Not Prince Charming!!

When I met you, I thought our friendship would last forever.  I told you things I had not told a soul.  You comforted me when I told you how I lost my whole family to tribal violence in Kenya.  You reassured me, inspired me to be better, educated me and motivated me to aim higher.  The day I met you was the happiest day of my life.  I thought of you as my prince charming.

We were both in a foreign country but from completely different background.  We spoke the same language but you came from money, which was obvious.  I didn’t.  There was nothing wrong with that, I knew that, though you kept reassuring me.  I later realised it was at that moment that battle lines were drawn.

We moved in together a year later.  Among the many things you knew about me, was that my student’s visa was expiring in a few months, and that I had no way of renewing it.  You casually mentioned that we could get married, and as your spouse I could stay on your visa because you had indefinite leave to remain.  You said and I quote: “it’s bound to happen at some point.  Why not now?  I want to spend the rest of my life with you”.  I was thrilled.  I loved you so much. You loved me too.  I loved the way you loved me.  My friends gave the seal of approval.  The few family members I had in the world loved you so much, because you were respectful and openly adored me.  Anyone looking in, could see how much we loved each other.  You were kind hearted and non-judgemental despite coming from wealth.

***

The first time it happened, I didn’t realise; I thought it was love and care, so I shrugged my shoulders and moved on, however, a creepy thought did enter my mind but disappeared just as quickly.  We were brain storming on how we wanted our wedding to be.  I said I would wear an off white gown.  You laughed (a bit too loudly).  I laughed too (a bit nervously), and waited for a punch line – none came.  You soon stopped the laughter and put on a very serious face.  One I had not seen before.

At that moment, it was like you were another person.  “You will not wear anything resembling white!” you barked with such fierce finality it scared me.  I asked why not.  I will never forget the look you gave me.  Your eyes bulged from their sockets.  You did not have to say a word, but I knew I should not pursue the matter further.

And so I wore a sky blue suit on my wedding day.  You wore ivory. My maid of honour wore dusty pink, and your best man wore amber yellow, which I hated.  The few guests we invited wore whatever they wanted.  It was a beautiful day, and when one of my ex-friends asked why I wore blue, I told her it was what I wanted and that I would not be caught dead wearing anything near white on my wedding day.  I said this with a smile, but my heart was bleeding; it was the beginning of many tall tales to come.  And so, it began.

On our honey moon in beautiful Jersey you told me that I should be careful how I smiled at people because “men would get the wrong impression”, and “women would think I was after their men”, and you “would be angry and disappointed”.  When I remarked that was how I’ve smiled all my life, you nonchalantly said “you are a married woman now!” and continued eating your steak like it was the most natural thing to say to someone.

You were different, but I justified every indignation, every humiliation, every degradation and scolding for years to come.  I needed permission from you for everything.  If we were invited to a party I had to dress maternally, you could dress whichever way you pleased.  You suggested I donate to charity all my pre-married clothes because they were “slutty and cheap”.  I was not allowed to socialise with men or single women.

Deep down I knew this was not normal behaviour, but I let it happen.  I was in a trance, slowly turning into a stepford wife.  I wanted to make you happy and do things that would make you happy.  You took charge of our finances, I did not protest because I believed you were doing the right thing for our future.  You decided when we’d try for a baby, I did not protest because I knew more than anything how much you wanted a baby, and so your timing would suit us both.

When my friends commented on how differently I behaved since getting married, I defriended them.  The canny thing was that you never actually made me or forced me to do anything, but it was the way you spoke and made your point, I just believed in you too much and couldn’t trust my own decisions or instincts.  You would shoot me down with a poisoned arrow for the slightest suggestion on anything to do with our lives, then you’d bring me flowers or take me out to dinner – to quieten my inner voice.  For example, when you said “single women are bad influence on married women”, I defriended all my single friends: this made you very happy and you took me to New York.  I was happiest when you were happy – your happiness was my priority.

***

The baby did not happen and you blamed me because I was once raped (“you really should watch how you smile at people” you reiterated).  To strangers you were the kindest person on earth; behind closed doors, your cruelty knew no bounds.  I was the root cause of all our troubles.

One day while you were at work, I decided to make friends with something you couldn’t get your claws on.  Wine.  She and I became so close; we were inseparable for nearly ten years.  Sometimes we would invite vodka and tonic for lunch.  I was smiling again.  The solitude was not deafening anymore.  I become an obsessive cleaner and an expert functional drunk; I drank during the day when you were out, and on some occasions in the middle of the night.  Before I knew it, I was knocking back a bottle of wine per day and before long a bottle of vodka per day.  I hid this from you of course, there was no way in hell you were taking this away from me.

The depression I suffered meant I could not work, so I was laid off and become your personal slave in most aspects of life, whether I liked it or not.  If you came home and a plate of steaming food was not waiting at the table, your words would hurt like a million blades to my heart.  At my worst, I wished you beat me instead of your verbal diarrhoea.  You compared me with women who had kids and jobs, and I was, in your eyes a waste of space.  You said God would punish me for using up oxygen meant for better beings.

To your family and friends, (at this point I had none because you made sure of this), I was an obedient kept wife.  Unlike physical blows, emotional scars are invisible and I became quite an expert in hiding my pacifier aka vodka in a ‘Jesus saves flask’.

***

Several years later, on a rare day out, I saw an advert on a moving bus about victims of domestic abuse and how there was help.  Later that week, I took the leap of faith and dialled a number.  A compassionate sounding woman answered.  I had a hard time trying to explain how I felt ‘like a victim’ but she quickly reassured me and made me feel safe and trusting.

I called every day for over a month before I had enough courage to speak openly.  I started attending sessions where women met and talked to counsellors about the abuse they endured.  For a while I attended just to listen, but all I did was minimise my situation and maximise theirs, mostly to feel good about myself.

Then you told me you’d taken a lover because I was not meeting your needs: talk about the straw that broke the camel’s back!  The next day I told the counsellors and anyone listening everything. I bared my soul.  I finally opened that locker in my head.  I talked for hours – everything from how I had to present a shopping list for “your review” before shopping; how I was not allowed to work; how I was not allowed to have girlfriends or any friends; how when people asked uncomfortable questions, I blamed myself and kept you out of it.

I gathered enough courage to leave you and your abusive ways.  I took refuge at a sanctuary where I could escape to and start the healing process.  I always thought victims of domestic abuse were the ones getting fists and slaps, but now I know.

***

I am better now.  I have been sober for five years.  I have a new life and new friends.  I do not owe you an apology for anything, but I thought I’d let you know that I’m happy now – it’s the humane thing to do.  My prince charming?  You, were anything but…..