EXPLAINING CATASTROPHIC TRAUMA - (DM AB CC SA MD DA VB R)

First, a "don't pull the trigger" warning!

Please be advised the following subjects are included: Domestic violence - Abusive behavior - Coercive control - Sexual assault - Mental distress - Drug & alcohol abuse - Victium blaming - Rape.

Eight years ago my life took an unexpected turn that never once did I ever consider would be part of a life I lived. I was never, ever, around violence before then. I am a passive, calm person most of the time - or I was - and was happy in my life. 

I found myself in a position where the person I thought I loved (I now realise I never did) was on a mission to destroy me mentally, and physically, and I helped him do it without realising. I’m not blaming myself for that in any way, what I mean is, in hindsight, the guilt of the choices and decisions I made is hard to bear some days.

My entire life for four years was only concerned with making sure that everyone, especially his five year old daughter, who called me dad (first time that ever happened to me, and so amazing), were all protected from his violent outbursts and domination.

No one ever knew that whole time, except he and I, what our lives were actually like. Some close to us knew brushstrokes, none saw the final painting. We would act happily as a family and play our parts, we would read our daughter a story, put her to bed with a lullaby, and then he would reach for the booze, and I would quickly grab my coat and phone, and spend the night sleeping rough till about 5am, when I knew he’d be passed out and I could safely return home to sleep in the floor of the lounge. Sometimes, I’d head straight off to the management job I held down during these years, directly from the street I’d slept on. I’d use the work toilets to brush my teeth. All those years no-one knew. And those were the good days.

The bad days, at least she never ever saw them, and all she ever remembered was shouting. During the child protection case she only remembered that once she had walked in on it and had told her biological father (Daddy) ‘Stop calling Dad names!’. I worked tirelessly through the court case to protect her, to ensure he never got to ruin her life and now he can’t. At 8 years old she gave evidence and knew what happened in an appropriate way. The evidence I gave meant he can never see her again, by her choice. But to de-link from him and the trauma myself, I also had to walk away from her and it kills me to this day I did. I worry she will think all men will give up on her and are bad. I worry about that all the time, what damage I may have done.

The days I was beaten, kicked, slapped across the face, throttled, head down the toilet staring at my phone under water beneath me, locked in small spaces, called slag and whore when I had had no tender moments with anyone in years, and belittled to nothing on an hourly basis, those were the bad times. Watching people support my abuser even when they had suspicions, they were the worst.

I escaped after all that, before I killed him. My friend found me one day after getting concerned. I was hiding in my own home with a pair of scissors. I knew in my head I had to kill him, or myself.

Such hard times, literally being devalued, and sacrificing yourself to stop any upset to others.

Such hard times follow, grief therapy, CBT (Yes and it is very ‘victim blaming’ when used like this), talking therapy again, not being believed, watching my friends support my abuser moving on from ‘that crazy ex’ he had. You feel non-existent. No one cares, and no one dares to defend or challenge, even when they know. It is scary. 

But you go on, you try, you think ‘’I have to find something to live for’ and for me that's love, and then I met 'him'.

A close friend said to me at the time ‘I am so proud of you for trying to love again, it must be so hard’. It was, and I was proud of myself.

Him. A handsome man, a kind man, a romantic man, a man all your friends say ‘we love him, he’s perfect, so gentle, he really likes you’, a man who fitted perfectly with what I needed most in the world, hope.

When you feel worthless and invisible, like you are nothing, ugly, with no obvious appeal you meet a man. A man who is shy, a man when asked ‘Would you ever make the first move on a date?’ in your pre-first date chats replies ‘Oh god no, I’d be so embarrassed, mortified, especially in public, I’d die’. So, when that person, when walking back to his car with you after a perfect first date stops, in the street in front of a busy Friday night pub with people on the streets, and he looks you in the eye and says ‘Can I kiss you, would that be ok?’. That is when you feel something for the first time that you thought you would never, ever feel again, that you matter.

The most romantic moment of my life, and always will be I fear, and yet still, even though I now know the truth, I honestly thank him for it.

Who could have ever thought that you were walking directly into trap number two. But I did.

It is theorised that abusers are looking, searching for victims like decent people are looking for love. This scares the hell out of me, because I think it’s true. These people are looking for signs you can be easily used, manipulated, signs of weakness. Even though I came across as confident that night, strong minded and fierce, I was too honest. I told him all about my previous abuse and potentially gave him everything he needed to find my weakness. I would be insecure, I would cherish love and attention, feeling special and finding happiness. I’d be confused about any red flags because of the past. Most importantly, I’d been abused and would be thinking that the chances of meeting another one were low. I was the perfect catch.

The first year was everything I wanted, everything was happiness and I so needed that. Then I started to notice things that seemed off. Things he always explained away, things that he’d said that turned out to be untrue, and I asked my friends to advise me. They all said the same thing, ‘you’re imagining it’ ‘it’s the after effects of the previous abuse’ ‘you’re seeing red flags that are not there’ ‘He’s perfect, he’s handsome, he is so nice’ ‘Get help'

He wasn’t at all nice.

