He treated me like a princess, once in a while. He would cook for me every night, and tell me off if I didn’t eat all his food. He would, once a year, meet my friends, as long as I promised not to put that pressure on him again. He would do what I liked in the bedroom, as long as I then did what he wanted. He would fuck every 19-year-old girl he met, and I was still safe, as long as I didn’t accuse him. He made a point of telling me every other woman he has ‘had’ satisfied him. He made a point of telling me the women he is ‘seriously with’ he would never cheat on. He was my boyfriend for over five years, and he moved into my home. I lent him money. I protected him.
I knew the rules. I had to obey to keep my life steady and free from extra pain. I felt I maybe deserved better. I did not deserve for him to rape me every week. So one day, after him saying the ‘other girl’ he was fucking ‘isn’t even attractive’ and that he still wanted ‘nothing to change between the two of us ‘ even if he did ‘fuck her,' I finally lost my doormat sense of being.
Get out. Get out right now.
After I said this, he sat down on my sofa and lit a cigarette. So I threw his underwear out the door. I shouted. I cried. I did anything I could to remove this tumor from my life finally. Unfortunately, as I knew before, every time I cry because of his behavior he only shouts at me. So I ran. I ran barefoot onto the North London Streets.
I gained some perspective there. I knew, or I hoped I was doing the right thing. I didn’t even care how my abuser would destroy the baby Italian girl he had now started fucking. She got involved with this abusive trash, while he was still my problem, so now that I had thrown him in the garbage, he was hers. Part of me is looking forward to him breaking her because she (along with about ten others I know of) fucked a man in a committed relationship. Then again, I would not wish rape on anyone. So I feel torn. I do hate her, she knew he was mine, but I also thank her for being the straw that broke the camels back.
I shall not be raped by him again. I shall not feel my confidence slowly destroyed by his emotional and mental abuse. But the Italian, most probably will.
So, I am sorry, Anna. If I didn't finally dare to throw an abusive and manipulative man out of my life, you would have been a one-night stand. However, I did find the courage to stand up for myself. So now this nasty problem is yours. I hope you are happy with your decision. Maybe it will change when the police come calling. I hope you find a way out before it gets bad, please, please do not fall into the hole that I did.