Chapter 4

I have four ladies in my final session. Rebecca, who typically runs this group, filled me in about these ladies have not quite come out of their shell individually or with each other. So today, I will tell them a little of my story in the hopes that it will be small comfort to them and help them open up or, at the very least, not feel so alone even if they’re in a group with similar issues.

“Good Morning ladies, my name is Lilly, and I have survived domestic violence.”

We go around the group with introductions and some small talk. I can see how anxious everyone is. 

“Rebecca asked me to be here today, to tell you a little bit of what I’ve been through since I left my abuser.”

“Bec said it’s your last day”, Kelly states

“It is.”

“Can I ask why?” Annie asks in a small voice

“I feel like it’s time.” Kelly gives me a quizzical look, “I’m not a trained professional. I do these sessions because I know it helped me in the beginning to see someone who not only survived their abuser but live, actually live. But doing this also takes its toll. I’ve been doing this for two and a half, nearly three years, and as much I love being here, it’s time for me to move forward with the next chapter of my life.”

“You get them, don’t you?” Kelly asks

“Get them?”

“The nightmares”, she states

“Yes, I get nightmares.”

“I imagine that the nightmares would be part of the reason”, Kelly mutters, picking at the invisible lint of her jeans

“Sometimes, doing these sessions will trigger flashbacks and nightmares. However, that isn’t the reason for my leaving. Well, not the only reason. I feel a little stuck. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

“It’s as if life itself is passing us by while we’re standing still. The trauma keeps repeating itself over and over again inside my head. Still, all the people around us keep moving as if everything is the same as it’s always been and yet everything is different.” Annie looks like she’s in another place as she says this, but we all nod because we can all relate.

“Sometimes it’s like that but not as bad as it was in the beginning. I can sort through the anxiety and flashbacks to make an informed decision driven by irrational fear. Which is why I’m here today to help you see that one day you will be able to do this too.”

“As soon as I’m ready, I’m out of here,” Kelly remarks with a smirk on her face

I grin, “I thought the same thing. After two weeks, I left, I was adamant that I was ready. Ready to live on my own, be in the workforce. You know, become a functioning member of society.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly. Did it work?”

“Sadly, it didn’t work for me. It’s worked for others, and maybe it’ll work for you.”

“What happened?” Annie asks

“I was running from myself. I hoped that I could put it all behind me by not facing the trauma, but it worsened. I couldn’t get out of bed to go to work; I was so crippled by my anxiety which, of course, further exasperated my anxiety when I wasn’t able to pay my rent. Eventually, I had to face my demons. I came back, and I discovered facing my trauma with other women who had been through the same shit as me, as you, was helpful. It was very therapeutic once I accepted it, almost like a lifeline, no one pitied me here, and no one asked why I didn’t just up and leave like I’m to blame. That’s what I loved about being in group therapy the camaraderie.” I lean forward in my chair, “Look, Group and therapy are not for everyone. Some can go through life having lived through trauma and never need the help of therapy or medication. They can cope better than others. That person can keep going like a normal person, get a job, get married, and even have kids. I don’t function that way. Most people don’t.”

I laugh, “Not that my body allowed me to do anything. Anxiety for me manifests differently to some. Some start to breathe erratically and faint or zone out. Mine starts to make me sick in debilitating ways, headaches, nausea, among other things. My bosses thought I was a hypochondriac, but it was Anxiety. My body was attacking me, thinking I was in danger and tried to stop me from leaving the house because I was so damn scared to leave the house it would manifest itself into an illness.”

We’re silent for a couple of minutes, processing our thoughts.

“What happened to you? I mean with your partner.” Mandy asks

“It was gradual, you know, like a delightful cocktail with high alcohol content. I drank it too fast, and it slowly crept up on me and left me with one hell of a hangover.” I sigh, “Seriously though, I met Dean while I was in High School, a teenager. I wanted attention that I wasn’t getting from home. I so badly wanted to be loved and to feel safe.”

“What did he look like?” one of the girls asks

“Dean was one of those manly men, wannabe bad boys, 6ft tall, tattooed, dark hair and beard. Beautifully muscular, he kept in good shape. He was intimating, and he loved it when it served him. Otherwise, he hated when people shied away from him.” I smirk. “He was a walking, talking contradiction.”

“Sounds like my soon to be ex-husband.”

“You’ll find most of these abusers are similar. It’s a regular pattern. Dean was all threat and rarely any follow-through for the most part to everyone else except to me.”

“Cowards”, Kelly mutters. I understand her anger; it’s a stage that’s all too familiar to me.

“Dean always called the abuse ‘something special, a treat or party favours’, a surprise of sorts that I can guarantee I never liked.” I shudder involuntarily—a couple of the girl’s nod and grimace in understanding.

“I won’t go into too much detail. Dean’s “special” was always sexual assault, consisting of the use of many kinds of instruments, tools, bottles, food, toys…. Pretty much anything he could get his hands on at the moment.” I take a deep breath, try not to think too deep about it, compartmentalize Lillian.

