The Other Side.

You never think it will happen to you. Until one day it does. I should’ve done something straight away, but I was too scared, until enough was enough and I had to get out.

It started in January last year. It was nearing our 5-year anniversary, and we were as happy as ever. Our little boy had just turned 3 so everything was perfect. It had been a happy marriage, with a few speed bumps in the road like financial troubles and trying to start a family, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was the week before our anniversary; she came home in tears, as she had been laid off. She said they didn’t give a legitimate reason. She broke down in tears, I comforted her, tried to calm her down, but all my attempts were pushed aside. She locked herself in our bedroom, so I stayed downstairs with our son until she was ready to come out.

About 2 hours later, after I had put our son to bed, she finally came out. I don’t know what it was that went through her head during those 2 hours, but whatever it was, I wish never happened. She came out of our room and walked into the kitchen where I was cleaning up. “Your dinner is in the microwave”, were the first words I said to her. She stayed silent and just stood in the doorway watching me. “What’s wrong?” I asked, she continued to stare, until she finally cracked. Something had set her off, I thought it was going to be a rant about losing her job; unfortunately this time I was her target. “Look at you, looking all smug”, “What?” I replied completely and utterly confused. She started making all these dramatic accusations about how I had always wanted to be the “breadwinner” of the family and that I saw her as a threat. Her words were making no sense, we hadn’t ever fought about this before, and I was completely beside myself. At first she was speaking angrily, and slowly it turned into yelling and screaming. I found myself backing slowly into the counter, trying to escape her yelling and screaming. The words that were coming from her mouth should never be said under any circumstances. I tried using our son as a reason for her to be quiet, but that opened a door to a new argument full of accusations and more yelling.

That night, I was pushed out of our bedroom and had to sleep on the couch. Her hurtful words and accusations wouldn’t stop running through my mind. I barely got any sleep that night, and for the rest of the nights to come. For me, this was the beginning of the end, though I didn’t know it yet.

It got worse and worse as the year progressed. It became more than just verbal abuse. In March, she started slapping me; she would swing freely hoping to make contact with any part of my body. I’d often back up into the wall trying to escape her rage, but she’d simply follow me until I was trapped. In June she spat on me, twice, after pushing me to the ground of our bedroom floor. She called me scum and said that I was worthless, and I believed her, because she was someone I cared for deeply and loved with all my heart, I thought she was just stressed about finding another job, so I let her take it out on me and didn’t complain. The next month progressed to something worse, she started punching me. Making contact with my face, stomach, genitals, anywhere she could aim for. Even then I didn’t defend myself, I had grown up with the rule that it was never ok to hit a girl, and I strongly believed in it.

When leaving for work I’d sit in the car with some foundation, applying it to the areas on my face where bruises had appeared. I’d either be questioned or laughed at, as it was noticeable that I had make-up on, yet no one had bothered to ask why, but that was the least of my worries. I made sure I kept to myself during the day, avoiding people when it was possible so I wouldn’t have to talk to them and pretend everything was ok. I felt as though I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening, I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. Imagine being the guy whose wife abuses him. I’d be the laughing stock, I already felt so ashamed, and I didn’t need any more reason to feel that way.

I dreaded going home every night; I didn’t want to go back there. My only reason for doing so was to make sure my son was safe. If she was like this towards me, I dreaded thinking about what she would do to him.

Quite often she would be aggressive towards me in front of our son, and it made me feel guilty; the fact that he had to see such aggressive behavior between two people who are supposed to be setting an example for him, people who are supposed to love each other unconditionally. My only worry for him was that he would remember, and that it would haunt him for years to come.

One night she went out, and left me alone with my son. She threatened that if I were to leave and take him, she would make all these false accusations, that I was abusive and had threatened her multiple times. After hearing that, I knew I was trapped. After putting my son to bed, I went on the Internet and searched “male victims of domestic violence”.

To my surprise, there was a link that read, “One in Three” Campaign. After looking through the campaign, I realized I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only one. A tab that said “Tell Your Story” caught my attention, and after reading through some stories that appeared to be similar to mine, I couldn’t help but write my own. The last words I typed were “What do I do”.

Almost immediately I had people commenting on my post, telling me exactly their stories and how they escaped. They were complimenting how strong I was, and giving advice on how I could get out safely.

This campaign saved my life. It offered life-changing advice that enabled me to be freed of a life of pain. It has now been a year since I told my story to the authorities. I have come a long way since then; I’ve been going to therapy twice a week, and each week that passes I feel myself progressing. On top of that I have full custody of my son.

I didn’t know that one in three victims of domestic violence are male, until I became one. A social experiment was conducted recently and posted on YouTube, showing how societies views on domestic violence differ between men and women.

I say it’s time to put a stop to domestic violence altogether, and we need YOUR help.