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Passions drained by violence and abuse

Updated on February 17, 2012

MA - Mature Readers Only

WARNING: PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS HUB CONTAINS OCCASIONAL COURSE LANGUAGE Please do not read any further if you are offended by course language or are under 18 years of age. Thank you. Mel Stewart (safe-at-last)

Are you a victim / survivor of family violence and/or domestic abuse? If so, I wonder if you can relate to something I noticed about myself after I "got out" of my violent relationship. I came to realise that he stole some of my "passion" for life. Were there any things you used to enjoy/ be good at/ be passionate about that you lost interest in, or that became an issue for you due those things being targeted by your violent partner? I can think of a few...

I used to be an exceptional cook, and I used to really enjoy cooking.My first husband broke my nose and strangled me till I lost consciousness because I did not have dinner on the table for him when he got home from work one night. Where had I been? I had been at the hospital, with my mother who had been in a coma for the previous 4 weeks. I didn't enjoy my cooking for a while after that...

Then the pshychopath swept me off my feet. He loved my cooking. So did his kids. I started to enjoy it again, and I cooked away to my hearts content. My step kids used to tell me I should open up a restaurant, and used to invite half a dozen mates home from school to taste my triple-decker-sandwiches. The only thing they didn't like was apricot chicken (not a problem as it was not on my menu) and peas (because my step-daughter was allergic to peas).

After my father died, the pshychopath's abuse escalated, and I became depressed. My health also took a dive. My step-daughter cooked for the family one night when I was sick in bed. What did she cook? Apricot chicken and peas. I did not eat any of it as I was sick in bed, and I did not say anything about the fact that she cooked peas (despite the fact that she had smashed my best baking dish the first time I cooked her peas and called me a dumb bitch for not knowing that she was allergic to them. Of course, the pshychopath took her side). One of the house rules was that if you cooked, you did not do the dishes. Anyway, after dinner, she came into my bedroom and screamed at me "Get out of bed and do the dishes!". I looked at her, and rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Next thing I hear her in the lounge bitching to her dad. The pshychopath said "What do you expect sweetheart? She is nothing but an ugly, lazy c**t"...

I continued to cook, but I lost what joy I had in cooking. After my kids were born, it got harder as I was still working full time and I did not have the energy to cook a full meal of meat and 5 vegies every night. I used to cook pasta 3 times a week. This did not go down well with the pshychopath, and he concluded that I was cheating on him because I was too tired to cook for 2 hours each day (how long it took me to cook with a new born and an 18month old toddler demanding attention). I grew to resent the whole concept of cooking...

During our 5 year separation, I gradually started to enjoy cooking again. When I moved in with my mother, we used to take turns cooking. Then the pshychopath and I got back together. After a few months I realized that he had duped me (again) but I had already let him in (to the house, and my and the kids' lives) and it was not so easy to figure out how to get him back out. Instead I tried to keep the peace, with varying degrees of success. I got nervous every time I cooked something. I also used to have to run around sorting out the kids so that he did not lose his temper at them. It got to the stage where I could not even cook toast without burning it...

His reactions would range from "Useless bitch" to some comment about my habit of burning things being "an act" to "get me off the hook" so that I did not have to cook, because I was simply too lazy.

What was worse was that every time we sat down to dinner, my kids would say "who cooked this?" and if I said "me" they would refuse to eat it. Their excuse was "dad hates your cooking"...

I hardly cook at all now (my poor mum does it all)...

I have ad/hd and one of the ironies of that is that I have "obssessive compulsive tendencies" to go with it. This can be both a good and a bad thing. One good thing about it was that I used to be fanatical about keeping my house clean. Then I had to take on a second job as a cleaner while the pshychopath sat on the dole because he did not want to pay child support to his ex. Despite the fact that I was working a full time job and then another 2 to 3 hours on top of that doing cleaning, I was still expected to do all the cleaning. After 18 months of it, I finally lost interest.

