Abusive Behaviours and The Cycle of Abuse.

Makes sense. There are even a couple of things in this list I still didn’t realise were abuse.

Many Small Voices: Speaking out about domestic abuse


Abuse isn’t always easy to recognise. Many victim of abuse are confused and have been conditioned to believe that the abuse is normal behaviour.

Some abuse is subtle (discounting or belittling) and some abuse is overt and quite obviously abuse (hitting, punching or locking you in a room). Abuse does not have to be physical to be recognised as abuse,  all form of abuse are damaging, frightening and confusing for the victim.

Here is a checklist of abusive behaviours.

This list is by no means exhaustive, as each relationship is different, but it gives an idea of the most common behaviours of abusers. If you think you’re in an abusive relationship please get help as soon as possible. There is a list of helpful organisations on the resources page.

Verbal Abuse

  • Ignore your feelings
  • Disrespect you
  • Ridicule or insult you then tell you its a joke, or that you have…

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Slam the door.

I was in the shower yesterday when I got a set of three unwanted callers- that’s right folks, the dark passenger was back and smarting with it’s earlier defeat at the hands of J. The voices proceeded to let me know what a whore I was, how awful I was, what a stupid bitch I was for believing that J truly cared for me- the list went on. I argued back a lot, telling them where to get off, but they kept wanting me to pick up a razor, get hold of the blades and make a mess of myself.
Eventually, when I was feeling awful, I snapped. I got angry.

I squared up to them and told them the following- “We’re not having this conversation. I’m going to be happy and I don’t give a damn what you think.”

After that I slammed a door on them, hard, in my head, and I let them just bash against the door in my head.

The image of that door is very important to me. It is blocking them from talking to me- but more than that, it means that I am still very capable of fighting them alone.

ALONE. Without shrinks or medicine.

It proves to me that there is a power in me I am starting to learn to control, and I will one day beat them forever.

J vs Voices- J wins!

I had a really bad attack of the voices last night. I knew that at sometime they would attack me- and they all went for the throat.

I paced the hall, my hands on my head, trying not to hear them.

Whore. Little fucking whore. Go back to bed and wait like the good little whore you are.

… and more, but I’m not writing that because it’s so vulgar and disgusting.

J was in the bathroom, and when he came out he went to the bedroom to look for me. When he saw me in the corridor he asked me what was wrong.

“Please make them shut up!”

He opened his arms and held me while I cried.

“Hey baby, it’s ok. They don’t exist- remember they’re just thoughts that your ex planted in your head. It’s not your fault and you definitely are not a whore.”

Slowly, I started to calm down. My sobs slowly began to die away, and the tears stopped falling. He then got me in bed and proceeded to play me silly videos and a comedian who had me in pleats until I felt safe enough to sleep.

I am so lucky.

Between sheets.

My last posts were angry and powerless and upset. I felt betrayed, alone, weak.

I feel different, so different now.

I have broken a pattern. I have done something so brave I want to tell everyone about it. I feel like I’m changing again- another layer of the chrysalis peeling away.

I am in America with J.

I flew to meet him, an eight hour rough-and-tumble through cotton clouds to the place he calls home. His face lit up when he saw me, his smile the anchor I have been waiting so desperately for. I ran to him, dropped my case, threw hungry arms round him and sighed in relief.

He treats me like a princess. He calls me doll, and hon, and baby. I’m not used to these Americanisms, but in his smooth drawl they rock my world. He strokes my hair, holds me if I’m frightened.

He makes me laugh so hard. He took me to meet his friends and my usual terror vanished, and I slotted right in there with them. I felt happy and peaceful, and I feel like my old self.

That girl I love who is not shattered into a million fragments of the past.

I burn when he touches me. I’ve felt that since Florida, but memories of the painful past and images of trauma used to flood my mind and prevent my natural boldness from surfacing. He understands that. Even better, I lead, I command, I control. He asks me to, he tells me I have to say if I am upset or frightened.

The first time we lay between sheets together, I cried in happiness when it was over. My body thrilled, my mind rejoiced with it. I am free of the vicious chains of abuse, and it feels like I am healing some of the deepest hurts I have suffered. He asked me if I was sure. He held me as I cried, and told me I didn’t need to apologise for crying. He knew I needed the comfort and he gave it to me.

I am safe here.


He is my knight in shining armour, this brave man. Despite his own demons, he helps me tackle mine.


More news.

I rang mum and she has received a letter for me telling me I have an appointment with the psychotherapist. I don’t believe for a minute I will be allowed to keep attending, because all these health professionals do is disbelieve me, but I will go and take mum with me so she can back me up. I think all that will happen is that she will lie to me too and promise me things I will never get, just like the psychiatrists have all done.

Fuck you NHS.

Let me tell you one thing.
Don’t ask for help.
No one in the NHS is willing to help.

Yep, I’ve been discharged. They told me to self refer to some bullshit self help group.

That’s it.

I am probably going to end up dead in the next few years, so I’m not going to the NHS again. I’ll be helping myself. If I fail and the voices win, at least I tried harder than these so called doctors.

End the archaic rapist-victim marriage law in Morocco!

Imagine you’re sixteen, a big bright world out in front of you. Now imagine that someone rapes and beats you. You report him to the police, but instead of being punished, he is allowed to MARRY you instead.

That’s the current law in Morocco- a law which forced a young woman to kill herself as the only way out. I have signed the petition below- the Moroccan government is voting to possibly change this horrible practice.

Hopefully, with our help, it can end.