12 min read

This is a story about the battle of the sexes...

Why would you punch that face? What would it achieve? What would the effect be? I can tell you about the final point.

If you punch me multiple times in the face, without provokation, I will react. Here's how my reactions will go...

If I'm lonely and isolated, because I've been forced to leave my home and rent a flat for you miles away from all my friends, then I will be sad and depressed. Especially if I'm home alone in that flat all week while you're working away and out drinking with all your friends. That isn't very nice, is it?

Perhaps you don't like me seeing my friends. When I had all my friends to visit for our engagement party you threw a massive tantrum. When I went out kitesurfing with my friends, you went through my internet browsing history and rummaged through all my personal belongings. When I got home, you put me on trial, even though what you found was entirely innocent.

Why would you boast about hitting men in the past? Hitting people is not good. There's never an excuse for it. It's never the answer. I feel bad about the times when I have swung my fists. I can't defend my actions. Why do you think you have an excuse?

So, I was afraid. I was very afraid, because domestic abuse was literally killing me. I had become suicidal.

Men don't really talk about domestic abuse. We're not really allowed to be abused. The system isn't set up in that way. Domestic abuse is when a man hits a woman, not vice versa.

So, I was given every reason to believe that when she got angry, I was going to get my face smashed in. It had happened three times. Three strikes. She had boasted about doing it in the past. She had no remorse. She was unapologietic. She didn't think she had done anything wrong. I didn't even defend myself. Why would I? It was her who was angry and aggressive and violent. I was passive, unguarded, open, loving and caring.

My reaction wasn't great. First I sliced my wrist open with a breadknife. She got even more angry about this. Apparently the fact that I had been driven to self mutilation was a provocative act? Apparently, somebody crying, in pain and bleeding is a target for violence and abuse.

My next reaction wasn't great. I rigged up one of my climbing ropes so I could hang myself. This resulted in the police being called. She thought that was the end of it. The police had 'dealt' with it, so to speak. Her actions were in no way linked to anything. You ring the police, and everything is fixed. That's how society works, isn't it?

My next reaction wasn't great. I smashed up my own laptop. I saw her getting into one of her rages, and instead of letting her start throwing punches, I smashed up my laptop. It stopped me from getting hit. She was quite fond of my £1,000 laptop. She liked watching movies on it with me. I smashed it up and she didn't hit me that time.

You can't keep smashing up £1,000 laptops though. It gets expensive.

So we both suffered a little for the laptop. She didn't get to watch movies with me, but I was the one who mainly suffered, because I didn't have a laptop anymore. It also cost me a load of money to replace all the broken parts. It also took me a load of time to repair it. It was me who learnt more of a lesson than her.

My next reaction wasn't great. I smashed up our bed. I saw her getting into one of her rages, and instead of letting her start throwing punches, I smashed up the bed. It stopped me from getting hit. She was quite fond of our £300 bed. She liked sleeping in it with me, occasionally. I smashed up our bed and she didn't hit me that time.

You can't keep smashing up £300 beds though. It gets expensive.

So we both suffered a little for the bed. She had to sleep on the mattress on the floor with me, but she was away a lot of the time, so I suffered more. I paid for the bed, so it was me who suffered financially too. I was glad not to have my face being punched though.

My next reaction wasn't great. I smashed up her car. I saw her getting into one of her rages, and instead of letting her start throwing punches, I smashed up her car. It stopped me from getting hit, although she did try. She ended up tearing my favourite clothes, in her attempt to physically hurt me. She was quite fond of her car. She wanted to hit me, and it made her want to hit me even more because I had damaged her car.

So that didn't work at all. It made her even more violent and aggressive. That was a total failure, as well as being expensive. I had to get her a new bonnet and have a dent in the door filled, as well as having the panels resprayed.

Anyway, you get the idea about the way the relationship went. Because I had good reason to expect my face to get smashed in, when she would get angry, I would get scared, and she would be aggressive and threatening, and I would smash something up in order to not be punched. I don't like being punched. I don't like having black eyes and a broken nose.

Seems rational enough? Well it was completely insane. What seemed logical to me, was for her to stop being violent, threatening and aggressive towards me. I had this crazy dream of a perfect relationship, where I wouldn't get punched in the face. I had these wild fantasies of dating somebody who didn't swing their fists into my head. I had the crazy notion that she might admit she was in the wrong and stop being so aggressive.

Anyway, we should have broken up, but my parents taught me to always persevere with a completely fucked up relationship. They taught me to never give up on somebody, no matter how abusive the relationship. I tried to fix things. I tried a kindness offensive. I bought her flowers, I cooked her lavish meals, I took her on luxury holidays, I showered her with gifts, I made her heart-shaped chocolate eggs, I painted her pictures, I made her music... I tried to sooth her rages.

