Recovering from abuse takes time, it has been almost three years since my abusive relationship ended but, on some days, it still feels like yesterday.
Living with PTSD, but still on a waiting list for counselling, talking became the way I rid myself of the shame and guilt the abuse left me with.
There are several things that bound me in silence: shame, stigma and the fear that I wouldn’t be believed. I’ve since learned that many survivors experience those same feelings. Although I wish nobody else ever had to go through what I did, for me, I felt safety in numbers and hearing the stories of other victims of domestic violence made me feel less alone.
It might be hard to understand why someone would be afraid to open up, once the physical danger is removed, but, mental health complications aside, talking about traumatic events can still be very scary.
The actions of my abuser had a long lasting effect on me.
He had systematically broken down my relationship with others and with myself. He had manipulated me into lying to my friends and family and bullied me into withdrawing from those who loved me; he convinced me that they were the bad guys.
After the breakup, it took months of trust building before I was actually able to discuss the details of what he had put me through. Despite being horrified by what I had endured, many of my family and friends had suspected I was being abused; although had desperately hoped that they were wrong about it.
Post-traumatic stress disorder was no joke. One of the hardest things to live with was the hypervigilance, which is a heightening of the senses, brought on by fear.
Another really difficult thing was the fact that I had absolutely no idea who I was anymore. I was free from the abuse, but, I’d spent so long walking on eggshells and second guessing my abuser’s wants and needs before making decisions, if you had asked me to tell you what kind of music I liked or what I wanted for breakfast, I would have had absolutely no idea what to say.
I realised that I had to start somewhere so I started to write about my mental health online. Every time I posted a comment, tweet or blog about it I was afraid he would somehow be able to find me through it. I thought that he could somehow figure out my location and would find me and attack me.
Slowly, through my blog, I managed to get talking to other people with similar stories to my own. Tragically, I met many people who had experienced similar trauma to my own. Countless men and women who had been controlled, assaulted and abused by people who were pretending to care for them.
Their strength fueled me and I got louder.
Over time, I realised that the power I thought my abuser had over me was an illusion. He gave the illusion of strength, because he had taken mine, but he was not strong. He clouded my judgment and had convinced me, not only that the world was against me, but that I deserved it to be.
But I didn’t.
An abuser is like a horcrux. The longer you spend with them, the more tainted your perception becomes; the less clearly you see; the more alone you feel; the more unsure you become of what’s real and what isn’t.
Once I found my voice again, I started to find myself. I learned that it was OK to talk about the abuse; that it wasn’t some dirty secret I should be ashamed of and that those who cared about me and other survivors would not see it as a reflection of who I am, but of what I have endured.
I learned that it was OK if talking about it made me cry; I had spent years thinking that I could only show strength through stoicism, but I started to find strength in vulnerability. I stopped being numb and started to feel real emotion once more and, to my surprise, I discovered that feeling emotions helps the healing and I grew stronger.
Every time I talked about my experiences; I became more connected with myself. The people who stand up to abusers are among the bravest in the world and they deserve to be heard.
And some people will, of course, choose to throw sticks and stones. Perpetrators often manipulate those around them to continue abusing their victims once they have broken free. I use those sticks and stones as a fuel for the fire I have inside that keeps me going.
At my lowest point, a very wise friend once shared some words with me that I am now going to share with you – and I hope that you will help me pass them on to anybody who is going through what I have been through and is too afraid to speak up: ‘People will believe you. And, even if they don’t, it happened.’