Gaslighting, verbal abuse and domestic violence

I've been in three abusive relationships. Which out of four long-term relationships in total is a pretty sad percentage. The first was mental, the second physical and the third verbal. None of them were particularly pleasant, and all of them shared some pretty nasty characteristics. But the verbal abuse was probably the worst. 

I met Dan when I was still with River, the man who hit me. River was bisexual and wanted a threesome with a guy for his birthday, and we'd organized to have it with Dan. I'm not proud of it, but I ended up getting closer to Dan than I had planned and with River hitting me, I was incredibly vulnerable. I made the mistake of cheating on him. I should have broken up with him first, but I was scared of leaving him because of my visa. Once I started sleeping with Dan, I didn't have a choice. 

Dan was great at first. Paying me compliments, telling me he was in love with me right off the bat. In hindsight, I can see that this was gaslighting, but it didn't stop me from moving in with him after only a month of us being together. It made sense at the time, my apartment was infested with bed bugs, and I slept on an airbed because I repeatedly had to get rid of my furniture. I was spending all of my time there anyway. Why shouldn't I save a little money?

After a while, things turned sour. The first time I can remember him raising his voice to me was as he took a hit from his bong, saying he missed his friends. I get nervous meeting people's friends. I'll admit I can be difficult to get on with, and I'm often scared that they won't like me, which can negatively affect a relationship. I spent some time with his friends, but it wasn't long before I was left at home. The honeymoon period was over.

This started with him going out after work, no big deal. He'd come home eventually. As time went on, it became later and later, and I would frequently wait up until 2, 3 in the morning with the light on, waiting for him to come home. This is when the shouting started. Yelling at me because he was drunk, throwing his headphones at me, calling me psychotic because I spent the tip money I had made. The first real argument we had was outside a gaming bar. He shouted and screamed at me in the street, but blamed me for antagonizing him the next day. One of the most memorable was him telling me he felt like I was obsessed with him and that it wasn't attractive to him. I'd told him I'd missed him. 

Next came the not coming home after work. He'd either run home for 30 seconds without saying goodbye or not come back at all, leaving me waiting and wondering where he was. This progressed into him leaving work without saying goodbye. When he did tell me he'd get angry if I asked when he'd be back. Eventually, he got angry if I asked him if he was coming home at all. 

On the odd occasion, we did spend time together at home, but things weren't much better. Any movie I wanted to watch was off limits. Any song unplayable. He'd repeatedly scare me by saying I should move out or using the word "if" when he talked about our relationship. One night he got so drunk on a night out that he peed in our bed, called me a cunt and said he didn't know why his parents let me live there. Eventually, I had to ask permission to speak.

To everyone else, though, Dan was the complete opposite. Friendly, relatable and personable to a fault. Everyone we worked with adored him, and he could do no wrong, repeatedly winning awards at work or being praised by my colleagues and employees alike. On the rare occasion he did slip and speak to me at work the way he did at home, very few people saw. Only one person noticed when he talked down to me, and it took months before I confided in my friend that he was a mean and aggressive drunk. 

I would eventually spend 3 months living on this person's couch after he kicked me out, and I found myself homeless for the second time. I now count her as one of my best friends. 

The Dan that I met, the Dan that I was in a relationship with and the Dan that everyone else knew were three different people. To the point that it was impossible to see how each personality could be connected. I was screamed at for the most ridiculous things. Drinking his juice, eating his snacks, accidentally buying the wrong beer, or not wanting to go and buy him a pack of cigarettes. We thought I'd broken his computer once, and I sat on my knees in front of him, sobbing and apologizing. All he said was that sometimes, sorry wasn't good enough. 

In the same way that River did each morning after he hit me, Dan would always claim to not remember anything. Apart from the night he broke up with me. He couldn't remember calling me names and shouting at me for interrupting him, but he could remember holding a pillow over me and making a hideous "waaaa" noise, impersonating a baby, making fun of me as I cried. Thankfully, that sadness didn't last very long. 

Dan refused to speak to me after we broke up apart from to ask for money or have a go at me, asking why I was telling people he was "shit". After getting drunk and trying to call me, he told me not to contact him again because it was a "huge inconvenience" and moaned at me yet again for disturbing him when he was eating. Thankfully, I was out of his house by then and so didn't have to listen to his verbal abuse. I haven't seen Dan since the day I moved out, and I haven't spoken to him since I left Canada. In one of the last conversations we had, he told me I was scaring me. Ironic when you think about it. 