I remember throwing her ski boots into a snow drift because she was having a tantrum about something. The icy air seemed to chill her out a little, and I avoided being hit.

If I'm totally honest - and I tend to be - a lot of her rage seemed to be linked to sex. She seemed to quite like it, and she didn't like that I knew that. She didn't like that I knew she liked having sex with me. She wanted to have sex as a weapon to use against me, but she was frustrated that it hurt her too. She knew that she would weaken before I did. She wanted me to beg and crawl over broken glass, but her libido was too high to permit such power games.

It's strange what men and women will do to each other. I work on a very simple relationship principle: I've got a surplus of love that I want to give away. I want to make my partner feel loved, adored, cared for, secure and happy. Strange, right? I should just be out to get my dick wet, but I don't really work like that.

Sure, I had nowhere near as much sex as would have been good for my adult psyche, as a teenager. I was highly undersexed. Nowhere near enough sex in my teens. Perhaps it's common for many kids, but I only had a couple of girlfriends, and not nearly enough sex.

To say I was a late starter is not entirely accurate. I had a dab of speed paste (amphetamine) at a nightclub, when I was 15, and ended up losing my virginity that night with chemically enhanced confidence, despite having 'speed dick' (stimulants - like speed - shrink your dick due to blood pressure changes... honest, love).

Because I started my career 3 or 4 years early, I always had a nice car and plenty of money. Insofar as I can tell, girls are looking for confidence, not for money or material things, but having a nice car can make you feel confident as a guy. It's a penis extension. It's a confidence booster. It's a social crutch.

My confidence and self-esteem were rock bottom, on account of having my school life ruined by being forced to wear unfashionable clothes, uniform worn in the wrong style, and ride past over 1,000 children at the bus stop in the morning, riding a stolen girls bike. That's not helpful to a teenaged child.

But anyway, between Devon, Dorset and Somerset, there were opportunities for the occasional tryst with a girl from another school, who you perhaps met at a festival, on the beach, at a disco or a club, or later in life when I got a car. It wasn't feast and famine. It was famine with the few occasional crumbs from the table.

I'm jealous of friends who hooked up with childhood sweethearts. I would have loved to have had a childhood sweetheart, but you just can't damage a kid's image that badly without there being terrible repercussions on their social standing.

The net result is that I was grateful to have a girlfriend when I had one. I never took them for granted. I worked hard to please them, and to make the relationship work. Even to the point where I was taking a beating, but not complaining or telling anybody. I took it personally. I took it to heart. It hurt, and I blamed myself.

My ex probably thought she could do better. Yes, when you have a partner who makes you feel adored, when you're put on a pedestal and you have the ground you walk on worshipped, you can get a little arrogant. You can get totally complacent about receiving love and care and attention. Well, I've matured a little now. If you'd rather be with somebody who's unfaithful and treats you with contempt, you know where the door is.

Yes, I'm pretty stubborn. I will act with kindness, and more kindness, and play nice, and be nice and do nice things. I don't play games. I don't try and manipulate. I don't try and frustrate. I don't play hard to get. I'm a bit of an oddball like that.

I'm not perfect, and I did once end up in a relationship because I thought I was worthless and had to settle for somebody I didn't fancy. I ended up feeling resentful though. I didn't know how to get out of that relationship, and I wasn't very nice to that poor girl at times. I didn't hit her though. I do regret some things I said and did though. I did feel remorse for not handling that situation better. However, we saw each other again about 10 years ago, and we still got along just fine.

I guess when two stubborn people meet though, sparks are going to fly. I'm a bit of a weirdo in that I feel sorry when I hurt people. I feel responsible for my actions. I'm a bit strange like that. I really don't like the way I acted with my ex, even though it was clearly a reaction to being victimised. I can't justify my actions. I should have found a way to walk away. I should have ignored my parents example and done things my own way.

My way normally works. Living to try and be somebody's abstract idea of what they want doesn't really work. You can't twist and contort yourself into an imaginary being that they want. You can't be somebody else's fantasy, no matter how hard you try.

I don't like disappointing people. I've always been a disappointment to my parents. They are always looking to pick holes in everything I do, and destroy me in order to blame their shortcomings on me. I selfishly decided to conceive myself and pop out of my mother's uterus and get in the way of the drug taking party. How selfish and inconsiderate of me. Oops.

Why am I still going over all this stuff? Well, I found a way to numb the pain. I found a way to stop the arguments. I found a solution to all our problems. I found a way for us to peacefully co-exist. I found a way to protect myself that kept me safe from violence and aggression. I hid in my shell for 4 years. I used tricks I learned from my parents. Luckily there were no children involved. I'm not that irresponsible and reckless, for fuck's sake!

It's a hard life, dating a rich guy who treats you like a princess and takes you on lovely holidays. You should beat some manners into him (July 2006)

Tags: #divorce #childhood