The effects of domestic violence are something you never forget. The physical scars usually disappear, the mental ones less so. And the mental side is important when it comes to domestic violence is important: did I deserve it? Was it actually my fault? “But”, I hear you ask. “Why are you writing about it? You’re a man.” It’s true that domestic violence mainly affects women but a minority of victims are men. I should know. I was one of them.
Over thirty years ago, over half my current lifetime, I was in an increasingly dysfunctional relationship. Mostly it was verbal humiliation with the occasional mug thrown at me. It was a terrible existence as I dreaded each day my partner coming home from work for fear or what might be said. One night, it went much further.
Things had not be right for a long time, at least since the previous spring when on a holiday in Greece, I had suffered terrible sunburn, despite having minimal exposure to a warm sun. I concluded, in my own mind, that the sun cream I used had become contaminated and it couldn’t have been an accident. But why would anyone do that?
The verbals continued. I kept thinking, what was I doing wrong? My partner seemed to hate me, she seemed to revel in humiliating me. Something was horribly wrong. But what was it?
On a night in early 1990, I had gone to bed early, in part to avoid an encounter with my partner. When I heard the front door open and close, I kept as quiet as possible in the darkness. Then, suddenly, dramatically, the bedroom door opened and she attacked me with the thick solid belt of her coat. I turned my back on the assault which became more and more frenzied. I genuinely feared for my life and then a blow struck me on the top of my head and I became immediately dazed and no longer made any effort to cover up. Suddenly, it was over, she left the room, closing the door and I lay face down on the blankets. I felt no immediate pain, just enormous shock. I don’t remember if I slept but as the night wore on, the pain from my open wounds became agonising.
The next morning, I waited in a dark bedroom, waiting for her to leave for work. I was terrified she might return to finish off what she started the night before, but it never happened. Then I heard the door shut and I made my way to the front bedroom and watched her walk up the road. I went downstairs and saw a small handwritten note: “I shouldn’t have done that.” Given that she was also a member of a gun club, I thought about how this could have ended much, much worse.
Having removed the blood-stained sheets and wiped my upper back as well as I could, I decided there was only one course of action. I had to leave her. I got dressed slowly. It was agony putting a T shirt on and I was still in terrible shock. Slowly, I walked to the local solicitor who was based about a mile away.
Shaking like a leaf, I explained what happened. She asked numerous questions. Had I provoked her? Had I fought back? Had I resisted in any way? Had I called the police? I explained as best I could that I had never consciously provoked her, I did not fight back, I had essentially submitted to the violence and calling the police had never occurred to me. Before the attack, I had never once considered striking a woman. Now, I could add to that “under any circumstances”.
My solicitor took photos of my injuries and divorce proceedings began. My partner counter-petitioned on the grounds of my “unreasonable behaviour” which I felt was nonsense but the solicitor advised me to settle out of court “otherwise the lawyers will be the only winners”. One morning a few weeks later, friends of mine waited for my partner to go to work and I gathered as many of my possessions as possible and left her. I have never seen her since.
I could speculate on the reasons why the domestic abuse, both verbal and physical, occurred and I have theories, but that’s all they are. In the absence of facts, speculation is worthless. In the end, I know it happened, I know I lost my house but I managed to survive and eventually recover. An apology, via a third party perhaps, would have been welcome, along with an explanation, but it never came so clearly it was believed neither was required.
Very occasionally, I get flashbacks, almost always generated by news stories of domestic violence involving prominent public figures. When I see described acts of domestic violence, almost always directed at women, it brings back how it felt to me. And since I see life mostly in black and white, so it is when it comes to domestic violence. Directed at or by women, it’s all the same. And any man who commits an act of violence to a woman I don’t regard as as much of a man anyway. It’s why I get edgy at domestic violence stories. When it happens to you, you’ll never feel the same about it. And this is what it looks like.