I couldn't see that I was in an abusive relationship because I didn't know what verbal abuse was. I'd just broken up with someone who hit me, that was abuse. How could it be considered domestic violence if he never physically hurt me?

A lot of people stopped talking to me after Dan and I broke up. He accused me of hitting him when I put my arm against his to stop him from people hearing the speaker he was blaring through our bedroom window, and when I grabbed him as he threatened to damage something important to me. It's obvious that these people weren't my friends to begin with, but losing my boyfriend, home, friends and job at the same time left me feeling wounded and alone. 

When I was with Jerren, I justified his bad treatment by saying that he didn't hit or scream at me. A lack of abuse was a bonus for me because that's what I had been used to in my most recent relationships. But just because a relationship isn't abusive doesn't mean it's healthy, and it's going to be a long time before I heal enough to see that. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess 

If you have been affected by domestic violence in Australia, call 1800 737 732 

Hospo Horrror Stories

I got shouted at again at work last night. A regular was waiting 20 minutes for his fish and chips, and for some reason, he thought this entitled him to shout and swear at me because he wanted his food. Bear in mind, this man is in his 50s and was perfectly capable of ordering his food earlier, but apparently kicking off at me was the better option. 

He told me to call the chef and tell him to "hurry the fuck up". My boss was in the kitchen last night. I'd have been fired on the spot. 

This got me thinking about the crap I've had to put up with in hospitality. I love my job but I really do put up with some shit. So here's a comprehensive list of my top five work moments, to remind people to be nice to people who serve you. 

1) Being licked 

I worked in a student bar for the last two years of university, and for the most part, it was pretty chill. I'll admit I wasn't the best worker, but attempting suicide, battling a drug addiction and putting a man in prison will inevitably affect your job performance. I was working in the club section of the bar one night when I handed someone their change, and they licked me in response. After spending a good amount of time scrubbing myself clean, I returned to work, but I still wasn't a massive fan of the whole thing. 

Don't lick strangers. It's unhygienic and weird. 

2) Being filmed

During Covid, before we went into full lockdown, a customer refused to wear a mask in the cafe I worked in, claiming asthma prevented him from doing so. For the record, I'm also asthmatic and wearing a mask never affected me, but I guess everyone is different. 

We were unable to let him into the venue, but offered to serve him outside. This led to shouting, screaming and my boss and I being filmed as he claimed we were violating his human rights. This then led to someone else filming him and me and my co-worker crouching on the floor, giving up on a shift before it had even started. 

Eventually, he got his croissant, but only after a manager from another venue came over to calm him down. '

Now, last time I checked, croissants were not a human right. I mean, they taste good, but I don't think anyone has ever been prosecuted for refusing to sell someone baked goods inside. This was a bit of a unique one. Covid sent all of us a bit mad, but don't film people who are serving you. Unless I concent to being filmed, put the fucking phone down.

3) Being threatened 

When I worked in my last bar, I asked a customer to leave the venue after he made a false claim about another member of staff. He was drunk, I was tired, and I always side with my co-workers when it comes to ridiculous claims against them. On his way out he repeatedly told me that if I wasn't a woman, he'd smash my face in with a glass. An undoubtedly sexist claim, I mean, surely I'm just as capable of taking a glass to the face as any man, but still rude all the same. 

You could say that it was the drink talking and that he wouldn't have said that if he was sober, but that's no excuse for being a dick. Luckily, I've been in this industry so long that I'm completely unphasable at this point, but not everyone feels this way. There are plenty of people who would, quite rightly, have been upset by this. So maybe just don't threaten people in general, just in case. 

I also had someone threaten to come into my bar and kill all of us the other day, but that was a far less personal. 

4) Assault

I don't think this one was intentional, but I still wasn't a fan. Two people jumped over my bar to steal a couple of bottles of spirits and smacked into me on their way out. I hit the floor like a sack of shit and it's one of the reasons I'm looking to take self-defense classes. Obviously, the best way to win a fight is to avoid one in the first place, but sometimes these things can't be avoided. 

In hindsight, I could have avoided walking into his path. I could have stayed out of the way. But either way, assaulting me wasn't the right thing to do. Theft is also not okay, but that's far less personal. 

Side note, there's a chance you could get someone fired if you steal while they're on shift depending on how much of an asshole your boss is. Maybe think about the financial future of the people you steal from next time you feel like boosting a bottle of rum.