“But what he enjoyed above all else was control; I was under 24/7 surveillance. Every step, every breath I took, Dean accounted for; all phone calls were monitored and recorded, any outings had to be approved of first, making friends was difficult, some I had to cut off as ordered by Dean. By that time, I got to the point that I didn’t bother getting close to anyone.

I had to note down how many times I had been to the toilet. He complained that I was going through too much toilet paper at home, so I had to count every sheet I used daily. He was so lovely about it,” I say sarcastically, “He even stuck a notepad on the wall above the toilet roll dispenser so that I could keep a tally.

He closed my bank accounts, which means my earnings went into his account. And that was only when Dean permitted me to work. Dean controlled all of our finances. He left me mainly in debt, as he had ordered me to consolidate all of his debts into a loan under my name. After that, any credit cards, and the like, he would apply for in my name. I was his in every way. Nothing was mine, not even my mind.”

“My husband had financial control too. It started with asking for my banking password.”

“Mine too,” Annie whispers

“Abusers generally start slow, so you overlook the signs. It’s only in hindsight that we notice the signs or red flags for what they were. We call this slow abuse, Grooming. They start with wanting something small like a password, and then they’re looking at your statements once a week before you know it’s every day. We have another term that’s similar to Grooming, and it’s called ‘Love Bomb’. They begin with finding out your weaknesses. And then they use those weaknesses against you by covering them with love. You become so overwhelmed with love that the things you wouldn’t normally compromise on or overlook, you find yourself doing giving in anyway.”

“What was your weakness?” Kelly asks

“I guess it was my family. They were a little too busy for me, or so I felt. I was only Sixteen years old when my relationship with Dean started. My Dad wasn’t around, and my mother worked two jobs, day and night. My sister had her baby and married her husband not long later. So, I was lonely, and Dean took advantage of that. He loved bombed me by providing me with the love and security that I desperately wanted and needed. He was possessive and caring. I mean, who didn’t dream of an Alpha male being all crazy in love and possessive?”

“That’s my husband”, Mandy chuckles

“It wasn’t only love and protection; every date was a grand affair. An example of this is when we went to the beach.

We didn’t have any beachwear because we hadn’t planned for it. Dean randomly suggested we go while driving around, and bam, we were at Dee Why beach. He brought everything we would need when we arrived there. Swimsuits, towels, loungers, everything and made a massive deal of it.” I give them a sad smile, “If I only I had the wherewithal to understand what it all would mean for me down the track.”

“I get that,” Kelly says, “My husband was like that. He practically shoved expensive jewellery down my throat. People said I was lucky to have a husband that would buy me so many fancy pieces just because he loved me. They didn’t know that he put me in the dog’s crate for the night with no clothes or blankets to keep me warm and that those pieces were his way of apologising to me.”

The other women smile sadly and nod in commiseration, clearly understanding what the other has been through and not telling them they’re wrong for staying or accusing them of not leaving when they should.

“This is why Group is so important. We all have similar stories and can relate to each other in a way that no one else will truly fathom unless they’re gone through it.”

“How long did you stay?” Annie asks. She was with her husband for 20 years. Annie’s story is the first I’ve come across that is eerily similar to mine. We had both put up with our abuser for an extended period.

“10 years. The abuse was getting worse, to the point I was going to the hospital. They started recognising me at my local hospital, so I started going to medical centres and hospitals out of my area. If it weren’t for my mother, I’m sure I would have taken my own life because that was my plan. Thankfully, Mum helped me get out. Therapy and group helped me to realise I wasn’t alone.”

“Although like I said when I started group, I hated it, I didn’t want to hear someone else’s sob story, and I didn’t want to tell mine, until the fourth session when I realized we were all the same and no one was judging me for it, and I wasn’t judging them.”

“Where is your man now?” Kelly asks

“He isn’t my man,” I tell her nonplus, “And to answer your question, he’s in jail for other charges. It was all coincidental that he happened to get arrested the day I left.”

“So, you didn’t report him? I have family and friends ask me this all the time. They don’t understand why I waited so long.”

“In hindsight, I wish I had, but at the time, I wholeheartedly believed in his threats, and I just wanted to get away. Listen, you can’t blame anyone for not reporting their abuser; it’s victimizing the victim. Some people are extraordinary and brave to report their abuser while others can’t or won’t, and that’s okay as long as they get as far from their abuser as they can and find help for themselves. We already feel enough guilt and shame for not doing what society says is the right thing to do. We don’t need anyone to shame us further.”

“What did you struggle with when you got out on your own?” Mandy asks

I laugh mirthlessly, “I had to open a new bank account. I had to get a job and learn how to pay the bills. But the one thing I did with pure unadulterated joy was buy bra’s.” I laugh at the girl’s expressions, “I know it’s strange, but I was only allowed to have one white and one black bra. Dean would buy these ridiculous lingerie pieces but only to wear for him privately and most of them ended up shredded in some way. Anyway, after I opened my bank account, I decided to look around and do some shopping. It was the third or fourth time I had been out on my own since I left him. I was walking through the store and came across the underwear section. I saw bras in so many colours, patterns, and different materials. I just went nuts and brought several coloured and patterned bra’s, three white bras, and six black ones. The cashier thought I was amusing, but I didn’t care; it was the most fun I had had in ages.”

