Love You To Death

Grab your throat, squeeze it tightly, now try and scream.

Society implores women of domestic violence to step forward, to speak up. Society is continuously striving towards a point where people of any ethnic minority, sex, age, or socio-economic status are able to speak openly about what has happened to them. That is, until it happens to you. 

‘’I love you to death’’, the five recurring words that left his lips to haunt my ears after every time I took a knock. 

One day there we were walking down the street, laughing, chuckling, thinking I was the luckiest woman to have someone that loved, cared, protected and cherished me the way he did, but the next it’s a rainy day and we’re forced to stay at home, he’s woken up in a bad mood, a mate’s pissed him off, and before I know it, it was suddenly all my fault, we’re rowing, sparks flying, and then something I’d never expect, his fists are meeting my head, strands of my hair are on the floor, but so am I. It feels like hours have passed, but really it’s only been a few minutes, seconds if that, all I can think is please will you stop. 

I never thought that we would ever come to this, but then I suppose who does? My life is spiralling out of control, desperately trying to get a grip but everything is slipping through my grasp. My brain is screaming help me but my hearts love is stronger than my thoughts, and my actions aren’t complying with what I need to do, but what do I do? Which way is way forward, and which is back?

My friends and family, well they may as well have all grown devil horns and pitch fork tails – I was blinded by the situation, and only saw evil in their protection. 

Love turned to fear, trust turned to anxiety, and care turned to obsession. Soon I felt trapped, in-prisoned in a body that wouldn’t allow me to be free of this toxic love. 

Illustration via Getty Images

One thing led to the next, and with all boundaries destroyed, I became a vessel of numb emotions. He had complete control, my skin desensitised to his touch, his taunting me with hurtful comments no longer affected me, my brain oblivious to his gaslighting, and his countless cheating habits became a flaunt of an endless conveyor belt of girls. The abnormal became normal, and the light at the end of the tunnel was disappearing. 

Blue flashing lights, but I’m praying they’re strobe lights, my heart is thumping, and my phone won’t stop buzzing. I can hear people talking, who are they talking to? My hand is filled with another, my best friend, why is she here, wait, where am I. I open my eyes, I’m in the back of a police car, but what have I done? No answers are needed, because I’ve answered it all, dragged from a car and punched to the ground. So enough was enough, our end is nigh. 

Over two years have passed, and I’d be lying if I said it’s all forgotten. Yes, it’s left an impact on my life, like a deep cut scars the skin, but that’s all it is, a scar. I thought that was my life, but it wasn’t, THIS is my life. Here I am living what only a couple of years ago was a dream. I am a strong, independent woman, and I refuse to let my past define my future, because I wasn’t and am not a victim of domestic violence. I am a survivor, and I have a voice. 

So despite this article being an overwhelming magnitude of horror, this is a very real and relatable subject for so many us, for both men and women. I drafted this article more times than I can count, felt every emotion, and persevered on, because I’m not writing this article for me, but for all of you that can relate. I promise you, you can do this. Your time is now. 

Don’t let your past, or present steal your future.

Words: Persephone Quarme

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