5) Pouring a beer over my head

That's just rude. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess 

Changing narratives

My little Day of Life treat

When I was raped, the person who attacked me clearly thought that he had chosen someone weak. Someone who would literally take his attack lying down and let him get away with it without reporting him to the police. Even after he was arrested, he underestimated me, pleading not guilty until the very last minute and even pleading guilty to the other 10 charges against him in an attempt to get me to drop the case. Instead, he chose me, powerful, brave, strong, and so stubborn I consider it both my greatest attribute and my greatest fault.  

Ever since that night, the anniversary of the attack has been a reminder of what I considered to be intense weakness. Of a night that I got into a stranger's car and deserved what he did to me. It breaks me every single year, and I've yet to find a way of getting through it without self-destructing. Last year, I hid it from people that I worked with; the year before, I was in Melbourne doing an obnoxious amount of cocaine, and the year before that was the first that my sadness had ever transformed into anger. I still blame myself for what happened, and I'm pretty sure I always will. I made the decision to put myself at risk and get into his car, but I'm no longer seeing the anniversary as a reminder of my weakness. 

I watched a YouTube video the other day by Makala Noble, a woman who was paralyzed in a cheerleading accident. The video was called "My 1st day of life!". Instead of being sad on the anniversary of the day she became a paraplegic, she celebrated. In the video, she's not sad because she was in an accident; she's happy that she's alive and that she made it through. I'm not usually one to get inspired by YouTube videos, I'm fully aware of how much crap people post on the internet and attempt to pass off as the truth, but seeing someone celebrate a day that some would consider to be so awful really made me reconsider how I think about the anniversary. 

I don't want to be sad on this day anymore. I don't want to be tense, angry or self-destructive. By being sad on this day, I'm giving him the power. Letting his actions dictate my behaviours on this day is giving him the control he tried to take from me when he raped me. He thought he could keep me quiet and carry on with his life after hurting me, but instead, he's the one who's hurting. I don't want this to be a bad memory anymore.

So this year, instead of drowning myself in a bottle of whiskey and going to town on my arms with a razor blade, I've decided to celebrate. Celebrate the day that I did something many people would have been too afraid to do. This isn't a day of weakness, but a day to remember just how strong, brave and powerful I am. He tried to take my life from me, and in some ways, he did, but I'm still here, fighting strong, and I never want to forget it. 

Stay safe on the road. 

Jess

Doctor Doctor

I went to the doctors this morning and I somehow managed not to cry. This might not seem like much of an achievement, but to me it's a really big deal. I hate anything even remotely medical and I have for a very long time. 

My first experience with hideous medical appointments came when my mum came downstairs to find me working out on an elliptical machine at 6:30 in the morning, desperately trying to burn off 500 calories before I ate anything that day. Ironic and hypocritical given my mother's own attitude to food and weight-loss but, as you know, my mother can do no wrong. 

Obviously I'm being sarcastic. 

This snowballed into therapist appointments with a blind guy who also treated my mother, referrals to organizations that told me I was too heavy to have an eating disorder and a particularly hilarious meeting with my mother and a nutritionist during which she lied through her teeth and I tried my hardest not to scream. 

I saw a number of therapists over the years. Starting out with my mother sandbagging me by bringing a therapist to the house without my knowledge, countless councilors and a variety of psychological practices including CBT, talking therapy, human givens therapy and a particularly hideous series of meetings with a psychoanalyst. 

Sigmund Freud could never. 

Throughout this time my mother continued to starve herself, lie about her condition and pepper my day with a variety of cheerful phrases including "go stick your fingers down your throat", "go and cut your arms" and "you have to stop eating, that's the bottom line". 

My mother the poet, right? 

Now moving onto medication. I first started taking medication when I was 15. I started off on fluoxetine for my depression and I still take it today. I don't know what it does anymore if I'm perfectly honest, but I've been on it for so long I'm afraid to stop taking them. 

I've had some good experiences with medication and I've had some really really bad ones. Lamotrigine saved my life and I can't imagine existing without it and, as I said, fluoxetine has been part of my daily life for over 18 years. 

Other prescriptions haven't been so successful. Venlafaxine had been sleeping 16 hours a day citalopram caused me to stop taking my pills when  convinced myself I was better. I even enjoyed a particularly hideous day when my doctor told me to immediately stop taking everything else and only take what they prescribed me that morning. All I remember from that day was walking around feeling detached and numb. As if the entire world had been covered in Vaseline. 

Nothing quite beat pregabalin though. A drug that is now illegal to posses without prescription, classified as a Class C substance and the only drug I've ever overdosed on and been hospitalized. 

