I want to share with you a story told by a someone close to me, her name was Jo.
After a traumatic childhood she decided that the best thing for her in her life was to be alone, to start a new life away from the old memories and meet new people. Her new flat was immaculate, decorated to how she used to dream of when she was little. Pale colours throughout the living room with that famous picture of the New York skyline before the towers were sadly destroyed. A settee that was just soft enough for her to curl up in at night with a mild glass of wine, watching the world go by through the soaps.
Things started to get a little lonely for her. While she had made new friends, she needed company in the evening. Someone to tell the days woes to and listen to theirs in return. There was no real excitement in cooking a meal for one, so she ate microwaves meals which didn’t satisfy the need for company.
Then one day she met a man, some random person that happened to be walking through the car park at the front of her flat – his name was James. They started talking one day and a friendship developed, something that they both agreed to – taking their time with a relationship. This they done and the affections grew deeper and deeper until the point that they both acknowledged they were in love.
This happy relationship lasted a few months, where they would do everything together, spend all their time with each other and constantly talked sweet nothings when alone. This changed one night when he visited one evening slightly worse for ware. Her shouted at her, called her a whore and slapped her around the face. She shut the door on him and walked back into the warm cosy flat. He banged constantly on the door for attention and slowly left when he was given none. He returned the next day all full of apologies and so she forgave him – it was a one off thing you see.
They carried on with the relationship, though things were starting to get worse. The names were being called everyday and the slaps around the face turned into beatings. She knew that she deserved better, that she should end things there and then. But he had put this control over her that she was too scared to fight back and tell him ‘no’. He would start accusing her of shagging every man that she spoke to and even called her a lesbian when buying items from a shop and being served by a female cashier.
When she denied cheating on him, she would get a beating. When she wouldn’t have sex with him, she would get a beating. When she wouldn’t do as she was told, she would get a beating.
She knew that she had to obey everything that he demanded else she would feel the physical pain of a man that wouldn’t think twice about dragging her a mile down the road by her hair, stopping every hundred or so yard for her head to be kicked in. She had to obey.
Then one night she couldn’t take it no more. She had finally taken even of the abuse and pain. She argued back, shouting as loud as he was shouting. Hitting as hard as she could when he hit her. Until he stood back and stopped for a moment. She had won, she had beat him and he was going to stop. Or so she thought.
He came at her harder than ever, hitting and kicking and stomping all over her as she was curled up in a ball trying to hide herself from the pain. He ripped off her trousers and undone his zip. He done the unthinkable act that traumatises lives forever. He knew that she would never be able to trust a man ever again in her life. He knew that he had gained eternal power over her.
She got herself away from the situation the only way she knew she could – prison. She was finally safe from the hurt and the pain and would never have to see James again. She thought that it was over, she was right in a way. The physical pain was over, but he had left a tremendous mark on her life that would never be taken away.
Jo was able to get away from this situation, but thousands of women don’t, can’t or are unable to. These women have to go through the pain and suffering Jo went through for years until the end of time. If you can help someone like Jo, even if by simply passing them a phone number of where they can seek help. Please do so.
If by writing this I can help women who have or are going through the pain and suffering I went through see that there is a light, then please pass my message on.
My true story, Inspired to share by Tyrannosaur (P. Considine)