I suppose I should get it all out, talk about him. Two years ago I thought I had met that guy, you know the one.. The one who makes your life easier, the one who makes you feel like you are floating, I can’t even put into words how happy and excited I would be knowing that I was getting to see him that day, 12 hours to go and I would be absolutely buzzing. He was my first real love. The man who would kiss me and I swear to God my feet wouldn’t even touch the floor. He had me flying, absolutely soaring. My best friend, my partner, my absolute soulmate, or so he had me believe.
The first time we hurt me we were in the park. My daughter was on my lap, we had all been laughing and joking, a happy little family outing. I was happy. I was sitting there with the two people that I love most in this godforsaken world. He slapped me. Did I do something to provoke that? I don’t think so.. Did I, though? I really don’t think that I did. I fell quiet and after a few minutes my ‘best friend’ turned to me and said ‘Whats wrong with you? If you don’t cheer up then I’m going to go’. I didn’t want him to go, so I cheered up, I swallowed down my upset because I didn’t want him to go, I’d miss him. He knew why I was upset, he told me that he didn’t mean to do it that hard – he told me that he didn’t know his own strength. I believed him. I accepted it. Know this, readers – that was my first red flag and I saw it and I chose to ignore it and believe him. Love, or the idea of it at the very least makes you weak, weak and incredibly vulnerable.
I forgot about it, well, tried to.
The second time my Prince Charming hurt me was in my house, in the kitchen. Once again, happy and in love, cuddling in the kitchen and enjoying each others company, just like we did most days. He got a spoon out of boiling water and put it to my neck, and held it there. I told him it was hurting me and I moved back. Straight away there was that feeling in my gut, just like a few months before when he slapped me, I was hurt – again. He told me that it was just a joke, he was playing around, stop being so bothered, and my favorite: ‘you can do it back to me, Catherine, if you want’. No, I don’t want. I would never want to do that. Unfortunately hindsight shows me that it was yet another red flag that I decided to ignore. Once again my best friend had not treated me gently and yeah, as pathetic as it sounds it broke my heart and in that split second, it scared me, but as I said before – love makes you vulnerable, and also in my case, clearly a fucking moron.
The final act, the one that has wrecked havoc on my life, was the rape. Now its taken me a long, long time to be able to fully get my head around that term. That word. But unfortunately, it is the right one to use. We were on the sofa, acting as a couple does.. I made it clear that I did not want to do anything more, I made it very clear, I feel. Sometimes now, a year on, if I focus hard enough I can still feel the fabric of his t shirt on my hands as I attempted to push him off of me. Pathetic, eh. Occasionally I wake up with my heart racing because I feel someone on top of me that once again, I can not push off. What must me three year old think when she sees Mummy wake up in such a fright? I said no numerous times, loudly. I said stop it, more than once. The act itself only lasted for less than half a minute; but the damage, my god, the damage is untold. I don’t think for a second it will ever get better – not really, not fully. So, I must ask myself, why am I the one with the life sentence, and not him? Not that disgusting maggot.
Him. The man I thought was my world. The man I would thank God for (not that I believe in God, but I would certainly thank my lucky stars) The man who complimented me every single day, morning texts, long loving messages, spoiling me, looking at me with love filled eyes. Him. The man who hurt me three times, physically – mentally – emotionally. Him. The man who took my trust and destroyed it so quickly. Him. The man who knows that he ruined my life for a year, which felt more like a life time and never had the decency to talk about it, instead telling me: ‘I refuse to, I can’t’. Him. The biggest and most disgusting coward I have ever had the misfortune to meet, worse yet, the misfortune to have loved.
Moral of the story? If it seems too good to be true; its probably a rapist.