Surviving

Nobody understands my depression. There are good days, but I don’t know where they have gone.

Positive one day, negative another. Pillow corners wet through as my legs are red and sticky. I am too exhausted to move. I always act like I am okay, or at least try to. It never works. No one knows I lost it, not even him or the doctor. Best to keep it that way. I would have either been forced to terminate, give it away or we would all live in a cycle of pain.

I’m fed up with being shouted at all the time. Isolated from my family, even when they are right there in front of me. I wish I could pull the plug on him, but it’s got to be done my way, when I am ready. People think I love him. We say we love each other sometimes, but we don’t. He just wants someone to live out his dirty teacher and naughty school girl fantasies. I just didn’t want to be alone. “Women should be seen and not heard.”

There’s times I felt sorry for him. He had a tough upbringing. I shouldn’t though. Our relationship was toxic and we brought out the worse in each other. None of his friends or family liked me according to him. A mother of his friend had lost mobey, but he was trying to imply that I had stole it. If his friend’s mother really thought I stole the money. She should have gone to the police. A bank statement and my purse would clear my name.

It wasn’t the first time, I’d be falsely accused. He always accused me of cheating. That very night, another friend of mine caught him making out with my former best friend. He left Facebook open one night on my computer, and I saw a message from his friend’s girlfriend saying no kinky fun for you tonight. He gave a bullshit excuse that it was just silly talk.

Then he said shit like this:

“I’m cheating on you with a ten year old, and we go on journeys together.” Of course, I know what he said was fictional. He was referring to an anime character with blue hair and a pink skirt. Either way, it’s disgusting with or without context.

Sex was a horror story. Not only cause of his hygiene, but how harsh he was. He kept complaining that I was dry and that I tensed up too much. One time I told him to stop but he carried on. Sometimes he used to handcuff me so I couldn’t fight. Then gag me so I can’t say no. The pain I had gone though was enough to put me off anal sex for life.

He took pleasure in making me squirm. “I’m going to make you feel this small.”

Boasting about how great his sex life is in front of me. These are the type of men society worship. The kind that are protected. Thus the abuse continued. All he had to do was stop being abusive. The relationship died years ago. The trauma lives on. I’ve fantasised about killing him, the same way he killed my spirit. The reason he picks fights on kids and women is because he gets squashed against fighting real men.

One of the few things that kept me sane was my friendships even though I lost a few, I realised who my true friends were. Each time I was able to get out of town was a blessing. The small snippets I would share made fists clench.

The first time he slapped me, it didn’t hurt that much, but it caused an earthquake within my community. We are told to speak up. Yet, when I try to hint or speak about my past, I am silenced. Nobody is interested my suffering. Opening up just doesn’t seem to be worth it.