An event my mum's boyfriend described as "very annoying". Is there any wonder why I turned out the way I did?

Other hideous events have included doctors threatening to get the police to break down my front door, once again being told I was too heavy to have an eating disorder and a wonderful appointment during which I sat on the floor crying and telling my doctor that I wanted to kill myself, only for her to let me walk out the door. 

Fast forward and I diagnosed myself with "medical phobia", not a thing by the way, and avoided medical appointments at all cost. There have been tears, shouting and even being banned from a local surgery. It hasn't been pleasant, but now I realize that it's not medical appointments that are the problem, but that I'm convinced I would be treated in the same way by other professionals. 

My current doctor has never met my mother, and never will. And while I appreciated my doctor prescribing me valium over the phone whenever I told him I was spending an extended period of time in her presence, I'm very thankful that the two of them will never interact. This separation means that when I tell them all the awful things her and her boyfriend have said to me, he doesn't sympathize with her. He doesn't brush me off or sit in silence while I tell her what she said. He acknowledges and agrees that the things my mum and her boyfriend have said to me are unacceptable, and he even told me that it was obvious that we no-longer speak. 

Apparently I seem a lot happier, who would have thought?

Today we talked about changing medication, decreasing dosages and even put together a mental health plan. I actually left my appointment smiling and feeling positive for the future. I didn't cry. I wasn't angry. I didn't feel afraid. 

If you'd have told me even a month ago that I would feel this way after a medical appointment, I would have laughed in your face. After today though, I'm feeling a lot more positive. Positive that I can return to the doctors without crying, positive that I have found the best doctor for me and positive that I'm making progress in dealing with my BPD, 

Stay safe on the road

Jess 

Rambling

I've started writing this blog post about four times now, and I keep getting my words tied into knots. I'm not quite sure what to say, what's on my mind or even what I want to talk about, so things keep getting written and deleted repeatedly. 

This week has been up and down. I had a cleaning day on Monday and drank two bottles of wine, which made me feel bad, then I slept all day Tuesday and had a butterfly day. Wednesday, my anxiety was so bad that I nearly cried on the way to the library, but Thursday afternoon was absolutely wonderful. This, of course, meant that my evening shift was absolutely ridiculous, but Friday morning was productive, and I went out after work and laughed and sang and danced happily for the first time in ages. Yesterday was long and draining, and I made some mistakes, but today I've had a nice lie-in and I'm drinking my coffee and watching Law and Order before I start work at 4. 

Between the guilt, anxiety and euphoria, it's clear to see how my BPD is a daily part of my life. I used to think that sometimes I had bad BPD episodes when my moods were swinging like this, but now I'm realizing it's just a regular part of my condition. Yes, I take my medication, but that doesn't cure what I have or completely take away my symptoms. It just helps me to manage them a little better. 

At the start of the month, I made a deal with myself that I am allowed a bar tab at work, but only if I pay it off each payday. This has worked in my favour. It forced me to be accountable and pay my "bills" straight away, and now I've made it this far through the week without one, I'm confident that I will be able to get through without one at all. Waiting until the end of the month was taking a big chunk out of my wages and making it difficult for me to manage my money. By breaking it down weekly or not having one at all, I'm able to save more money in the long run. 

Tips at work have been good recently as well. People in Australia usually don't tip. Tipping culture isn't the same as when I was in Canada, and although it was difficult to get used to once I moved here, you accept it pretty quickly. I've made good money so far this month, though,h from customers winning large amounts on the gaming machines and TAB. I know this isn't going to happen every week, but I was so grateful to one person that I nearly cried. I believe in good karma and do my best to put positive energy out into the world where I can. I recently paid for a customer's rizlas so she didn't have to put them on a debit card on her birthday, and the universe sent me good tips in return. I'm not even remotely spiritual, but it's nice to think something is looking out for me. 

Most of my tips went on the brand-new monitor. My laptop is quite small, which makes it perfect for carrying around, but I was finding it difficult to read the screen. I didn't want to hurt my eyes, and it was putting me off sitting at my desk and so I bought myself a bigger screen from Officeworks. It was $97, I was able to pick it up that day, and now I have a beautiful writing space. It makes me want to sit at my desk so much more, and my desk is so much tidier. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess

Sobriety

I'll be perfectly honest, my sober journey has not been going well lately. March was okay, I managed up to 13 days sober, but since then, I have only been able to reach a couple of days at a time. 

I don't know why. 

