16 Days.

16 Days of Abuse. [Part One]

I was 17, pregnant & stuck in a relationship I didn’t want to be in, but felt I had to.  I had run away with this man, chosen him in an ultimatum my mother had given me, and moved 8 hours away without telling anyone.  We left in the middle of the night and I clearly remember my best friend Britt phoning me in tears when she’d found out I was living in Jo’burg.

“You’re making a mistake, Sheen, you know you are” were her words.  “But I love him, and he worships me like no one else has ever done” was my reply.

Three weeks into having me isolated from every one, every thing and every place that was familiar to me, I met the true side to my boyfriend for the first time.  Suddenly, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.  I wasn’t supposed to speak to men.  He called me every hour, on the hour, at work – “just to check”.  For what, I have no idea.  Infidelity, maybe?  Playing hookie?  Lying to him about where I was?  Who knows.  Except him, because he called me every hour, on the hour.  So much so, that I was eventually fired.

Little did I know, this was perfect according to his plan.  Now I was at home all day, right where he wanted me.  “No temptation” he called it.

I wasn’t stupid.  I knew this wasn’t right.  I knew that Love wasn’t like this.  I knew that I had to get out.  I also knew, however, that if I angered him, I’d feel it emotionally, sexually, physically & mentally. Just like the time he walked in to find me smoking.  I was made to eat an entire box of cigarettes as if I were a 12 year old school girl.

You see, every time I wanted to leave, he’d threaten to kill himself.  Once that novelty had worn off and I started realizing it was his rationality, he threatened to kill my family.  That scared me right down to the very soul of Me.

Eventually, after a year of my friends not being allowed to call, or my dad not having the ability to see me without him around, or the idea of my mom having me for a few days on holiday alone was shot down, I chose to leave.

Despite the threats.  Despite my fear.  Despite the anxiety leaving him left me with.  Despite being pregnant.

I spoke to my father, who was near by.  I spoke to my mom, who booked me a ticket.  And then I made my plans.  I remember very clearly one afternoon packing my bags hurriedly while he was away at work, looking over my shoulder and my heart freezing over at every chirp, foot step or leaf rustle, in case he was home and I was too late.

When I broke away, to the safety of my fathers house a few kilometers away, I lay in bed and cried.  Eventually, when I had no tears left – I closed my eyes.  But the image of his face, anger and psychosis in his eyes, his hands wrapped around my neck, me with tears pouring down my cheeks, appeared.  Every time.  I was too terrified to stay, too terrified to leave, too terrified to breathe.

I answered my dad’s home line the next day.  What I heard chilled me to the bone.  Gulp, “that’s number 1 down”.  Gulp, “that’s number 2… number 6… number 10… number 46” Gulp, gulp, gulp.  Sleeping tablets, I was told.  I was in such a state that words couldn’t form in my head.  “The reason I’m doing this, so you can inform my old mother, is because of you.  You don’t love me.  You love someone else.  And so, I’m going to die.  Engrave this in your head and retell it to my mother.  Tell her what a whore you are.  Tell her that you broke my heart.  Tell her that you are evil, and come from Satan’s loins”.

Engraved in my memory, it certainly is.  Except the man went and had his stomach pumped straight after the phone call, I’m told.  A month later, after being home with my mom and transforming myself into a total hermit, I wouldn’t leave the house.  Everytime I changed my number, he’d call me.  He’d phone the family house phone at 4 am in the morning.  He stalked a male friend of mine at work.  He pitched up at the house one Friday night with 2 cars loaded with armed, black men.  The minute they saw my cop brother, in uniform, they fled.

That was the start of a long, threatening and very scary time for my family and I.  It ended with him in a jail cell, knees shaking and my mom crying.  I refused to go to the holding cell, and with me not there – my mom begged him to leave me alone.  He’d given me a beautiful, blue eyed and red haired daughter and she saw all her grand daughter’s features in the biological father he was but never stepped up to.  And so, he was put on a bus and that was the last I heard of him, for a few years.  But the next meeting was on my terms and purely for closure.

