The Abuse Started


In my last post I talked about Chica my beautiful Doberman dog that I had while i was in a very abusive relationship. This is time to talk about that. I’m ready.

I was 17 years old and an addict to alcohol. At that time I lived with my mum and because of my drinking we were always arguing. I wouldn’t give it up and she couldn’t live like this any longer. She’d asked me to go and stay with friends. And I did. I stayed with friends in their couches and in their spear rooms until I had outstayed my welcome.

I knew a girl from a town nearby mine and was meeting her for a drink because she was going to “set me up” with her brother. The day after that I moved into his house and declared love for what I didn’t know at the time was a monster.

I needed a place to hang my hat and this was it. A bottom floor flat that was used as a junk house. I loved a challenge though. I worked so hard on that house that by the time I left it was a home. A home I’d made for myself and grew to love. I just wasn’t safe though.

As I said I don’t remember a lot about my teen years but I’ll tell you about the first time I can remember him hitting me. I don’t remember why he hit me. I just remember the fear. And I remember crying. I think deep down in blocked a lot of my memories out. I can remember waking up in the morning though…

The dread of crawling out of bed. Because I could see a big huge bruise covering all of my shoulder. It went down my back and right down my arm. I snuck to the bathroom while D slept and and I looked in the mirror. My make up was smudged all over my eyes, I looked like a panda and I had dried blood trickling from my nose. I washed my face so that when D woke up he wouldn’t see the mess I was in.

Except the make up didn’t wash off and it wasn’t make up. I was bruised and badly at that. It wasn’t sore but it wouldn’t go away either. I remember my fear because my mum and her best friend had arranged to come for lunch and I couldn’t let them c me like this. In fact my mother still doesn’t know this.

I was good with make up. I put on clothes to cover the bruising on my shoulder and arms. And I covered my eyes with make up. You would never have known.

That was the start of it. My time being abuse by this man. I have so many stories about my time there. And so much hurt and I’ll have to take it slow writing them because my doesn’t know. I don’t want to hurt her when she realises the extent to what I’d been through.

I’m here though and I’m sober, I’m thankful for everyday I am here and I thank my mum for that too because when I share how I got away from D my mum will become the hero she really is.

Thanks for reading guys if you enjoyed please share. I love hearing from you all as well. Thank you again. Tamara xx

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