Rock Choir and Refuge
I may have mentioned in passing to regular readers of this blog that the Rock Choir album is officially released tomorrow. I have also mentioned how proud I am to be a member of the Rock Choir family, and have been so since September 2007.
I am even more proud of our support for Refuge.
I don't talk about this a lot, and I don't intend to go into extensive detail right now, but when I was 19 I got married. That marriage lasted just over two years. The breakdown of my marriage had nothing to do with being too young; or getting married too quickly; or getting married for the wrong reasons. Not for me, anyway. I got married because I presumed myself to be in love at the time, and I got married with the intention of it lasting forever.
My husband changed as soon as the ring was on my finger. He systematically wore me down; separated me from my family and friends and made sure I only had him to rely on. He verbally and physically abused me.
I have never been a confident woman. So when someone spends all their time telling you how worthless you are, and how nobody except them could ever love you, and that they hit you because you deserve it and you've brought it on yourself, and it's for your own good - well, sooner or later you start to believe them.
I stayed because I was too scared to leave. I didn't tell anybody; in fact, I couldn't tell anybody the extent of it. Most of my friends guessed something was amiss anyway because he had such a foul temper, but I always denied it. I never denied it for his sake, I did it for my own. I was too ashamed to admit to what I let him do to me. At that time it felt like I was the only person in the world stupid enough to let this happen. But then I finally reached a point where I realised that if I stayed, the next fifty years of my life could follow the same unhappy pattern - if I lived that long. When someone cries and says they'll never do it again, and they're sorry, you believe them because you want to believe you'll never have to suffer through such things again. But each time was a little worse than the time before.
Leaving was the hardest thing I had ever done; 21 years old, in the middle of the night, clutching a plastic bag with my purse, a pair of socks, a pair of knickers, and a hairbrush. Hearing him run down the street after me and feeling every muscle in my body tense as I was utterly convinced he was going to stab me. He had already threatened to kill me earlier in the evening whilst I was on the phone to my Dad. Having my Father on the end of the phone telling me that he wasn't speaking just as my Dad but as a police officer trained in domestic violence that if I didn't leave the house that night my husband may well kill me, was one of the hardest things I have ever had to hear.
But everything after that was even more frightening. I was not used to looking after myself anymore, as part of what he did was to break me down so thoroughly that I was not capable of making decisions for myself. Having to go out from work the next day and merely buy toiletries and underwear was enough to induce a panic attack. We worked in the same place; that's where I had met him. Every time he saw me, he burst into tears, prompting those not in the know to tell me I should work at my marriage more and look how much I had upset him, and it was too easy for young people these days to just give up. I kept my counsel and did not advertise what had gone on between us, and we were divorced two years later for "irreconcilable differences".
I do not hate him. It's been 17 years, and I don't really feel anything toward him. However, there's always a brief second where I feel like I stop breathing if I see anyone who looks like him, even from behind - just the same build, the same hair colour. But then I have to remind myself that I did leave, I did manage to get out. I didn't even know of organisations such as Refuge when I left my husband. I had thought my only option would be to report him to the police; and again my shame was such that I never did. My parents never pushed me to tell them what happened, and to this day there are things I went through that I haven't shared with anyone.
Domestic violence is wrong; and no woman, child, or man deserves it. If Rock Choir's support for Refuge can help just one person find their way out of their situation, and give them the strength and advice they need to break free from the destruction and misery this brings, then it's worth it. If I was still in the same position now and was able to get help from Refuge possibly because of funding from this, I know it would help me to know people cared.
At which point, I will point you toward this video. I do none of this to try and guilt you into donating, or buying the album. This is probably the most I've spoken about my situation in the last 17 years, and if doing so helps anyone at all; if my being part of Rock Choir helps at all, then I'll do whatever I can. One of the hardest things about everything I went through was thinking I was alone. Let's make sure no-one else ever has to feel like that.