I was one of the lucky ones.  Yes, I’d been abused.  Yes, I was traumatized.  But more importantly, yes- I survived.  So many other women are not so lucky.  My great aunt, for instance, was abused for years and finally murdered by her abusive alcoholic husband.  My mom’s sister nearly went insane with the abuse she endured from her fiancé.  My own mother was abused for many a years by a man I no longer wish to remember. My gran was married to a sick, sick man who abused not only her, but her daughters as well.

I’ve experienced it, loathed it, feared it and ultimately, over come it.  Help me, to help others, to do the same.  By spreading the word.  By creating awareness.  By encouraging those loved ones you know are going through a similar situation.

Save a woman.  Save a child.  Save a life.  Stand up and help us to say NO MORE ABUSE.

Please notice the banner I’ve had displayed on this blog for a few days already.  Click through to the site, educate yourself and pass it on. I encourage all fellow bloggers to put up the banner on your site.

Bewitched by a bitch.

Rush, rush, rush.  Hurry, the robot just turned orange! Ah, shit – stupid taxi mother-trucker cut me off!

I was late, as usual.  Jon – who had kindly driven to my house to pick up decent clothes for me to wear, was already in the parking lot waiting for me to show up so we could walk in.  I hurriedly changed my clothes behind two open car doors and was tempted to apply decent make-up, but I knew that would be pushing it.

I’d forgotten that morning when getting dressed that I’d been invited to see Gareth Cliff’s show recording, straight after work.  Had Jon not kindly accepted to be my Knight In Shining Audi, gatherer of decent clothes, I would’ve rocked up in jean pant, flip flops & a beach top.  What? Yes, I know I live in Joburg now, doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate the sun by wearing my old beach clothes!

Anyway, the security dudes directed us to the wrong entrance and we accidentally ended up getting an unofficial tour of the back stage set. The chickie in charge made me giggle.  ”If you guys had driven into the back of an informal settlement shack, there’d be someone’s lost dog here right now, to bite you on the ass”. I liked her.  She whoreganised us seats to get into the control room half way through the show too.

Seeing Gareth in person was cool.  He’s actually a pretty good presenter, admittedly I haven’t actually seen his show on TV, but that all changes tonight! Bergen was bold enough to ask a challenging question whilst in the audience, and he premiers tonight on Mnet at 8pm. Jon says he’s PVR’d it, set up in HD and wants popcorn and everything to watch it.  So, you over there, watch it, look for a dude in a blue striped shirt and a smile made of win.  Then come back here and tell me how awesome my bff is.

Cath from Cape Town joined us too, and despite making me snort once the lights were turned down, twenty milliseconds before going live, at the thick-as-pig-shit shmodels, she was awesome company.

Angel & Neels had to hold me while I cry-laughed at one dutchie who should never have been allowed to speak on live television tried to attempt the word “Economy”.  Except, wiff being Offrikons and getting mixed up, it came out “EcoNOM”.  Three times.  “ECOnom.  EcoNOM? Econom…  ee.”

I nearly died.

Of course, I was a total badass and took illegal pictures.  Couldn’t let you guys down, come now!

Jon, Anglug. Blurred, but fine.

Cluck-off & Bergles. Happeh.

Proof that I was in the control room. Listening to the dudes swearing.

The chickie controlling Gareth's tele-prompter. Word.

Was so tempted to tackle DJ Fresh (he was on the panel) and get him to say hi in a photo, but I was shy.  For real.

Received such a cute email, and although I usually delete them immediately, I read a few lines, then read a few more, then snotted at my desk imagining how cute my next kid is going to be when I eventually pop it out.  My kid will totally come out with these lines, or better:

How Mom’s Are Made:

• Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring
• They had to get their start from men’s bones.  Then they mostly use string, I think

Why Did God Make Mom’s?

• To help us out of there when we were getting born

Why did God give you your mother and not some other Mom?

• God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s Moms like me.

What did Mom need to know about Dad before she married him?

• His last name.
• She had to know his background. Like is he a crook?  Does he get drunk on beer?
• Does he make at least R800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your Mom marry your Dad?

• My Grandma says that Mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.

What would it take to make your Mom perfect?

• On the inside she’s already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
• You know, her hair. I’d die it.  Maybe blue.

How cute?

Right, so now that that’s all out the way – I’m about to write my living will after this post has been published.  My life is officially over:

Ryan. Quite obviously bewitched by a bitch.

