So many people roll their eyes at this concept, but emotional abuse is often more scarring than physical abuse. Not always, but they are are often intrinsically intertwined.
You learn how people are supposed to show healthy love as a child. Without that luxury, I had to feel my way around blindly.
I craved love. Even if it hurt. And I hung around far longer than I should and put up with a lot more than I should have.
My 1st long term boyfriend, and later my fiancé, had me locked up in the tower - which was our apartment in Pinelands. I had no connection with my sister, God knows where my father was and my mother was in the UK.
This meant he could come and go as he pleased and could treat me any way he wanted to because I had no where to go.
When I turned 17 I got my learners and when I turned 18 I got my drivers license.
He told me I was to stupid to drive or own a car.
I don't think it was so much about me being female, as he put his mother on a pedestal, but it was more that I was HIS woman.
I was more of a possession than a person.
By this time, The ice had melted between myself and my "in-laws," who lived in the same complex as us. His father taught me to drive and so did his mother. Even his brother was incredibly encouraging and often let me drive his car/s and was integral in me getting my first car and my license..
My mother had been sending down money for my "education" and I ended up spending it all on my 1st car. The key was broken off in the ignition and myself and my brother-in-law rode all the way to the workshop in Woodstock with no breaks! I remember crawling around the inside of the car and crying. I'd fought so hard to get this car. And here it was. all mine. We didn't have a car growing up. This meant so much to me for SO many reasons. It was a Renault 11ts 1986 and I drove the absolute sh1t out of that poor thing. I loved it so much and it often visits me in my dreams. It was red, just like I knew some how, my first car would be, and I later found out it was actually designed as a rally/ off-road racing car in the 80s, which would explain why it took such a beating from me! Wheel spinning and all to Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Rob Zombie and Rammstein. LOL.
My boyfriend did everything to discourage me, including refusing to teach me or lend me any of his many many cars. When I passed my drivers license: and I passed both my learners and my drivers on the 1st try, that I had done so because I must have "flashed some cleavage" or used my feminine charms in some way.
This was certainly not the case. Aside from the fact that I was properly attired in "office" wear for the driver's test, it did not go according to plan.
My official K53 driving instructor, a previous traffic cop, was horribly nervous when he saw which officer had been assigned to test me.
I did my test at the Gallows' Hill Traffic department and for those of you who don't know it, it's as ominous as it sounds and was literally named after the gallows that used to occupy the same space some 100 odd years ago.
The yard test went perfectly, with parallel parking nailed and all my checks done correctly.
It was when we got onto the road that things turned into a nightmare.
It was already scary, including the fact that it was 8am on a Friday morning and the test took place in Green Point, around the "Old Stadium" and the horrible enormous traffic circle that no one knew how to use, which have now both been replaced with a new circle and a new stadium. YAY World Cup 2010.
Green Point is a particularly terrifying area with plenty of hills and taxis.
I had practiced this route more times than I could cunt, allowing for almost any detour and I was confident I WOULD NOT roll the car. And I didn't.
Once we got onto the road, the traffic cop began swearing at me and jarring me. I think he was on a power trip and trying to get me to fail. I think he thought I was an easy scare. A woman he could terrorize.
My foot was shaking so badly on the clutch pedal... I was having a complete panic attack (not that I knew what those were back then).
Still, I remained steady and managed to complete the drive without any errors what so ever.
Well, right at the end, when we had approached one of the scariest roads of all, he took me on a detour we hadn't planned for and it turned out I had to go DOWN the road instead of up. I somehow forgot to push in the clutch or change gears and went all the way down in 1st, with the car screaming at me. However, this was not a factor in my test so I didn't lose marks for that.
He then proceeded to swear at me and berate me, telling me I was a terrible driver and a good example of why women shouldn't drive. He ordered me to return to the testing station, making sure I believed I had failed.
As soon as he disappeared behind closed doors to "mark my test" I completely broke down into tears. My driving instructor was doing his best to hold me up and comfort me.
The cop who tested me then emerged, exclaiming I had passed with flying colours. Talk about an emotional rollercoaster.
I then proceeded to the cashier who was in the process of compiling my temporary drivers license (you had to wait a few weeks for the card, you still do). The cop returned to speak over my shoulder to the cashier and said don't give her a license under any circumstances, which then had me flooding with tears again, which I could not hold back - to my embarrassment. He then laughed it off and exclaimed that I needed to learn how to "take a joke."
My ex would never let me drive anywhere.
Both of his parent's leant me their cars before I found mine and afterward, if my car was in for repairs or maintenance. His brother did the same. But my partner? Refused to allow me to touch his cars.
He bought a purple (my favourite colour) Opel Corsa as a run around car, which of course, would have been perfect for me, but he refused to let me drive it. One day he did something to seriously piss me off and I stole it. I only drove a few kilometers, but it was WORTH it.
When we moved to Table View, he'd learned from his mistakes and wanted to rub it in my face that he could own what I could only dream of. I remember he had bought a purple Porsche 911 Turbo, which couldn't have been more of my fantasy car, save the Lamborghini Diablo with the flames that shot out of the exhaust if you revved the incredibly powerful V12 Engine - which even he couldn't afford... and of course, refused to allow me to drive it. Not once.
He disconnected the batteries of his cars and hung up the keys, thinking I was too stupid to connect them up again. I totally went joyriding in both the Porsche, His Mercedes SLK 450 (which had a V8 motor), his Camaro: Also a V8 and his Toyota MR2. Many of which were right hand drive cars.
To stupid to drive? To stupid to reconnect a battery? PFFT.
I then took it upon myself to teach every woman I knew how to drive including my best friend and my sister.
Things got ugly one night though. We'd all been out partying and everyone was way over the limit. We had taken my car and I had driven us there, but for some reason, I was not allowed to drive home, even though I was the most sober of the lot.
I remember being shouted at and being called a bitch by the brother that had taken my side in this whole driving thing... I felt so betrayed. And my boyfriend just sat there and did nothing. He said nothing.
When we got home, I told him how hurt the whole experience made me feel and when I called his brother an asshole, he got up off the couch and punched me.
I was in shock.
I have to laugh now, but I did consider one of my heavy frying pans in the kitchen, but other than that, I acted on instinct. I grabbed my keys off the table, and without shoes or glasses, got in my car and drove all the way to my sister and her husband in Sea Point, at 3am, who welcomed me with open arms.
The next day I returned and shoved everything I owned into black bags and stuffed the car beyond capacity. I put both my cats in the car and left the stereo blasting "In The End" By Linkin Park on repeat and full blast as I locked the door behind me, and tossing my house keys through the window, planning never to return.
I wish I could leave the story like that. What a freaking awesome F**k You.
I wish I could say I never went back to him, but I did. After several breakups, several arguments and several times he broke my heart by treating me like I was worthless.
I kept going back because it was the only love I knew, and I would take it, no matter how much it hurt...
Until he threw me away, trading love for cocaine, sealing the deal by selling my engagement ring for it.
