How to Get Out of Domestic Abuse & Violence
Violence and abuse in a relationship or marriage can last for many years without it being noticed by anyone other than the victim involved. This is the true story of one of those violent marriages where the abuse went too far. If you, or anyone you know suffers domestic violence, read on and share to avoid disaster and to find help and support.
Depression can Lead to Violence
What’s the matter with dad, mum?
Anna slowly opened the kitchen door ajar and saw that Allard was snoring on the bed with all his clothes and shoes still on, filling the whole room with the stench of wine. She passed him quietly and went to the child’s room, still shaking with fear. Tommy was sitting up in bed, wide-eyed and stupefied.
‘What’s the matter with dad, mum? Why was he shouting? What was all that banging and crashing?’ She crept into bed with her young son and held him tight, wiping her face so he would not notice her cry.
‘Hush now, never mind, it’s OK, go back to sleep.’
‘Dad never helped me fix the old bike he bought for me you know. I asked him two weeks ago and he promised. But every time I asked him again he said he was busy painting’ Tommy whispered, looking down.
Appeasing the Child
‘I know darling, your father has not quite been himself lately. He is worried because he can’t sell his work and because we don’t earn enough to pay the rent. You’ll have to be patient with him.’ Come to think of it, she reflected, Allard had not been involved with his son the way he used to. They had a big book with all of Rudyard Kipling’s stories that he used to read to him every evening at bedtime. He used to sit Tommy on his lap and be very good at enacting the characters Mowgli and Bagira but all that had stopped now. In fact, now that she thought about it a bit more, Anna could not recall Allard taking Tommy on his lap since they moved to this attic. Her head was aching. With these sad thoughts on her mind they both dropped off, foreheads touching, her eyes puffed up from crying.
The next morning Anna could hardly walk to the metro station because her knee had knocked against the radiator when he had pushed her across the room. She had looked at her knee when she woke up from the pain this morning. It was all the colours of the rainbow and swollen. The previous night had been the beginning of six more months of wife battering nearly every time Allard got drunk. Anna had endured the violent scenes.
When she was alone, waiting for him, which was most evenings, she sometimes wrote poetry to release some of her concern and anxiety. She usually threw the poems away, not wanting anyone to know her deep shame.
When Allard was not Drunk
On the rare occasions when he did not wake up with a hangover he talked. He had many excuses; one of them was that he blamed himself for the loss of their first child Mary-Anne. Plus not being able to sell any of his paintings. All that had changed him from being a brave war hero to a weak drunk who had lost all self-respect.
Losing his self-respect had turned Allard into an angry person. When he was drunk he was unable to control himself and took it out on the nearest person, his beloved wife Anna. "I never meant to do it" he always said the next day. Hating himself for hurting her, he always apologized in the morning and promised never ever to do it again. But he sporadically continued the abuse when was feeling particularly low. Over time, Anna had learned how to escape the worst of it. Whenever she felt an attack of violence coming on, she would lock herself in the kitchen and wait until she could hear him snoring before daring to go to bed.
In his sober moments, Allard was charming and kind. He was dreaming of a better life and promised Anna that he would soon sell his paintings and he still maintained he loved her more now than ever. She believed him, kept giving him another chance because she thought she understood how he felt and because she loved him.
From an outsider’s perspective, their “love” was not love at all. Allard's lack of success and dependence on Anna had turned him into a violent drunk.
One night, the bubble, or rather Allard’s wrist artery burst.
Hiding for Fear
As always when the bottle had taken control of her husband, Anna was hiding on the floor in her usual corner in the locked kitchen, shaking with fear. But this time Allard did not quieten down in his usual way. His frantic shouting became louder and louder. She could hear him hitting the walls, slamming objects off the shelves. He banged on the door shouting her name in the loudest scream of despair she had ever heard:
‘ANNAA!’ And at that moment he slammed his fist with full force through the glass panel of the kitchen door. Glass shattered everywhere and then at last the shouting stopped. Anna could not see him through the hole in the broken glass. What happened?
All she could hear was the sound of dripping. It sounded like he was pouring out a bottle of wine onto the floor in the next room. She got up and slowly opened the kitchen door ajar. To her horror, Anna now could see where the dripping sound was coming from. Allard was standing bemused, holding his arm in front of him. A tall fountain of blood was gushing up a foot high in the air from his wrist artery, severed by the broken glass. She immediately lifted his arm up higher and tightened a tea towel below the elbow and another over the wrist wound.
‘Hold your arm high and don’t move!’ she commanded, and then she ran the four flights downstairs to knock on the landlady’s door. It was two o’clock, in the morning.
‘Excuse me, I am so sorry to disturb you so late, but my husband has had an accident,’ she panted. ‘Could I please use your telephone, it’s an emergency. The landlady let her into the floor polished room and, without saying a word, she handed over the phone, bending from the hips like she didn’t want to get too close in case she might get contaminated with disaster. Anna called a taxi and ran back up the four flights to fetch Allard who was dazed, drunk and looking very pale now. The tea towels were drenched in blood dripping into an increasingly large puddle on the bare floorboards, half a meter in diameter by now.
The Child Awakes
Tommy, who had woken up from the racket, poked his head out of the children’s room, squinting with sleep.
‘What’s going on? What’s all the noise, mum?’
‘It’s nothing darling, the glass broke and dad hurt his arm. Go back to bed and don’t touch anything. There is broken glass everywhere.’ Anna made sure she stood between Tommy and Allard so that he would not see the blood-drenched tea towel and the puddle of blood on the floor. She guided Tommy back to his bed and kissed him.
‘Don’t worry, dad just needs to be bandaged. We’ll be back soon. Go back to sleep. Night night, don’t let the bedbugs bite.’
To the Hospital
Anna closed the bedroom door and returned to Allard. Leaning on her, they stumbled down the stairs. As they left the house, Anna could see Mme Goddard peeping through her semi drawn lace curtains. She opened the taxi door and pushed her husband inside shouting:
‘Get us to the hospital, hurry!’ The driver looked back at them, seeing all the blood and shouted, ‘You better not mess up my car!’.
Allard had lost consciousness by now. Anna had other worries than getting upset by the lack of empathy from a Parisian taxi driver. She didn't respond. Instead, she gently cupped Allard’s head on her lap to stop it wobbling from side to side.
Read More... How badly is Allard hurt? Will he survive?
Look for the Signs of Potential Violence
- Isolates you
- Cruelty to animals
- Critisizes you
- Jealous & possessive
- Cruelty to children
- Demands that you meet their every need
- Admits to abusing previous partners but says it was their fault.
- Demands greater involvement at the start of a relationship.
How Many Suffer Domestic Violence and Verbal Abuse?See results without voting
Abused Victim Speaks Out
© 2016 JULIETTE KANDO - You may link to this article, but you may Not copy it. Copied content will be reported with a DMCA notice and will be removed.
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