Written by: Cherie Tilley
Read Part One of Breaking Free From Domestic Violence
——
The knife penetrated into my breast and into my lung, puncturing it, sending blood running into my chest cavity and spurting all over the wall.
As the blood was escaping from my chest, he left down the street. It was obvious his only thought was to run to the needle exchange to use drugs.
I called the ambulance, because I knew I could die.
I could barely breathe, as I tried gasping for air, blood bubbled out of the wound in my chest. I will never forget the sound that I heard from the wound, the sucking sound like a punctured bag. I managed to blurt out my address to the operator before slumping against the wall, blood all over me.
The ambulance officers had to break down the front door. They carried me out to the ambulance in their arms as the hallway was too narrow for a stretcher.
At the hospital I was stitched me up from the inside out; they had to put a drainage drip under my left arm to relieve the blood from my lung. I insisted on leaving, even though I struggled to catch my breath. I signed myself out of hospital knowing I should have stayed.
I caught a cab home to find myself alone. I lay in bed wheezing, every breath trapped in the cold night air – pain shooting down, under my arm. I don’t know how many hours I lay there awake, waiting for him to return.
The next day, I had to re-admit myself to hospital and have the drain taken out. A few stitches had also burst. I really felt like an idiot leaving the hospital the evening before and I was so embarrassed and humiliated sitting in that hospital alone.
He didn’t care. He did not come to the hospital looking for me, he didn’t even call. The irony was that I worried that he may have overdosed in an alley somewhere and I’d never find him! What I should have been worried about, was Myself.
He finally came home. He didn’t ask if I was alright. He didn’t apologise. I don’t remember him saying anything that made sense. He mumbled something about stealing paint to go and do graffiti. I should have realised I had picked a winner, right there and then.
I was only 20. I didn’t deserve this harsh treatment – I was above this. I just didn’t know it back then, I was blinded by what I thought was love. But it wasn’t love. It was dependency.
There’s a difference between dabbling in drugs and having a serious addiction that controls your every thought. If I knew, I never would have started a relationship with him. But by this point, I loved him; I wanted to help him, save him. I should have just walked away and saved myself.
Not long after, we moved back to Sydney. I wasn’t going to stay in Melbourne. I told him to clean up his act and get off the drugs so we could start over, yet again.
Moving Home to Sydney
Sydney was a culture shock; gone were the hip restaurants and coffee shops, replaced with suburban streets and parks. We could have lived anywhere but we had to be far enough from the city so temptation wouldn’t take hold of him again.
I landed a job straight away at a medical centre as a Practice manager and he was able to secure a job at the local club serving dinners.
We would argue but we were both adjusting after the move and settling into our new routines. We didn’t have another incident for months, that is until my 21st birthday.
We spent the night out at a Chinese Restaurant with all of my family (I didn’t have any friends around that time. I had lost touch with all of them long ago because of his behaviour). Everyone was chatting and enjoying themselves, He didn’t like the conversation. He carried on that it wasn’t a celebration for me. He always had a way of making a joyous occasion miserable.
When we got home, he accused me of not appreciating the present he had bought me. I had been grateful and even managed to act surprised, however he had ruined the surprise weeks before when he carried on about needing to buy me something, as if it were an obligation of some kind. He kept carrying on about my gift until he got the box of the bracelet and attacked me with it.
He tried to force the bracelets down my throat, telling me to choke on it. He threw me around for a while and laid one really hard punch to the side of my head. The memory of that night has stayed with me and I have never worn the bracelet. It sits in my jewellery box as a reminder that the only gift he ever bought me was one he wanted me to choke on. From that point, I started to hate celebrating my birthday.
Any occasion that he wasn’t the central figure, he ruined with his behaviour one way or another.
In March 2008, I found out I was expecting again. This time he reacted happily. I was very wary of his reaction due to what he had done to me in the past.
He insisted marriage was the right way to go before our child was born. There was no surprise proposal, No ring he had lovingly chosen. Just his insistence. It seemed that the only way to have this child was if I became his wife. I didn’t think about whether he was the one for me or if he was my soulmate for life. I just wanted to have my baby so I smiled and planned to have a wedding in the following few months before I really showed.
We were to be married in June, overseas in Bali. It wasn’t beautiful or special, it was a ceremony to make things official. I pushed my doubts aside and concentrated on growing my baby whilst working fulltime at a local newspaper.
Finally, on a sunny Sunday morning in November my son was born perfectly healthy. I was in awe of him. I had a gorgeous little baby to look after, who I loved with all my heart. Life became about being the most amazing mum I could possibly be.
Our problems settled down as we enjoyed becoming parents together and making new memories. Life started to turn around; it was probably the best our relationship had ever been.
Eventually though, the excitement of having a beautiful new baby wore off and I was doing most things for our son. He would even complain if I asked him to watch our baby while I had a quick shower. I ended up doing everything myself, it was my job as far as he was concerned.