I’m heart broken. Send the love-police, there’s been malicious damage to my internal property.

You remember my love affair with Ryan, don’t you?

You, so great.

You, so small, so great

You, so loud, so internal

You, so loved, so judged

You, so brave, so needing to be saved

You, so soft, so hard

You, so open, so closed

You, so stubborn, so easy

You, so witty, so pretty

You, so scared, so alone

You, so cherished, so discarded

You, so loyal, so fearce

You, so lovely, so loved by me

I hate that this was your moment, and it was taken away.

I hate that after all these years, he still acts this way.

I hate that since you’ve grown so much, its become an opportunity for others to slam you.

I hate that you don’t get the support you deserve.

Of all these things I hate, just know.  Just know that I love you.

Just know that from this distance, I’m there.  There with you.  There for you. Screaming my heart out, waving my pom-pom’s being your head cheerleader.

Because, my friend, we’re the one true non-blood family members we have, not so?

Well done, you.  I’m so proud.  Even if they’re too blind to be.

X

Low-blow’s & high-light’s.

Low-blow’s:

• Traffic.  Oh my hairy moleymoleymole! Driving my mom to Kempton Park from Northcliff every morning and back in the evenings, with me having to go to the CBD in between was a nightmare!
• Weather.  Shame, the South Coast was flooding so bad that my mom looked forward to coming here to escape.  Well that didn’t work, did it? We had THE WORST RAIN EVER last week.  Must be Global Warming or something, those ice caps are melting faaaaaast (American oxsent).
• Sleep.  Or lack thereof.  My mom is an insomniac.  Just like I used to be.  Except, she’s worse than I ever was.  The problem comes in when she gets bored at 3am in the morning and decides she wants company.

The highlights:

• Under floor heating.  Mom kepts stomping around my floor tiles proclaiming “This is sooo cool, Sheen!  Sooo cool!” Except, warm maybe…
• Dinner flops with Anglug.  I burnt the cheese sauce, over cooked the pasta and nearly set the garlic bread on fire.  I still maintain that it was the oven’s fault.
• Giggling ridiculously.  The best thing about my mom is that she makes me laugh, all the time.
• Spending one night over at Jon’s nursing him.  He was dying, apparently.
• Explaining to Bergen the intricate details of my mom and her friends who accompanied us to dinner on Friday night.  He coped so well.
• Having my mom sit with me in the bathroom while I soaked in the tub listening to her regale tales of my siblings.
• Finally getting the kak gel french pedicure off my toes.  *Shudders*
• Monte Casino.  She was so impressed with it.  And the great big Santa chair I jumped all over at 1.30 in the morning:

And the winner of Best Fake Grin Evah goes to...

• The candy canes were a big hit too:

Lookit mah red eyesssss!

• And some momma daughter loving:

Chubby bunny, chubby cheeks!

Spending time with my mom was awesome.  She got to meet all the special people in my life, she made me laugh, she made me (almost) cry & she made me miss home.  She even told me how proud she is of my life change.  Wow.

Thanks for coming Mam, I miss you already.

It’s his birthday…

only, he’s dead.

Still thinking of you Drew.  Not daily anymore, but probably once or twice a month.  Hah, you’d roll in your grave. Asshole.

/nostalgic surreality/

District 9 Euphemisms.

Rush hour traffic is madness here in Hoburg.  The taxi’s are another thing completely, they live a law unto their own.  Cutting you off, butting in, driving like a snail and then pulling over, backing up a trail of traffic behind them seems to be part and parcel of what their service is.  Fuckers.

A few very important questions:

What’s up with this weather?

Apparently there is snow on the mountains?

Does Hoburg even have mountains outside of the wannabe Hartebeesport ones?

Are these wannabe mountains even big enough to aid such a cold front?

Why do women get nipple stands?

Did you know you can get food poisoning from eating dodgy biltong?

You can.  Raw or not, it still goes frot.  Ask Jon – he has been poisoned, poor bugger. A laptop has been stolen from our offices.  A mac, shiny silver one I believe.  It’s a scary day when you can’t trust those people you spend 75% of your day with.  I hope the thief’s fingers fall off.

