Starting. With an Ending.

Ok you’re probably here because I rank well for ‘Necromunda list building,’ and weren’t expecting this at all. Well, those links are at the top of the page. This post is about how nothing really matters except what really matters. And that’s not Necromunda list building.

This blog was always meant to be a bit of light relief from a pretty weird and hectic life. A way of charting my course from an enthusiastic nerd to a decent gamer and hopefully a way of documenting an improved set of painting skills. What could be simpler or more innocent?

So here I am 18 months later with…Everything that matters and at the same time, nothing that doesn’t (which means nothing relevant to this blog).

I wanted to have access to new game systems. Guess what? The armies I painted for two game systems (Kill Team and Nightvault) I don’t have any more and my other armies are in storage.

I wanted to become a better painter. Guess what? I now own no paints, no brushes and no hobby material.

I wanted to attend more gaming events with my mates en route to becoming a better gamer. Guess what? I now have no gaming mates.

What happened since my last blog post? Difficult one to come to terms with to be honest…I survived and escaped from an abusive relationship.

It’s hard to talk about because I’m a bloke. A grown up bloke. She was my partner. Superficially we had a good life; expensive cars, expensive stuff, nice apartments, living abroad.

But the fuel for the relationship was abuse and cruelty and humiliation;

Isolation from my family and my friends (including a campaign of defamation and lies which means I’ll never get back relationships built over years).

Financial abuse costing me, about £250,000 in lost assets and cash in the last four years. I’ve also subsequently had my flat burgled..

Physical abuse costing me my own teeth and some scars that Harry Potter would be proud of and…

Sexual abuse that I’m opening up about here so that I own it. I (a man) was abused sexually by my partner (a woman) for a period of four years. It’s hard to say, and before writing this now only three people (apart from the perpetrator) knew about it. It’s stuff I wouldn’t want anyone to know to be honest but now that some people do I feel better about being open about it than hiding it.

Fuck me, no one wants to read this right? So what happened?

One afternoon I had my face split open (again). I had my spectacles destroyed (again). I had lots of my possessions smashed (again). Finally my partner broke a mirror over the back of my head and told me she was going to kill me. I knew it was true.

So I grabbed my emergency bag (I had an emergency bag from about 4 months into our ‘relationship,’ which just became normalised after the tenth time I’d needed it) and walked out, never to see her again.

That was it. My job, my home, my stuff. I just upped and left. It was that or die. I knew it, she knew it.

Just think about that. I had a pair of trousers, three t-shirts and some underwear plus the clothes I stood in. Add in my passport and wallet and there, at 41 stood I. Fast forward almost a year and where am I now?

I’m working in a new job which I love, in a great country which I’m learning to love (it’s not in the UK but it’s English speaking – I’m not disclosing as I’m staying under the radar now).

I’m involved in a police investigation into the abuse I suffered which I hope will be concluded soon.

I’m rebuilding my relationship with my family and I’m reconciled to building new relationships with new people (probably through this hobby).

And, crucially, I’ve met a partner who is patient and kind and clever. I wasn’t looking for her and she wasn’t looking for me but it was right and home is now safe and nourishing and I’m happy. I’m happy. For the first time in years, I’m happy.

I’m not happy all the time. I still don’t sleep more than 4 hours a night. I still get very emotional. I still get angry for no reason. I’m still ashamed of myself. I still feel guilty. I still feel disgusting. I still feel like I deserved it. But I’m happy.

I survived. If you’re reading this and dealing with what I dealt with, you too can survive. I’m not here to tell you what to do but if you are dealing with what I dealt with, the likelihood is you don’t have anyone you can tell. So here’s my survival tip and I’m not trivialising matters; just walk out. When all else fails, just walk out. If you stay there, you’ll probably die. If you walk out you probably won’t. Play the odds; just walk out.

Then when you’re out, get help. Get police support, even if they’re useless then you’ll feel better for it. Get counselling support. Get all the support you can. Pick and choose the pace you recover at and who you turn to to help your recovery.

The fact is being abused makes you stronger, not weaker. It makes you stronger because it makes you realise that good health and being able to sleep without being scared of not waking up is worth more than your diamond cufflinks. or your Mercedes Benz. Or your expensive clarinet. Or your clothes. Or the photos of your kids. Or…It makes you stronger because a true position of strength is when you have nothing left to lose except life itself. It may feel like you have nothing to gain either but nobody gained anything by being murdered by an abusive partner.