Abuse, more than meets the eye

Psychological abuse is invisible, but the scars go deep and the pain permeates your soul. You feel scared, vulnerable and wonder if you are not slowly going mad.

I’m a victim of psychological abuse and while I have shared this information with some of my closest friends and family members, I’ve never written about it till now. But I can’t be silent any longer or pretend it’s not happening, because it is and I refuse to let it destroy me.

I don’t pretend to understand why someone wants to psychologically destroy another human, but I do know it’s much more an issue they have, than anything the victim has done.

I often wonder how I allowed myself to let this happen to me. I always considered myself a strong, independent woman who knew her mind, spoke her feelings with conviction and never let anyone manipulate me. But I suppose it was over many years and was so subtle that I was totally consumed by it without even being fully aware.

My reasons for writing about this now, are that events with my tormentor have kind of reached critical mass. I can’t really go into too much detail, for reasons I will hopefully be able to share one day. But it has been bad, very bad.

However that is what these abusers want, to isolate their victim. Make them feel alone. Questioning their sanity. I can’t allow that to happen. For my sake, but also for the sake of my 16 year old son, who has also suffered abuse by this man as well. For him it’s been more abandonment and complete emotional detachment. E. doesn’t vocalise his feelings, but I see firsthand the damage this has done to him. I hear the stories from his teachers, that he is becoming ever more withdrawn.

I finally went today to the Scottish Women’s Aid (it’s a drop in support centre for women who have experienced abuse, physical and psychological, from someone in their life). I was really nervous, but they put me right at ease. It actually felt empowering to share my story with someone else who has had a similar experience. I suddenly felt much less isolated and scared.

And so I say screw it. I’m tired of pretending that everything is fine. Perhaps I’m not British enough to just keep my stiff lip up, but hey that’s me. So at nearly 9pm on Monday, the 3rd of April I decided it was time to write down my feelings.

I’m Melissa and I am now becoming a survivor of psychological abuse.

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