Incredibly lucky, red flags? 

*Spoiler alert: He’s horrific.

That’s how I felt when he came into my life, incredibly lucky. You know what it’s like, that person who makes your entire life easier. A fantastic father figure to my daughter, and I mean a fantastic one. He seemed to slot into my life perfectly, a real perfect match. My best friend, my soul mate, well, that’s what I thought anyways. He used to remark on our ‘wavelength’. 

I spend a disproportionate amount of my time racking my brain, trying to identify red flags that I missed, that I must have missed. You don’t turn from the perfect person to such a morally corrupt and abusive one just overnight, do you?

 My Mum always said to me to fall in love with someone who could look after me, someone who knew and promote my worth etc. Well, I thought I had found him. Older than me, wiser than me, seemingly nicer than me. He didn’t have a solid career but he was a hard worker, six days a week for a while. He thought nothing of writing me long letters, expensive meals out, date nights, championing me and honestly, he had me feeling like the luckiest woman in the entire world. He lifted me to new heights all of the time. Before meeting him I was suffering with severe anxiety, he got me to Paris and back, and on a plane. They probably sound like such small things to the average person, but to me they were absolutely major, it meant the world to me. I had been unable to leave the local area, but with him I didn’t feel that anxiety, or when I did, he was the only person that could make it melt away, it was clear to me that I had fallen in love. Absolutely and completely in love.

He told me that he fell in love with me by our third date. It’s horrible now, that I have been made to look back on every sisngle happy memory and it’s all tainted. Absolutely tainted. I used to see everything through those beautiful rose tinted glasses. Now, everything is through brown shit tinted ones, and I think that represents a more realistic picture, underneath it all..

I wonder now, a lot actually, did he ever love me or did he see an opportunity for someone to hurt? After all single Mothers are amongst the most vulnerable people, easier to exploit in certain situations. Me – an anxiety ridden struggling fairly new Mum…ripe for the picking if you’re that way inclined, right? So many memories that honest to god, I would cherish. Those memories lifted me up and made my entire heart glow. 

He bought me a wedding ring with future initials engraved on it, ‘C.A.B’. He asked me to elope, I was swept up in the incredible romance of the whole affair. This man I loved, whisking me away, just us, a small ceremony, on the Cornish coast, a secret – our secret. It was like a scene out of Moontiger (my favourite book). 

I thought nothing could ever bring me down. I had my little family. I felt made. Complete.

Perhaps that’s why it was so easy, no, not easy, but doable, to dismiss the first two instances of violence. They hurt, emotionally, more than anything, but I didn’t allow myself to think about it, I didn’t want to have to think about him doing that. 

The rape. I am so ashamed of myself how that was handled. It sickens me that I did not go straight to the police. It positively sickens me that I accepted his puppy eyed ‘woe is me apology’. By that I mean, it was never an apology to me, far, far from it. It was about him, how he’s ‘in the darkness’ or my favourite one: ‘what I’ve done, Catherine, will hang around my neck like a noose for life’.. erm, right, ok, fucking good? Sorry if you’re looking at me for pity, then you’re 100% looking in the damn wrong place, believe you me. So yes, I am disgusted with myself that I accepted that at the time. I spent a year. An entire year putting him first. I convinced myself that it did not matter at all what I was going through or what I felt – as long as he felt ok and was not upset. It was preferable to me that I was depressed, indulging in destructive behaviours, reclusive, but he was fine. I sabotaged myself in order to keep him above the water. Sick, isn’t it.

If I could slap myself then I would. What the fuck?! Make sure he is not upset…the least he deserves is to be bloody upset..! 

It was shocking, incredibly shocking to me, how my love for him changed to hatred so dramatically. I grieved for my relationship with him. I had lost my partner and best mate, you know? But he gets even worse. 

The rape happened April 2016, we stayed together, wrongly and stupidly. We had to go through losing a baby on September 23rd 2016 at 10:40am. Heartbreaking is an understatement, I know I speak for him as well on that front. I remember every minute of that day. How my ‘best friend’ treated me during that time was nothing short of vile. 

I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, I couldn’t cope with hearing my then two year old calling me Mummy. I was on the cusp of a severe breakdown in all honesty. He did not ask how I was. He was out with friends. I called him out on it at the time and asked, how can you be smiling in pictures with your friends when my world has completely broken? He shouted at me that he is broken, he is just doing it on the inside. He made me feel guilty for grieveing. 

I hate him for that.

But then I realised something. Coping inwardly is all fine. But to show such a lack of compassion and empathy..? You know, in my job as a nurse, I show compassion to every single patient and I don’t even know them, he was unable to show me compassion, someone he claimed to love dearly, after having said goodbye to our baby, seven weeks three days. 

Compassion and empathy are basic human functions, I wonder now just how much he has wrong with him…I really do. The more I think about it the morse I realise that he is a psychotherapist’s dream case study.

Six months after raping me and one month after saying goodbye to our baby, he left me. I was ruined. Although in hindsight I must ask myself as to why I ever felt that it was a loss!!, but there we go (love = fucking dimwit)

Half a year it took to completely free myself of love towards him. Half a year too long really. People say that there is a fine line between love and hate, I disagree completely. It took me a lot, a great deal in fact to swap from love to hate, and I must say, I never thought I could actually get to the point of saying this, but the degree of hate feels so much more powerful.

He is scum. A piece of scum that is just a very, very good actor in my opinion. Nothing more.

So this journey, this horrible, sleepless, shitty as fuck, undeserved journey that I have stumbled upon, is not for the weak really. It’s a complete nightmare and it appears to be never ending really. I am just full, brimming, nearly over-bloody-flowing with sheer anger at the situation. 

Two traumatic things I have had to try and move past. Two. I was the wronged one here. No one else. I protected a sheer disgusting coward for a year, even though he had raped me and let me down continuously, I still put myself last. I put myself last and for what, zilch? Life ruining. 

I took the brave decision to share all of this openly because, god knows how many people are putting themselves bottom of the pile, while putting their abusers before them, out of misplaced loyalty due to faulty love. Perhaps an open account will help some one, catch someone’s eye, help, make them feel not on their own with e experience, I don’t know, but it’s nice to think that some good can come out of this, somehow. 

I never did anything wrong. It took too long for me to realise that fact. 

Whoosh. The catharsis is hitting, about fucking time. 


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