“I did that. I was only allowed to wear sundresses. The day I left my soon to be ex-husband, I burned all of the dresses and went out and brought an entirely new wardrobe, not one of them a dress or a skirt” Annie laughs softly, “It was a sad day as well, my mum was in tears. She had no idea what I had been through, and discovering the simple joy I had of buying my own clothes in any style I wanted was a little much for her.”

“We have to be somewhat forgiving to the people who support us; they don’t know what we’ve gone through. Every day that we are away from our abuser is a good day. Some days you’ll come against hurdles so big you don’t think you’ll get over it, but you will. We take it one day at a time, and soon the hurdle will gradually become smaller and smaller until it’s nothing but a normal step. All you can do is keep moving forward and remind yourself that you are not alone. Not anymore”

The girls look at each other and strangely end up in a fit of giggles, which really isn’t strange at all. After a few minutes, they calm down.

“Do you miss it?” Mandy asks

“Miss what?”

“I don’t know exactly, but is there things you miss about Dean?”

I put some thought into her question, and it brings to mind something that I had brought up at our family dinner one evening.

“I don’t miss Dean. But for a while there, I missed the control.” Mandy nods in understanding, “My family thought I was crazy. But when I spoke to my therapist, she told me that it’s totally normal. I was in a relationship that Dean controlled for ten years. Of course, I was going to miss someone making all of the decisions for me.” I laugh, “I remember going out for dinner and looking to my sister when the waiter asked what I wanted to order. I ran out of that restaurant crying because I didn’t know what to bloody order.

These are the hurdles I was telling you all about. You will come across them in your everyday life. The small ones are just as significant as the more enormous hurdles.”

“The internal scars are the hardest to overcome. A bruise will heal in a couple of days, but years of psychological abuse can take years to overcome. I’m still processing and coming to terms with this myself.”

“Amen.” Kelly murmurs, “I was diagnosed with PTSD, along with depression and Panic Disorder. What did they hit you with?” she asks

“Severe anxiety, depression, Chronic PTSD and parasomnia along with sleep paralysis. I find medication therapy and a psychologist works for me. I do therapy once a month. When I first started, it was three times a week.”

Bec lightly knocks on the door and enters the room, “Hi everyone.”

We all murmur hi back, “Well ladies, thanks for listening and participating. I know you have a long road ahead of you but rest assured, it will get better.”

We say our goodbyes, “There’s a cake for you in the lounge”, Bec whispers and gives me a quick hug, she knows I have a thing about being touched, so I’m glad she made it fast.

Kelly smiles and waves and turns to the ladies in the group. “Okay, I’m ready to tell my story,” she states matter-of-factly. I grin proudly, success!

Kelly’s story is quite horrific; she was nearly beaten and bludgeoned to death by her husband, soon to be ex-husband, who is currently in prison awaiting trial for attempted murder on Kelly’s life.

I close the door quietly behind me, “What’s got you smiling?” Mel startles me

Mel and my friendship developed through Group. We started the sessions together, two abused women feeling anxious and humiliated to be sharing our stories in front of other people.

Mel’s story is far more gruesome than any I’ve ever heard so far. We bonded over our experiences and how we felt then, and how we feel now.

She’s the sweetest person in the world. No one would ever believe that she was in a shocking abusive relationship, nor would they suspect that this beautiful 5ft nothing petite young woman killed the man who committed the most heinous crimes against her.

We start walking to the lounge together; she has the most beautiful thick luscious black curly hair that flows past her waist; unlike me, she doesn’t need to add even a bit of product to it.

“That was my last session, and I got those girls to open up a bit.” I grin, feeling super good about my small achievement.

“Awesome. Are you working tonight?”

“Yep, Dax asked if I could sing a few songs.”

“Excellent. I was hoping Modus Grace was playing tonight” She laughs again, her face turning pink, “So what’s going on between you and Dax?”

I roll my eyes, “Nothing. I think Dax has the hots for Sally.”

“The dog walker?” She asks incredulously

“She’s not just a dog walker.” I say, annoyed, “She’s also a trainer and carer. She helped with certifying Benny.”

“Whatever”, she shrugs, “Stacie called. She’s hanging for girl’s night,” she says, grinning from ear to ear; her smile is infectious, much like her laugh.

“Great. After cake, I’m heading home to Benny. Sally’s taking him out tonight, and then later, she might meet up with us.” I give her a warning look to keep her thoughts of Sally to herself. Mel doesn’t warm up to people quickly, and it took her a while to be friendly with Stace. It’s always girls, which seems odd to me now that I think about it.  

Mel laughs. “Well, I can’t wait to hear you sing.” She opens the door to the lounge, and everyone starts talking at me at once, wishing me well and wishing that I wasn’t leaving.

After an hour, I say my final farewells and walk over to Mel.

“I’ll meet you at the bar at 9:30?”

“Sounds good. Is it theme night?” she asks

“Thank the gods it is not.” 

We do theme nights once a month, which I feel is too much cause I'm not too fond of theme nights.

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