Angel made her famous cupcakes last night.  She did my favourite ones, especially for me.  Strawberry cupcakes with cream cheese icing and the most beautiful edible crystal decorations on top.  My word, how divine.  I had one for pudding before bed last night, one for breakfast this morning and I will have one for dinner again tonight.  Thanks Angelpie, my diet’s gone South.

Fokken taxi prawns!

Indiana Jones meet Cat In The Hat.

Oh boo, this is the only photo of me in The Cat In The Hat outfit.  Next to me is my boyfriend person, dressed as Indiana Jones.  They didn’t even get his whip in man, what a fail.  And trust me, the whip was awesome.  But so were my 3/4 black suspender stockings.  And how’s the moleymoleymole type zit on my chin on the right there?  Yussie, boet. But hey, they had balloons.  Had to get those in there, right?  Riiiiiight. Anyway, CC – this photie is for you honey, since you keep nagging about it.  Sorry its not a full length one so you could perve over my luscious curves.  Hee hee.

My mom landed in Hoburg this morning.  Tonight we’re having dinner and after years and years of hearing about them, she gets to meet The Anglug.  I am SO frigging excited. Also, cos she’ll be here a few days which means I get to have a decent pedicure again.  She’s taken it upon herself to do a course on how to give permanent make up tattoos.  Only my mother.  Not sure who’s going to go for it all the way down there on the South Coast, but whatevs.  Next thing she’s doing is body piercing, I’m told.  If my mom comes home to tell me she pierced some oke’s willy, I’m disowning her.  Swearious.

Anyway.  So yay – I get to see my mommy for a few days

No Title of RelevAnce.

I’m not sure why, but I have a sudden urge to write something.  Anything.  It might be the time of the month where I’m all emotional and contemplative or whatever, but the last few days I’ve found myself very self involved and introspective.  Nothing is wrong, per se, but something is off.  Different.  Oddish.

My sleep patterns are completely whack lately.  I wake up every two hours, stare at the roof, check Twitter, watch the clock, force myself back to sleep.  On Friday night I woke up every two hours, on the dot.  Fair enough, I was sleeping over at Jon’s place for the first time, so it was a new place, new sounds, new bed… but familiar breathing next to me, so why the unrest?

On Sunday Jon took me & his divine mommah to watch Cats, a pantomime.  It was my first real theatre experience, I loved it.  The cats were awesome, climbing all over our chairs at interval and we were right in the front, so close we could smell the sweat! I loved the three hour show – can’t wait to go back to watch Grease!

This coming Wednesday (2 more sleeeeeps!) my mom will be in town.  She’s given me a list of who she wants to see, and I’m whoreganising it.  She’ll be with me until Saturday afternoon, I am so bloody excited for her to see my car, my home, my new hood, my new life.  She’s heard about it all over the phone sure, but seeing it in person will reassure her that I’m not desperate for food rations I think.  And maybe when she sees how cool my house is she’ll stop nagging me to move in with Jon so he can “protect” me from big, bad, scary Johannesburg – Thug Life (TM).

My freelance writing has suddenly picked up.  I’ve got jobs coming in left, right and centre and I’m loving it.  More money makes me a happy SheBee.

I have colourful post-its on my desk.

I’m missing Flea, Britt & Cath so much lately.  Cath mostly – I have a craving to see her, flip back to it being The Shath days just for 12 hours in order for me to lie on the lounge floor in my undies and laugh at her digging in the bin for a russian.

That is all.

Oh, PS: Elephant Shoes

I wanna go away for a weekend for free!

So Guy is running a competition on Lowveld Net offering a weekend away for two, all expenses paid at White River Lodge. Now, I dunno about you but bloody hell I need a weekend away filled with pampering, wine, chocolates & the bushveld.  I’ve been whining about missing the bush for ages now, and short of setting up a tent in our overgrown garden at home, by god I WILL get me some bush.

So this is a shameless plug for myself, feel sorry for me Guy – it’s been a busy year! Lemme come get spoiled in Mpumalanga man!

And for all you readers out there – go check out White River Lodge’s fan page on FaceBook and follow @GuyMcLaren on Twitter for interesting snippets of his very dry sense of humour and also more info on the Lowveld part of our beautiful country.

Please send me away for the weekend to White River Lodge, I will love you forever and ever amen.

That is all.