My story, my brief kinda long overview of abuse.

It’s been nearly 6 years and then some since I last spoke to them. Not since I have seen their faces.

Three seperate people who took turns tormenting me, manipulating me, psychologically abusing me, verbally bashing me, twisting everything and using guilt trip tactics for sex.

There were no physical bruises, no one knew it was happening until I started acting out.

It was a type of DV that I didn’t know was happening. I didn’t know it was happening, not until it was too late. Not until 4.5 years had gone by. 4.5 years of relentless abuse.

The first was intoxicating. Charming. Handsome. Could talk the talk. He was smart. It was high school. Year 12. I was 17, never been kissed. No prior boyfriends. Very naive, very innocent, craving for attention.

So this very handsome, intoxicatingly charming boy liked me.

In the space of 8 weeks he was able to get me to say “I love you”, he stole my first kiss, he made sexual advances that I allowed at first, nothing past hands. 8 weeks. But it didn’t stop there that was just the phase to capture me in. Entrap me. He owned me for almost 5 years. Even after the relationship ended.

The second walked in shortly after the “mutual” end to the first. He was sweet a romantic, just a kid who lived in a house through a mess divorce and no emotional regulation. He always had to be happier or sadder or angrier than me, his life was harder etc

We were together 18 months. He took my virginity. It was romanticised, love is blind, right. Even after months of angry demands and when I would say no it would result in a cold shoulder. Yeah. I was blind. The sex was bad. It hurt. It was boring. The last few months of sex, 4 months, it hurt, I just wished it to be over with, I would turn over and just wait, head on a pillow, trying to make my discomfort sound like normal moans. Left feeling dirty. It took me those last 4 months to walk away. From all the isolation from my friends, my family, my studies, everything!

I was single then for 2 months. But that whole time the first guy had introduced me to his older half brother. Yeah. He couldn’t take me back because he was with another girl (I hope she is okay) but his brother was single and to this day o don’t know if he was just as bad or being manipulated himself.

This third guy is where 75% of the fucked up torture happened. And I walked so stupidly into it.

This guy let his brother move in 2 weeks after we started dating, into a home where he was only related to my current boyfriend. They shared a room, with no door, no curtains to separate the room up. So this resulted in a lot of voyeur-istic behaviour from the ex. And the boyfriend never defended my honour or privacy. The sick fucks liked it. But it got worse than that.

There were comments made, like asking who was bigger, how they wished I’d fucked them both so they could be eskimo brothers... it went on.

I was their toy.

One day there was a broken condom, I took plan b, had a small bleed, I got drunk, he got mad, then he violated my trust when he tried to force himself on me, I said no a lot, he stopped, and guilted me heavily, scared I gave in. I was feeling sick, my period was late, I was scared, he didn’t want kids, he wanted an abortion, I couldn’t have this baby if it was a baby, so I prayed it wasn’t, I had a miscarriage. And he didn’t believe me. I got a womb infection. But I was still wrong. I never told my mum. I was ashamed.

The relationship began to fall apart and the psychological abuse got worse. My boyfriend was flirting with another girl, my old best friend from primary school. And a week after my birthday, after being told he cared so deeply about me, after spooning and making out, he burst into tears and shattered my heart and dumped me. 5 weeks later he was with her, after telling me there was no one else, he didn’t cheat and he just couldn’t be in a relationship.

So my whole world fell apart.

And after finding out he was with her.

I removed them all from my life. I ghosted them. All of them.

If I see them in public I have a panic attack.

And all these years later, living with PTSD. I am a mess.

I am getting help. But I’m a mess.

I am a mess because I married a good man and I am now a mother and the ptsd is crippling.