We sat around the dinning room table, preparing for a night of games with another couple. Prior to them arriving, we had an argument regarding his inability to show his love towards me. The night didn’t exactly start off on a high point. When they arrived, I put on my fakest smile and tried to pull myself together; I was desperate to keep the appearance of our “perfect” relationship intact.
We imbibed in some good food and drink together, and a couple hours went by as we played board games. Up until this point, my ex and I were exchanging jabs towards one another. I could feel the facade failing, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I couldn’t contain my hurt and sadness any longer. I burst into tears sitting on the floor of my bathroom. I remember thinking I couldn’t possibly take this anymore; my life felt so fake, empty, and filled with so much pain. I couldn’t stand being in a partnership with someone who was so mean and malicious towards me. This moment — sitting on cold tiles on my bathroom floor — was the first glimpse into the perspective that I deserved a better life.
I didn’t have the capacity to join the others yet, so I sat on my bed crying. My friend at the time came to investigate, trying to console me. Truthfully, she had no clue what was going on behind closed doors. I went back out to the table, with my face red and eyes puffy. My ex refused to look or talk to me; there was no understanding for the pain I was in. The situation escalated quickly, and soon I wasn’t able to hold my tears back in front of our company. I can recall that feeling so vividly; it felt like all the pain I had been shoving down for months had no space to stay inside me anymore — I was emotionally imploding. I had hit my capacity for the amount of abuse I could take, and I physically could not hold on to it anymore.
This is where the story morphs me into the villain. I was told I was an emotional mess because I was drunk that night — though I certainly hadn’t consumed enough to warrant the accusation. I was having an emotional break down, I wasn’t full of beer. I was made to look like a fool, and embarrassed in front of our company. Our friends awkwardly left for home, and told us they would see us another time. I walked them to the door, feeling shame that I had let my emotions get the best of me.
The door shut behind them, and I was quickly trapped in a situation that would dangerously escalate. With no one to believe or witness these events, I was all alone.
He was absolutely furious with me. He continued refusing to talk to me, because I suggested he didn’t actually love me. I felt like I was grasping, clawing at him to give me answers. To give me love — anything! My attempts were futile; so I began asking him if we could just forget about this fight. He continued ignoring me, which fuelled my frustration. I was desperate to be loved — even just an ounce — by someone.
Suddenly, I felt like I was in the eye of a hurricane. He was yelling, I was screaming, both of us in full hysterics. He hid my keys and stole my phone, claiming I was drunk so I was not to leave the house. My first thought was panic — now I have no way of calling for help. To retaliate, I took his phone in hopes of letting him know how the invasion of privacy felt. If I had known how much this was going to escalate the situation, dear God I would have not done it. He looked at me with rage in his eyes, and his anger was palpable. He began charging after me, and instinctively I ran into the guest bedroom and shut the door. He overpowered me and made his way in the room. He threw me on the bed, grabbed my hair in his hand and wrapped it twice around his wrist. He held me down on my stomach, and pulled me by my hair back towards him, yelling at me to give back his phone.
I was so confused — how in the world did this situation escalate so rapidly. I remember thrusting, trying to get out of his hold, but his strength was enormous. When he decides to finally let go, he had the audacity to start laughing. He thought this was funny — that I was a joke to him.
Needless to say, I was terrified. I needed to find safety. I ran to my bedroom, but he chased after me. I jumped on my bed; I think the inner child in me instinctively thought it would protect me. If I could just hide under the covers, the monster would go away. He reached me and threw me down on to the floor and started choking me. I was hitting him with my arms trying to get out the words that I couldn’t breathe. After what felt like eternity, he released his grip. I went ballistic.
I remember then, hearing a tiny voice say “dad im scared, I’m having a bad dream.” I was in such survival mode I forgot his son was home. I ran to his bedroom and sat beside him, tucking him back in saying it was okay. My ex walked in and sat on the bed, telling me to get away from his son and told me to look at what I had caused. In that moment I truly felt like I was the problem, and that I had caused this whole disaster.
I obeyed him and left his son’s room to silently sit on the couch and cry. I had just enough time to process what was going on, but not enough time to escape from him. I started to walk away when he grabbed me by my shoulders, and dragged me to the top of the stairs. He held both of my shoulders in his hands, my feet planted on the ground. He tilted me backwards. My body was hanging over the stairs — 15 stairs to the bottom. I’ll never forget the words he said: “I will kill you and throw you down these stairs.”
It’s interesting how your body just goes in to a state of survival; I had no control of myself. I started shaking uncontrollably, and I remember silently saying “please don’t do this. Don’t do this to me.” He threw me back to a standing position, and I choked out a breath of relief. I have never in my life noticed someones eyes like that before. The way he looked at me with his dark eyes after he decided not to throw me down our stairs. This is burned into my memory — my quiet voice saying “why would you do that to me?” The next part hurts the new Nicole reflecting back, but I hugged him in the moment. Needing to feel safe and comforted, needing something more than just myself. I felt like the old abused Nicole when she was young and defenceless. In that moment I felt so alone, lost and scared.
It didn’t end there. The yelling began to grow even louder — vile things being said. I threw his shoe at him, missing him and bouncing off the wall. I remember trying to push him and him being so much bigger and stopping me before I made contact. His strength was impossible for me to contend with.
He walked to the corner of the room, and grabbed my most treasured purple vase. He knew how to hurt me, and he knew this would do exactly that. He walked to the back door, opened it and threatened to throw the vase outside and shatter it.
I put my hands up — “STOP!” — I told him he had won. I told him this was all over. To stop what he was doing, and that I was in the wrong. How sorry I was for how this night unfolded. I took full responsibility for the night and confessed that he did nothing wrong — that it was me. I was the problem. I admitted defeat.
He knew that that purple vase, was the last thing my Nana bought for me before she had passed away. It meant everything to me. It was my last connection to my Nana, with whom I had a beautiful relationship with. I always felt (and still feel) like she had been my protector, watching over me. If he broke that vase, who was going to watch over me and protect me? In that moment, that vase meant more to me than the protection of my own body. This was my tipping point.
He told me to go to bed — it was 4 in the morning after all. I slinked to the guest bedroom and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling in a complete state of shock. Im not even sure if I could have moved an inch, laying stiff in bed reflecting on every second of that blow out. I remember looking at the time, counting down the minutes until it was appropriate for me to leave the house. But first — I had to find my keys.