***
One day I was standing in the kitchen, I could sense he was getting edgy, something was making him tick. I moved closer to my 6-month old baby boy who was sitting in his high chair. Not daring to look away, I unbuckled him from his chair and lifted him out of his seat and held him to my chest.
He started saying something but I didn’t hear what it was, I knew what was coming I needed to protect my child. He grabbed my long hair and forced me backwards onto the cold tiles, I nearly drop my baby as I fell, hard to the ground. His hands were around my throat. My son was now between my knees and I was trying to protect his head from the tiles and protect him from his father.
I couldn’t breathe but I knew I couldn’t black out because then I could not protect my son. He hit me hard across the face and I felt my jaw crack. I looked for anything to protect my son and myself, I saw the phone. I made a grab for the phone while he still had me pinned to the ground with his hands around my throat. Somehow he lost his grip for a minute and it was my chance, I blindly swung the phone as my only defence left and the room went black.
I can’t remember how and I don’t know where I got the strength, but I swung again and my second swing connected. I split his cheek and blood poured from it. He tried to continue to hold me down and was covering me and our son in his blood. I finally managed to break free and grab our son. I ran as fast as I could up the stairs of our townhouse. Into the spare bedroom, as I ran, my knees so weak I crumpled and slammed the door behind us.
Sitting with my back against the door I dug my heels into the carpet as leverage. My baby boy was sheltered in my arms and I held him tight, I peer down to make sure he was ok, unsure of whether he really was. Relief washed over me, he smiled back at me unaffected.
There is blood everywhere I didn’t even know where it was coming from. I placed my son between my knees knowing it was not safe to move from the door yet, wiping the blood from my eyes with the back of my hands my head was pounding – where was the blood coming from? I pulled off my shirt still pressed against the door, I used it as a towel; I then burst into tears mumbling to myself…
“I just want to be happy” I heard the slamming and echo of the front door as he left, off to catch the train to the city. I knew where he’s going. Drugs had always been his number one love; I should have never tried to compete.
There was a loud knock on the front door and it snapped me back to reality.
Leaving my son safe on the mattress, on the floor in the spare room. I rushed to the bathroom to clean up as much as possible before heading to the door expecting to see the police. Instead my neighbours stand banded together. There are only three who dared to knock on the door of my place. Not because my husband was a big man but because his temper was short and erratic and his rage could be heard down the street. Feeling ashamed I looked away as I quickly apologised to the neighbours and assured them that we were ok.
I rushed back upstairs to my son and scooped him in my arms, crying, I promised him there and then that this will never happen again. I placed him in his cot in his room and showered to try and erase what happened, although it will forever be imprinted in my memory.
I’m not sure why but I didn’t leave after this incident.
When our son was eighteen months old, we chose to relocate for a fresh start again. We had moved into our new place before I realised we were expecting another baby. I had moved in all the furniture myself. By the time I did all the moving I had lost the baby and had to endure a miscarriage at home. I was 14 weeks. No one could prepare you for that.
I wanted to try again once I was healthy, he seemed keen on the idea. Once I was pregnant, the cracks began to appear again. I felt alone in a new town without friends or family. I tried to make friends but was accused of having an affair. He would make comments that our baby wasn’t his and that I had boyfriend. I couldn’t make friends; it wasn’t worth the fight so I stopped trying. He had isolated me once again.
I spent the first few months of my pregnancy enjoying and growing my beautiful baby girl despite my relationship falling apart. I had to be strong. I wasn’t going to cry everyday and have my baby affected.
We visited Sydney and on the return trip, he went crazy once again and completely lost it. His addiction had taken hold once more. Every time this happened my strength left me.
He went downhill once again very quickly. That night I was asleep in my son’s room, I awoke, to him pulling me from the bed. He wanted me to explain someone’s number on my phone and he was yelling at me that he had already called them. I had nothing to hide. I tried to calm him down and back him out of our son’s room. Before I could do anything, he kicked my stomach. I tried to cover my belly and turned to the side to shield it.
Another hit knocked me off balance onto the ground with him on top of me. I tried to yell to get him off me but he grabbed at my throat. He put his knee into my belly trying to hurt our baby. He pushed as hard as he could. Pinning me between his knees and the floor, I struggled to breathe and break free. I yelled for help, I hoped the neighbours would save me.
No one called the police, although I screamed for help. No one knocked at the door to distract him from attacking me?
He held me by the throat until I blacked out; those few seconds could have cost me my baby. I had to call the police. I picked the phone up that he had thrown on the floor and called triple 000 with my back pushed against the bedroom door. I remember panting as I tried to get the words out to the operator. I needed help.
Please hurry. I’m scared. He’s crazy. He tried to kill me. Those words came out of my mouth so quickly and easily I couldn’t ignore what I had said. I stayed on the phone until I could hear the sirens and then the knocking on the front door of my house. I couldn’t even move to let the police in. I was shaking uncontrollably. I sat there until they came upstairs.
