I was 20 when I got into a relationship with a man of the same age. Everything moved quickly, and we soon moved in together. Four months into the relationship, I discovered he was cheating and confronted him with proof. That’s when I received the first slap. This escalated into psychological and physical violence – scratches, bites, kicks, punches, and more. It reached the point where my instinct was to curl into a foetal position and protect my head as soon as he started getting angry.

​

There were also the rapes (sometimes by him alone, sometimes with his “friends”). I developed migraines, and he would literally scream in my ears for amusement. Bit by bit, he isolated me from my family and friends, though not from his own. At that time, neither of us had work, so I was with my abuser 24/7. When I found internships, he would wait for me outside, search my phone, or prevent me from going altogether.

​

Some people around us noticed my injuries; some asked questions. I would always answer that I’d hurt myself or that one of the cats had scratched me. Eventually, no one asked anymore. I was 22, and I saw stories on TV of victims or, worse, their parents because they were no longer alive to tell their stories themselves, but I didn’t identify with them because none of them were my age. In addition to migraines, I developed severe anxiety attacks, often ending up in psychiatric emergency care.

​

One night, he locked me in our apartment. He took away all means of calling and threatened me with a knife. He managed to grab me and strangled me… I was now a victim of attempted murder. Later, he allowed me to make a phone call. I called the police and my mother. He called his own mother. When the police arrived, they isolated me in one room, my mother in another, and him with his mother in yet another. I didn’t understand – it was me who needed my mother beside me, but I was left alone. That night, I “slept” in my room, and he stayed with friends, but in the same apartment. The police gave me a LAVI form and filed a report that night. Nothing more, nothing less.

​

Several weeks later – my mother had taken me out of that nightmare by then – we were summoned to appear before a judge (or someone similar; it’s a bit blurry in my mind, but it was on the same date, with only a few minutes between our appointments). I saw him and we spoke. I never filed a complaint.

​

During those two years, he never apologised like some abusers do. For him, it was my fault he hit me. Fifteen years later, after a very long therapy, I haven’t forgotten, but I’ve learned to live with it and am no longer afraid. I got married and had children. I never again suffered from migraines or anxiety attacks…​

​​

​

Juillet 2023

​

​

​