Most people, when they hear about domestic violence, can't understand why that person doesn't simply leave their painful situation. I can't answer that question for everyone, but only from my own perspective. I thought I loved P and really believed him when he said he was so sorry and it wouldn't happen again ... until it happened over and over. Some part of me believed this was normal behaviour since Mum and Dad obviously loved each other, but they fought like cats and dogs every time they were drunk. I never got drunk and I couldn't bring myself to fight back, but simply tried to get away from him ... sometimes successfully and other times not.
You can't imagine how frightening it is to watch that change suddenly come over someone you love. One minute he's loving and gentle, then the next minute his pupils have dilated and he's screaming accusations at you and belittling you while he puts his hands around your throat. Then suddenly, he switches back again into his Dr Jekyll persona and can't understand why you're crying and don't want to kiss and cuddle him! It was so bad that when he came home drunk, my mouth would dry up and my palms would start sweating as I waited for something to set him off. I didn't even have to be in the same room! Once he slipped over as he staggered into the toilet then came roaring into the lounge room where I was watching TV to beat me for pushing him over.
The physical abuse is bad enough but he employed verbal abuse as well to grind down my self esteem until I lost my self respect entirely. Constant threats and intimidation worked to turn me into a pathetic doormat. When we would go to a function together, I would look only at him or the table, otherwise he would accuse me of making eyes at some guy in the room and punish me for it when we returned home. He never did anything to me in public, so nobody suspected and all his friends thought he was a wonderful man ... they still do!
I became pregnant in 1972, but the beatings took their toll and I miscarried: what my Gynaecologist called a "missed abortion", because I couldn't tell him I was in an abusive relationship. My GP had thought he could prevent the miscarriage by prescribing Valium 5 mg tablets, four times a day. P sent me to stay at Mum and Dad's house while I was sedated. I was so out of it that I wasn't aware of how much time passed and my dreams were in vivid Technicolour. After four weeks there (in my mind only a couple of weeks had passed) it was obvious that the pregnancy was over. Dad took me home to a flat (actually it was half a house) next door to P's Mum and Dad. P had moved us out of our furnished flat into this unfurnished dump while I was away. We could never get rid of the mice! His parents had given us P's double bed, dressing table and wardrobe. I climbed the fence into their yard to do our washing in their machine, but we needed furniture fast. His Mum and Dad bought us a laminated dining table and six chairs and my Dad made some of my money available to me to buy the rest. I bought a 12 cu.ft. Kelvinator two-door fridge/freezer, black & white TV, a buffet, 4 seater lounge with two chairs and footstools. I then had to go into hospital for a D & C, my first time under an anaesthetic. We ended up living in that horrible place from 1972 - 1980.
In November 1972 I became pregnant again and despite some early bleeding my tough little daughter, MLC, hung on and was delivered safely in July 1973 weighing 9lb 5oz.
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