By the time I knew in my heart what was happening, I could not escape. My biggest fear was always as follows, and it was the reason I think I stayed. Accept the truth you know around you, and accept that you will never love again when it’s over. Accept someone chose you out of millions to use and hurt on purpose, or deny it and never have to face it.

My head never acknowledged it, not until weeks after I was out of it, but my heart always knew from then onwards. I was now being abused again, by a person, that had purposefully picked me to do so, knowing I had been through what I had.

It is a horror I cannot explain, nor can I ever begin to face.

There was very little physical problems but they were there and I excused them in small ways. Some shoving, some fists raised, lots of grabbing and aggressive taking from my hands (Keys, my phone etc), bullying, constant invasion of privacy, then going through things looking for reasons to berate me. Going through my laundry, my bedside tables, texting my friends pretending to be me, following me, checking how long I’d been in the supermarket, etc, etc. I was beginning to feel inhuman again, and thats when the worst stuff began.

Physical violence is horrific. To have another human use their physical strength to damage your body in anger, is extremely traumatising. Never mind with the addition of the complex nature of emotions.

But emotional and sexual abuse, that has been the most horrific of all my experiences. Trauma, that is not enough to describe it. There is no word I can find, the nearest is a phrase I am coining myself ‘catastrophic-trauma’.

Degrading a human, through actions and words, is the most despicable thing you can do. To subtly destroy their self worth, confidence, their very existence, is the work of pure evil. To do it with a smile and a cuddle, that is unearthly.

For five years I have been told, at least once every single day how utterly useless, worthless, pointless, ugly, fat, old, unwanted, stupid, and how every body I know felt that I was to. Using phrases in normal conversation like me asking ‘Do you like my new years eve outfit’ (which with no confidence is a nightmare situation for the anxiety ridden victim to face anyway), then to reply, as their loved-one ‘Well, I’m not sure, I don’t want people to laugh at you’, that should be criminal. Because you know your victim is better than you in every way, does not mean you are ok to derail them at every turn. And that is why they do it.

Apparently I deserved the beatings I had from my previous partner. I needed to stop bleating on about domestic violence I was told whilst sobbing, I was responsible for him cheating and ruining our original wedding, not him. That last one was on my 50th birthday.

Nothing I ever did was good enough, for example, when I gave a birthday cake to a complete stranger on the street who was celebrating her 76th birthday alone, I should have got flowers instead. When I helped his children pay their bills cos I cared, I never gave enough money he said, when I listened to him pour out his own trauma and lash out at me, I was still a slag and a slut for talking to a male friend the next day.

The worst of my trauma now comes from this fact. I now have to accept that for five years I have been sexually degraded to being nothing, by the one person I needed that validation from and begged for it. Sex, an important part of intimacy to me, not a dirty act, was offered sometimes twice weekly, sometimes monthly, but it seemed only he was allowed to partake. He would take his enjoyment getting it me to tell stories from my past childhood horrors, like I was reading porn. When he was done, I would seek some reassurance, seek some touch, some pleasure, some contact, some fucking love, it was denied every single, time leaving me emptier than ever. To be clear, this wasn’t a choice to love, and want to touch this man or this man touch me. I was a ghost, reaching out for any single human contact, anything that was caring was devoured if offered.

Against my advice and wishes, he started having sex with other men and apparently I was to be involved. I wasn't, I was mocked by being ignored by both. It would be better if I just watched was the next thing, then maybe just be in another room, eventually, I wasn’t even there in the building. 

He would record himself having sex with others and show me. Use his phone to voice record him having sex with strangers in parks and lay-bys, and I would be expected to listen. I could have walked, I could have said no, I could have done anything to not be a part of it. But I didn’t, because he had made sure I knew that I would never be able to love again and would be alone. He made me think it’s this or loneliness for life, and that was a terrifying thought. So, I tried to make it work.

I asked for it to be just us and to start again and reconnect emotionally. He blamed me for having others in the relationship - I’d ruined things! Then casually mentioned he enjoyed all that ‘fun’ and we should do it again. I just said yes, I wasn’t inside myself anymore. I got no enjoyment but a strange self-hatred orgasum without touch.

I begged for his attention because I felt nothing at all inside, I wanted kind, tenderness that matched his words of ‘of course I love you, why would I be here if not’. It was promised sometimes four days in a row and each time, trying desperately to be strong and save myself from a life of loneliness, I exposed myself to him for what seemed like the millionth time.

I tried to summon courage and confidence that did not exist, tried to make my brain fake itself into thinking I could be desirable, that my body wasn’t repulsive, or that I could be any good to anyone, and made myself vulnerable and naked for him. He simply ignored me or attempted to offer rough, quick, aggressive sex that I either refused and went to bed alone, or accepted out of just getting it over with so I could stop feeling so pointless.

Literally, one time he had promised to make me feel special, I lay next to him naked for 14 hours straight, & he never touched me once, he was on his phone, scrolling.

