A few years ago I lived with people much younger than me, without the decision to go back to school I might never have had contact with them, they were between my generation and my children, something that really caught my attention, especially among girls, was the way they immersed themselves in relationships of abuse and psychological abuse without even realizing it would be their future?
They told me how they fought and fought with their partners: a speech that always had a similar structure. To begin with, they explained the reason for their anger, how they reached the limit, and ended the story with a feeling of guilt like “Is it because I have a bad temper?”, “Poor boy. boy didn’t even do that much ??
- If I tell them the truth.
- When I heard these stories I shuddered.
- They all reflected what a girl should never happen.
- They ended up apologising to everyone.
- Even though they disagreed with the treatment they received and.
- If they had thought about it coldly.
- Would not have accepted any of the justifications to which they clung.
I saw them arrive one mornings in sad air, and at some interval they told me some details of what had happened, until they expressed everything that worried them, it was so obvious: they were not the faces of the girls in love They were faces of dependent and toxic relationships, all overrun by psychological violence.
I wondered if there was anything I could do to warn you, does everyone have to do it with their own eyes and suffer the terrible consequences of abuse to be really aware of it?Here I leave it for them or for anyone who may be useful to them, the testimony of a girl, a friend who has slowly sunk into the clutches of psychological abuse inadvertently, until that is the case?
? Perhaps I should have realized (innocent spirit) that, as I tried to feel the air I was breathing, there was someone much more experienced and older than me, who looked at the whole situation with great interest as I walked worried. about his heart rate, vulnerable.
Did I fall in love? Yes
When I got pregnant, the person I really was started showing up: he abused me, yelled at me, insulted me and defended me with any nonsense, made me feel inferior and unable to do anything, who would I be without him anyway?
When my son was born, the river kept polluting his course into the abyss, and he even attacked me with the baby in his arms, from there I began to flee the fighting, his outbursts of anger, and I let myself be convinced. for a “pardon,” a “pardon?after every tantrum, which were becoming more frequent every day. He fell into the trap of psychological violence. Most of the time I felt responsible for the clashes. Would I be responsible for everything with my strong temper?
He stopped working and helping in the house, if he had a beer he would become a monster, attack verbally, beat and break all the objects he found in his way, however, I have always kept my goal: a happy family Everyone has discussions, I thought.
When he was arguing I avoided him, it was not possible that in my own house there were also shouting and insults as in my parents’ house, the worst of all were these acts that hurt, did not heal and that became deeper each time. day.
He started abusing our son at the age of 3. By humiliating him, as he did with me, my baby became an easy prey to all this hatred in him. And I hate why? I’ll never know, what I do know is that he’s always tried to have a victim around, it was clear he wasn’t happy.
Gradually I managed to expand my social circle, make friends, although I am quite closed, and I saw, started to see and they made me see that they were not normal discussions, he and they were destroying my self. Estimated.
I killed himself in and out of the house working so hard to make money. In the summer, after nine or ten hours of service at the table, I ran off with my friends for a few hours to comfort myself between their words and their affection. However, when I arrived every winter, I would go back to my prison and more and more sleep would go away.
My son was three years old and hadn’t looked in the mirror for two years, he was just that I lost interest in getting dressed. Why? I looked ugly and tired. When I was 30 he called me old, yelled at me and despised me at the events we went to together, and nothing I did was right. Until my eyes get sad, as the sea darkens on a moonless night. I took this as a warning sign: it wasn’t the plan.
I felt that the responsibility for the life I had chosen was entirely mine and I always regretted my relationship with everyone. He found excuses and still managed to convince others that this huge hair loss was a lack of hormonal control.
One day something broke and my body told me it was enough, I had an anxiety attack that took me to the door of death, feeling that my body stopped working slowly, first I stopped feeling my fingers, then my hands and feet, my face, my tongue, my arms, my legs . . . and my breathing stopped having rhythm.
I don’t want anyone to be fully conscious and feel their body gradually stop working, my friends took me to the hospital and I had to stay there that night for observation, and he went home with our son. Our little town, in addition to being a friend, is a psychiatrist and he recommended that I stay with a friend for the rest of the week to be calm and recover.
So I began my recovery, which lasted 5 days until I got home, he was there, under the porch. I went up the stairs, hugged him and said: ? I went home, do I feel so much better?He pushed me with such a push that made me lose my balance and started yelling at me, I can’t ‘I can’t remember his words, I couldn’t hear; only the screams, the beatings, the violence of his gestures and the voice that terrified me.
I was afraid for myself, for my son and for the friend who was with me, I just thought like the one who’s afraid: run!Not without carrying my son, who was only five years old!I was afraid I’d want to hurt him to hurt me. That’s what I thought I’d do to get even, and I hadn’t done anything!
We fled in terror and trembling, all this time I couldn’t say anything. When we got home, we were silent shortly after his arrival. I went to the second floor terrace and saw him there.
But, you know, it was too late and only one sentence came out of my mouth, out of my soul: “NO!I can’t do it anymore, you’re killing me!? There, I decided to escape from the cage. psychological violence.
I wish you were happy alone, since you weren’t with me, I asked him to seek his happiness and told him that I loved him very much, because of the separation he started calling me and sending me messages wishing me dead, insulting me and threatening to take revenge on the “humiliation” suffered.
No, we don’t want it, it hurts us, it sinks me and my son. Being separated is the only way to maintain our peace of mind, which everyone should have in life. I’ll never let them hurt my son, let alone the soul. And it is my mother’s duty to raise her without confusing love and humiliation, because the one she loves does not torture psychologically.