Two years ago I met a very charming man Derrick (not real name) who treated me like no other man had in any of my past relationships. He would make me breakfast, occasionally take me out for dinner and make me feel like a princess. But he had one strange habit; he always used to look at me while dressing up for work. 

It was weird but he said that he liked looking at me but in hindsight, as I later realised he did it to see what I was wearing. After sometime he started asking me why I use makeup yet I’m already beautiful. It got to a point where he would lay out my clothes for me. 

Two months later, he would wait for me outside my work place and if I delayed, he would shout at me accusing me of flirting with other men. Gradually, he became the most important thing in my life. I had less and less contact with family and friends.

We had a quarrel one day and he pushed me to the ground. I hit my head on the table. I felt really scared as I’d never been in that situation before. I was embarrassed and shocked and didn’t know what to do. The violence became regular in our relationship. Once he broke my finger and I had to see a doctor. 

On one other occasion, he beat me up so bad that I had bruises on my head, face and body. He spat at me, pushed me, kicked me and insulted me. The degradation was harder to cope with than the violence. I became so insecure and unsure of what was right or wrong by my own standards, never mind legally, that I allowed many things to happen that I never would have before. 

He would make me beg on my knees if I wanted something, or he’d throw money on the floor and order me to pick it up. I became convinced I was ugly. He would stare at other women in my presence but my fear couldn’t let me complain. My sense of reason and self-esteem evaporated. He became more and more controlling. 

I finally left him when he attacked me with a bat. It took me some time to be myself again because he continued harassing me through phone messages and showing up at my workplace. My promising career had long suffered but with the support of my family and friends I began building myself again. My mother has helped me through my recovering process and I’m a much better person.  

As told to Dean Karemera