I eventually died inside I think, devoid of humanity and that’s when the rapes started. It happened about six or seven times I think. I have vague memories of it, hardly any actual images or feelings in my mind. I first aknowledged that I had been the victim of a rapist when I realised that these strange sexual events I could not really remember, always started with him giving me a drink, and then things became vague.

Reality was hitting hard but there seemed like nothing I could do to escape it, becasue I could not accept it.

Sometime in all this I turned to alcohol. One bad night was the start of it and I remember the hurt that caused my drinking to begin. I had been disappointed for three nights in a row, as he each time attempted or perhaps pretended to want to make love to me, he ignored me and left me alone 'untouched'. That’s what I wanted and needed, to feel soothed in passion. I knew it wasn’t coming any of these nights, but I was so desperate for any chance of it, I hoped.

But this night, leaving me naked alone and untouched, he stormed off to bed shouting ‘I cant deal with sex now, Im going to bed. You want too much of it’. I was crying, he left me crying because I wanted him to love me basically, and he had failed to for years. Left me alone, humiliated, vunerable, crying and in need of love - not sex. He told me straight he could not deal with sex right now.

He then went upstairs & straight online and created a sex profile, posted explicit pics of himself, and chatted to strangers about sex for four hours until 5am. When I realised, when I saw it, I drank a whole bottle of tequila within a few minutes.

From then on I drank every day. Drugs followed shortly after, becoming a regular thing to keep going, drinking heavily at 9am on a Sunday, snorting lines on a Tuesday afternoon alone at home. 

I simply could not cope. He knew all this, saw it, chastised me for my behaviour even. I admitted to him I was struggling, I had a problem with alcohol and drugs and I needed help, and he just kept buying bottles of vodka for the house, and drugs to ‘play’ with. He bought the drugs, then screamed at me hours later ‘the drugs are the problem’. Screamed at me.

He’d then remind me I was a disappointing drug addict and drunk.

Can this really have happened to me, after the first time, and now this? Who has a mind able to process that, and certainly whilst in it. I was in denial the whole time, I found excuses and if I asked him, it was of course my fault. I thought you’d like it, You said you had a fantasy like it, You said yes at the time, etc.

I never, ever, said to someone I loved, if I am in desperate need for love, please drug me for four hours, spend the time going through my phone, and yes the phone record said it was used for four hours whilst I was laying on the floor, and before I wake up, masturbate over me for your pleasure. Then tell me afterwards that you thought I’d enjoy it, is despicable,

There is nothing more humiliating and soul destroying than that. The other rapes didn’t hurt me, I felt nothing, I had no ability to be human by now. Waking up with a stranger inside you is terrifying. Watching a video of you passed out, snoring, whilst your partner and a stranger rape you, then sit and chat about it and the weather is horrifying. But finding out that stranger has a copy of the video, disgusting. But these felt easier to accept than the vile masturbation over my unconscious body..

Once I just laid there, feeling nothing, eyes wide open, able to shout, but doing nothing, being raped repeatedly for a few hours by two men - your body totally limp the whole time, and never saying a word the whole time. You know these men must know I am not giving any sign of consent. You know they do not care you are not human. 

The only thing I could think of, whilst laying there in agony as they took turns, was when my abuser had asked earlier that day if he could give me a massage, I had replied to his text saying ‘as long as we have a nice, calm, soft and slow evening with just us two, it will be good’. I remembered the hot shower earlier, feeling relaxed, taking off my towel, laying on that table, his fantastic massage, when he did your arms, pulled them behind you to massage them, then tied them. I then noticed a stranger beside him. I was then raped repeatedly for one hour and forty minutes and I never said a word.

Afterwards, when you have said nothing for 30 mins after their enjoyment is over, you just say ‘what the fuck was that?’ and your partner replies ‘I can’t do anything right can I, I thought you’d enjoy this’.

The horror of another occasion, I think the first time he did it, and listening to your abuser tell you that whilst you had ‘slept’ he had raped you. You ask yourself ‘what did he say, I must have misunderstood? What does he mean?’. And then the utter horror of the words which I think have caused the most damage in my head.

‘Whilst you were passed out you actually said a few times ‘Stop, No, It hurts’ and it turned me on’.

I didn't ‘sleep’ through that, no one would.

To have a man do that, for five years, after previous abuse, then marry you and a week later walk away, humiliating you more than anything else publicly, and take every penny you have had in enjoyment, leaving you with all the bills and embarrassment, no explanation, and then him ignore your cries for suicide help for three days……. How can a human being consider themselves anything other than nothing.

And to make it worse. Calling out that person has bought me nothing but really close friends telling me I am the problem, its not right to say that on Facebook, that they pitied him and were happy he was moving on, that they knew I had problems and I needed to stop bring them into future relationships cos ‘You’ve spoiled this one’, having his friends who have never met me use Facebook to say ‘You should thank him for this photo (his profile pic) because thats all he was worth’ and him, my abuser “Heart it”. 

How on earth does anyone think I should be anything less than catastrophically-traumatised and suicidal? 

And aside from very close friends, 90% of people contacting me have told me to ‘love myself’ and ‘get help’. Loving myself wasn’t the problem, I did, I was too busy surviving and screaming it out at God.