. I cannot thank her enough for what she did. Whilst words can do so much damage her sheer positivity of believing in me when I didn’t even believe in myself well, I will never forget it.
End of Part 8
Part 9 Never Ending
That wasn’t the end of the abuse. I refused to go back to the Café until the following Friday 20th July 2018. He told everyone I was ill. I was never off work ill; people knew something was off. He tried his best to control and manipulate me; sending me pictures of an empty cake counter. Whilst I was wracked with anxiety and worry, I had to stay focused. I was over the line.
I agreed to work six weeks until the end of August then the Range Rover would go back and I would no longer work in the shop. During this time, he swung between abuse and crocodile tears. There was no show now. He’d cheerfully scream at me in front of the customers now. I told no-one what was going on. I went to a lawyer and got the separation date legally set as 15th July 2018. I shouldn’t have agreed to work the six weeks’ it was horrendous towards the end he just blanked me all day. Then he would phone me at my mum’s; no texts now; spitting abuse and threats. He threatened to sink the Café and bankrupt it which in turn would mean I’d get nothing the house would go as part of the bankruptcy. I was absolutely terrified. Friends said he was lying; just trying to terrify and intimidate me; they were right. He joined a plus fifty dating website and bragged about it in the Café and how he’d bought a house for cash and I was getting nothing. He told me I wasn’t a legal partner in the business but he would give me ‘5K so you can get a wee car to take you to a shitty wee job; you’re fuck all without me’ the threats and insults came thick and fast in equal measure. I got my fair share of equity out the house; I accepted the £5k I couldn’t take any more threats or abusive phone calls I was still terrified of him; he was capable of anything. I got nothing out the house except my clothes; my piano; he did give me a broken food processor. Small price to pay to hopefully never see him again. The financial settlement was completed in November when the house sold.
A few weeks after I stopped working in the Café; he sent me a strange text; ‘I’ve changed a setting on my phone to give you more privacy’. I had no idea what he meant; I just ignored the text as a weird attempt to get me to respond. It wasn’t until I went to up-grade my iPhone that it all became clear. I was going to give my old hand-set to my mum. However; when I went to clear it down I couldn’t it was locked on his Apple ID. He had had my iPhone on his Apple ID all along so he had access to my photo’s; emails and text messages since I’d had my first iPhone in 2007 when he helpfully offered to ‘set-up’ my phone for me.
Absolutely incredible; it explained why he would go mad about me being on my phone. It also explained why text massages weren’t arriving; the handsets were confused because they were operating off the same Apple ID; as I say ironic. I joined Facebook I think in 2013 so then I switched to messenger away from texting and I didn’t email friends now we all had Facebook; Instagram; WhatsApp and the rest. This explained so much he no longer had access to my communication and further I was communicating differently. He could no longer spy on my phone! It took months of wrangling to sort out with Apple; emails back and forth and an entire day in the Glasgow Apple Store; emailing and phoning Three. Basically; I had to try and prove I owned the handset because as far as Apple were concerned my handset had ran off his Apple I.D. since the very beginning so they believed it was his phone. As we all know when you up-grade you very rarely get a till receipt because your up-grade is usually free. It was an absolute nightmare and Three weren’t overly helpful; especially considering I’d paid the contract from the very beginning; oh; the irony! I did ask him to take the handset off his Apple ID; he refused; telling me to ‘fuck off’. I’d expected that response.
I’m so glad I left. I was nearly destroyed but not quite. He won the battles but lost the war. He lost me and he hates to lose.
Nine months on and I have had therapy; I have had severe anxiety, panic attacks and PTSD. Apparently; PTSD is common amongst abuse survivors and panic attacks are terrifying and exhausting. I’ve stopped looking over my shoulder. I’m living in peace, abuse free and happy so grateful to be away from the abuse and positive about the future.
I’m going to College after the summer 2019 to study Bakery and then most likely Hospitality Management and then perhaps teaching or opening my own business. I have a plan and it’s taken time but I’m getting there. The teeth have braces and the operation is about to be scheduled; that’s been less than a year. I’ve put on over a stone and a half and I’m still using fake tan I feel better and look well. I did feel a little lost for many months I had peace and freedom but wasn’t sure what to do with it; it was so overwhelming to be away from the constant abuse and coercive control. I like to plan things and set out the future to particular timelines and targets. However; I’m just taking each day as it comes. No point planning too much. As I’ve learned to my cost the last ten plus years were not what I planned I had no control over anything. I’m so lucky I got away I got out; I made the break. I’m not sure what the future holds long term but I know I’m free to choose and that’s truly incredible. I’m beyond happy I have my live and future back. Life is for living free of abuse.
Love the life you live! xoxo
I have a tattoo in Greek which says ‘love the life you live’ I don’t remember when I got it. I think it was 2016/17 anyway I used to look at it and think well you don’t do you? The same when anyone would ask what it meant. I wasn’t living I was merely existing and surviving.
I’d say to anyone in my situation or similar do it; go; you deserve peace and happiness and you will never have it with an abusive partner; never; they will not change they will not ever be kind to you; they want to destroy you; that’s the harsh reality. You are kind and compassionate and you try to understand them. You never will. Do not dwell on the time you have spent with them; it doesn’t matter; it’s done. Just do not spend any more time with them. Go spend time with your friends and family and rebuild your live. You can do this; your resilience has got you this far it can get you out. Seek help from the appropriate agencies tell people what has happened there’s no shame you have done nothing wrong. The law is now on your side coercive control is now a criminal offence; it’s not just rows it not a toxic relationship it’s abuse. People use words like narcissist and sociopath; each to their own. However in my opinion an abuser is an abuser; plain and simple and abuse is unacceptable; no reasons no excuse’s; you don’t fall a abuser they trip you. You have been abused but you have survived you have walked away you will be happy again. Use your resilience to be happy again; get your life back.
End of Part 9 the end. there’s plenty more I could write however perhaps that’s for another time. The beginning of the next chapter.
The Next Chapter…
Part One
31.12.19 New Years Eve; Hogmanay
Not posted for a while as I have been soo busy which is a very good thing! So much more to say; however today I will keep it short and snappy lol.
I got divorced in October; as you know; it was a tense time as I didn’t think it would happen this year but thankfully it did! It draws a line under a terrible time; however its not closure in itself. I’ll post more about it in the New Year. I’m nearly half way through my Bakery College Course and it’s going incredibly well and I’m loving it.
In the meantime I wish you all a fabulous NYE and health and happiness in 2020. I step into the New Year with a grateful heart and soo much hope for the future. xoxo