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Lee's Story This is a true story written by a survivor of domestic violence.
Mike got out of the car, and set off hoping to find a garage. I tried to get out too, so I could make my own way home. I just wanted to get away from the verbal abuse. Paul grabbed my arm, and refused to let me leave. After Mike returned with the petrol a short while later, the insults and put-downs continued. Of course there were a number of other similar occurrences, and I soon realised that alcohol was involved in all of them. On the surface Mike seemed nice. Very good looking with blue eyes and black hair, there was never a shortage of girls swooning over him. Popular at school, he’d excelled at sport and had what seemed to be a very normal family life. His father was hard-working and held a Senior Supervisor post with Eskom. His mother was a dedicated housewife. Besides Paul, Mike also had a sister Maria. The youngest of the three, Mike was the only one still living at home. During the first six months of our relationship, there were a lot of good times. We got on really well and had loads of good laughs together. Mike also used to spend hours confiding in me about his family life. But increasingly alcohol ruined things. To the point where I soon found myself weighing up the ‘good against the bad.’ Reaching the conclusion that if I could just get Mike to stay off the booze, there was a chance we could be very happy together. Of course, at the tender age of seventeen, I was not emotionally equipped to even consider that there could be a reason why this man drank so much. Lost in thought, I walked the three blocks from the doctor’s to my home that January afternoon. Inside, my poor mother was alone, recovering from a recent Hysterectomy. Mike had pretty much moved in with us by this stage, and when I announced to him that he was going to be a Dad, he was thrilled. “Cool, mom’s supportive, boyfriend’s ecstatic – we can do this.” That’s how I felt. The news did not go down quite as well with Mike’s parents and sister. Mike’s mother had always thought I was beneath their family, and that Mike could do a lot better then me. And she made her feelings perfectly clear. Maria, who had given birth to Mike’s parents’ first grandchild in November a few months before, was another story altogether! She wasted no time in phoning me up, and blasting me. Nonetheless, the baby’s future grandparents jumped into action. A wedding had to be planned, and fast. Looking back, I don’t recall ever being asked if I wanted to marry Mike. His mother just seemed to be driving everything; damage control I suppose. After my ‘big announcement’ I remember overhearing comments like “we must get this wedding done before she shows” as well as “we don’t want people thinking she was pregnant before the wedding”. My parents were gentle people who did not like confrontation. They simply went with the flow and the wedding was planned for the end of February 1986. Mike’s mother set about securing the hall for the reception. The marriage vows would take place at the Rivonia Catholic Church. My Mom made both my wedding dress and our wedding cake – while still healing from major surgery. It was a busy time for us all. I managed to secure a little job running a gift shop, and Mike continued working with Eskom as an apprentice. Things settled into an uneasy calm in the weeks leading up to the wedding. Mike sort of floated about with his head in the clouds, mercifully controlling his need to drink, so his bad temper appeared to have subsided. Things are getting better, I thought. Then came the wedding; an evening I will never forget. To be continued next month . . . “If just one woman, trapped in an abusive relationship is able to find the
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