The police wouldn’t take him away unless I was prepared to press charges.
I had finally had enough and knew I had to protect my son and baby no matter what. The time had come for him to be accountable, I had had enough of the abuse I wasn’t going to be treated that way anymore. That was the end of US, that final incident where he tried to kill me and harm my baby was the final straw, I knew that I had to make changes, not just for me but for my babies.
***
He was locked up and he wouldn’t let go of the idea of us as a family. He wanted to be forgiven again, promising he would be the best dad and husband, I couldn’t trust him anymore. I didn’t feel the love for him that I once did and I began to hate him for what he had done to me.
He was let out of jail for time served and given a suspended sentence. On release he moved back in. By then I had moved into a place that I could afford by myself. I was preparing myself for a life without him.
In 2011 our baby girl was born and we drifted further apart. He went to Bali for a month and only called once to check on the children.
While he was in Bali, I was happy for the first time in my life. I knew I was better off alone. I had been living as a single mum when he was in jail just as I was now. I had my loving toddler and baby girl to nurture and keep me busy. I was stronger and becoming more aware of what I was capable of.
When he came home from Bali, he finally realised we were finished. One day I awoke and he wasn’t in the house. I didn’t realise he had taken our son’s passport and my bank card and headed straight to the bank with a plan to take it all. He cleaned out our son’s bank account. I had struggled so hard to save; this was meant to be the money for my family’s future. I thought it was safe from him because it was in our son’s name. The bank shouldn’t have believed his story, but they did and gave it all to him.
He went to Bali again and didn’t call once. He didn’t send money for his kids. He didn’t care and that was ok. He didn’t contact me until he ran out of our son’s money and by then, he had also convinced another naïve young girl of his charms. It was no surprise that he hidden his shameful convictions and vulgar past.
The following year we were officially divorced and it was liberating to put the past out of my mind and be able to truly move forward; just the three of us.
I concentrated on my kids and began a small business from home to occupy my free time when they were sleeping. We spent the days at the beach and the kids started preschool. I grew as a person, realising so many things about myself. Life was moving along magically for once. I didn’t feel lonely. I felt at peace with my life.
I went out on the odd occasion and slowly made friends and enjoyed the life our town had to offer. It’s not easy trying to be a mum and a woman; finding the right balance to be able to take time out for yourself can be really difficult. I dated a few people but no one stuck around with the excuse always being that I had kids.
***
In 2013, I was seeing someone new and after only a few months, I found out I was pregnant. He didn’t want a relationship with me and I had to accept the situation as it was. I wasn’t scared of being alone, I had been for a few years now.
Being completely alone and pregnant was a whole new experience. It was hard at times; it would have been nice to share the excitement with someone else rather than only with my children. However, I wouldn’t change a thing as the future had a different plan for us.
Having three kids meant I was always busy. My little man was 6 months old when I started to think about the possibility of finding someone to share my life with. I wasn’t looking for love when I finally found it.
We took things slowly because of our pasts and because of the kids. The more I got to know this new man, the more I realised what a real relationship was supposed to be like.
A year and a half later, our weekends are spent camping or taking our boat out on the river. Our Boat. Things are ours now! We have soccer on Saturdays and our dog is no longer a tiny puppy but a giant who almost outweighs the kids. We have grown and changed as people and we are raising a family together.
My eldest has learnt to swim, ride a bike and to confidently deal with bullies at school. He knows how to make new friends and isn’t the shy boy he once was. He has had a strong male role model and the difference is quite astonishing. He is a bit of a star soccer player because he has had encouragement and guidance in the right hands. He has grown so much in this short time and I am so proud of him.
My little girl has flourished and now talks back. She is strong-minded yet mellow at the same time. She used to say she didn’t have a dad. But I have watched from afar as she refers to him as dad now and I know how much things have changed.
I hear “Dadda Dadda“ all day. The littlest man clearly has his favourite too. I wouldn’t change a thing.
Every day I am grateful for the moments I share with my amazing family. Looking back now, it is hard to accept the person I was back then; that I would accept such behaviour from someone who professed to love me, but I know now that wasn’t love at all. Finding love has opened my eyes to a lot more the possibility of having an amazing future with someone, it has helped me realise that the behaviour I experienced with my ex-husband, should never have been accepted at all.
After years of feeling as if my personality did not exist, always walking on egg shells and hiding the ways things were in my life, I am finally free to explore who I am as a person without having someone berate me. It feels Amazing!
People keep telling me I look very different. I feel excited to wake up in the morning and no longer dread where my life is heading. I make plans for fun adventures and I have started to wear makeup – something I never really did before. It’s really nice to be appreciated. I now know how different people can be now. I never felt as content and happy as I am now. Being Happy is such a fantastic feeling!
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