The pshychopath used to smash my stuff because he was sick of MY mess. Once he came home from work (one of the few times he had a job that the child support agency had not yet found out about) and made himself a coffee. He came into the dining room where I was sitting, 35 weeks pregnant and therefore not at work. I was quietly reading a book. Next thing his coffee cup smashed on the wall behind me. He started screaming at me about how sick he was of my filth and my mess. He said he was going to tell everyone how disgusting it was because he could not find a single spot on the table to put his cup down. I looked at him and said calmly "If you can find ONE thing on that table that is mine, YOU WIN" He frantically started pulling things off that table in his desperate attempt to prove that it was me who was a pig and not him. Did he find anything that was mine? NO. Did he apologize? NO. In fact he "forgot" about the whole incident and refused to talk about it whenever the issue of Mr Super-clean and Miss Pig came up again....

Now days, I procrastinate about doing the cleaning. I still clean, but only because I HAVE to, not because it gives me a sense of joy to take pride in my home... In contrast, now that I am ALLOWED to do bits and bobs outside, I do take pride in my yard. Life is strange sometimes...

I used to play the guitar. I might not have been Jimmy Hendrix, but I enjoyed it. I used to love jamming with my best mate. When the pshychopath and I got back together I used to play in front of him without a problem. Then the violence became a prominent feature of our relationship again, and I would only play while he was in the shower. When he got out I would stop. Then he started making an issue out of the fact I wouldn't play infront of him, and would tell me to keep playing and to "stop making a thing of it", so I tried to. I started getting into it, but after a few minutes, he would turn his head to the side and say something quietly, which would sound like an insult. I would stop and say "pardon" or "what was that?" and he would tell me he did not say anything, and that it was "all in my head". This went on and on and my guitar playing got worse and worse. Then he started to get "clumsy" around my guitar when ever I was not playing it. It got knocked over more times than I could count. Eventually it got smashed.

I have a new guitar now (which my mum bought for me last Christmas) but I never play it...

I was in my local pub's pool team and used to do really well. My nickname was "sharkette". I used to kick the pshychopath's butt in pool. Of course, even though he said that it didn't bother him, it was always after I won that there would be some "other" problem. He would change the way he looked and spoke to me when we were playing pool, even if we were playing doubles and my skill meant we won. In the end I developed issues (in my own head) and my game suffered. I never play pool anymore...

I used to enjoy watching a bit of TV. I used to get abused and called a lazy c**t for watching a whole hour of TV at night. I do not watch TV anymore...

I used to be a very out going, sociable person. I might have only had a few CLOSE friends, but I had a wide social circle and was never exactly shy at parties. I am now in self imposed social isolation...

I used to LOVE Pink Floyd. So did the pshychopath. We used to listen to them a lot. I can't listen to Pink Floyd anymore at all....

I can think of a hundred other things I used to do or started to do, that became unpleasant for me due to the violence and abuse. Can you relate to what I am talking about? I hope not, but if you can, know that you are not alone. One day, we will get our mojo back. We owe it to ourselves to take back what they stole!

Please join me on FaceBook

  • STOP the Violence Against Women & Children
    Organize to Resist! Together we can take on the Predators! Let's Break the Silence to End the Violence by working together to make our voices a Resounding SHOUT!!! Perpetrators BEWARE - you don't stand a chance!

Please Note:

All names in this article have been changed for legal purposes and to protect the privacy of the Author. Except where otherwise credited, or where text forms part of an external link, this article is under the following copyright:

Copyright © 2010 Mel Stewart, "safe-at-last", of Perth, Western Australia. All rights reserved.

All persons, places and objects shown in the images in this hub are are shown for illustrative purposes only. They bear no relation to any real person or event. All persons shown are paid models. Unless otherwise credited, all images are under the following copyright:

Copyright © 2010 Mel Stewart, "safe-at-last" and Licensors Nodtronics Pty Ltd. All rights reserved.


Submit a Comment

  • bewhary profile image


    6 years ago from Mechanicsburg, PA

    I love love love this hub! Sharing on my wall and voting up! I hope you find ALL your passion again! You are in my prayers!

  • Jeremy Pittman profile image

    Jeremy Pittman 

    6 years ago from walker la

    Your empowerment of yourself begins today, pick up your guitar and strum, turn floyd up full blast and dance in your living room. Do not let a single horrible person deprive you of your happiness. I am praying for you and I appreciate the strength that it takes to write like this.

    On a side note, as an open call, any man out there that wants to hit on a woman. Come see me first.


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