It's not just drinking that's the problem, but black-out drinking. I was never blessed with self-control, but when it comes to drugs and alcohol, I have none at all. One drink, one line, one pill, be it illegal or prescription, and I'm done. The only drugs I don't abuse anymore are my medication, and that's only because I know they won't get me high.

Much of it has to do with having days off and living opposite a bar and bottle shop. When I have the day off, I'll instantly run over to get a bottle of wine. And then when I finish that, I'll get another bottle of wine. If my decision process continues to falter, I'll head over to my bar, start downing shots of whiskey and inevitably wake up the next day trying to piece together the night before. The only saving grace is that I haven't been waking up with strangers, and I've been waking up in my own bed. 

Another reason for my drinking is how I feel about myself. My self-esteem is at an all time low and my anxiety is awful. It's making me reflect on how I've treated people when I've been drinking/ how people have reacted to my drinking in the past. To some people, I feel sorry. To others, I feel exasperated and to some, I don't care at all. I had a friend who tried to get me fired and who would talk negatively about my drinking without any care at all. She was incredibly judgmental, and the last time I spoke to her, I told her she had no right to judge me. I walked past her the other day and smiled, and she looked at the floor. 

I didn't send the nicest reply in response, but I don't feel any guilt about that at all. 

I want to get sober. I want to stay sober. But I don't want to keep feeling guilty about things I have done in the past. A man at the most recent meeting I went to shared about how he doesn't feel guilty about how he treated his children while he was drinking after a "spiritual awakening". This leaves me straddling the fence. On the one side, I don't want to constantly feel bad about my actions, on another I don't feel guilty for some of them, and on another the majority of my issues with my mother are because of how she treated me in the past and so don't know if I can expect people to forgive my previous actions.

I've actually gone no contact with her recently and am feeling a lot better. But that's a post for another day. 

I know everyone's experiences are different, but I'm struggling to find my own perspective on this. I don't want to keep apologizing. I can't convince someone to forgive me, and there are some people I just don't feel any sympathy for at all. Some people, I just don't care about. 

This is opening a lot of avenues of questioning because I don't know how I feel. I don't know if I can move forward and stop hating myself, I don't know if I care about people's opinions, and I don't know how I feel about my own past when I hear about how other people are dealing with theirs. Everyone's journey is different, whether it's towards sobriety or something else. I just don't know how I feel about mine. 

I haven't had a drink since Monday, though, and that's pretty good going for a Friday afternoon. 

Stay safe on the road

Jess

Flowers

I haven't written anything in a while because I feel like there isn't any point. I was doing well while I was staying at Jerren's, but once I moved back to mine, I lost my groove. I feel like it's stupid because no one reads my blog. I know that's not a healthy mindset to be in, but with my anxiety as bad as it is, it's where I'm at. 

I'm trying to get back into writing every day, and today I thought I'd talk about flowers. I love flowers, my name is Jessica Rose, and tulips are my favourite. I remember having an argument with my ex-boyfriend about his ex-girlfriend, and he bought me a bunch of tulips as an apology. His ex-girlfriend's name was Tulip, so it didn't do as well as he had hoped, but I still appreciated the sentiment. 

The first time my boyfriend, River, hit me was on my 29th birthday. My best friend sent me a beautiful bunch of flowers, and I remember sitting there after he'd attacked me, crying and looking at my beautiful flowers. The next day, he was sick and I spent all day looking after him. He told me he didn't remember what he did. 

He never did remember, or so he told me. The same way Dan claimed to never remember when he shouted and screamed at me, and my mum says she doesn't remember the awful things she said to me growing up. I've never really dealt with River and Dan's abuse. But it's something I should look into in the future. 

Since then, I haven't liked flowers as much as I used to. They'd always made me happy, but now, when I buy them, I feel sad. They just remind me of that night. How much I cried. How I felt when the man I loved attacked me. He recently started messaging me again, and at first, I blamed my drug use for how our relationship fell apart. For sleeping with Dan when we were together. I finally told him that the problem with our relationship was his hitting me. Hitting me and never admitting it. It was a big step finally telling him and blocking him, and it was hard as hell. 

Recently, I've been trying to take my love of flowers back. To not let that awful memory ruin what I once loved. Last week, I bought tulips that bloomed so beautifully in the Darwin heat, opening up in a way I'd never seen before. This week I have beautiful yellow roses, my favourite colour, with orange tips. I struggle with spending money on myself because of how guilty I feel about money and how I feel about myself in general. But if I have to spend $20 a week to take back something I used to love from the man that hit me, then that's $20 well spent. 

Stay safe on the road. 

Jess