How wrong was I when I thought it was love? He turned out to be my version of Ike Turner; legendary singer Tina Turner’s abusive ex husband. He was perfect at first, kind, patient, and sweet; my first true love. I didn’t think it abusive at first, just angry maybe, what’s a little insult with a bit of a slap or hair pulling? Thought it was kind of kinky. 

However, over time it got worse: spending quality time together resulted into countless times of cell phone breaking just to keep me from using them, deprived of sleep at night and jealousy of imaginary men, hit in the face just because I smiled at a male friend.  Regardless of all this, I loved this man and even moved in with him. I eventually got pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.  

There were many separate bad incidents, followed by good.  After having a string of bad relationships, I thought I could try to make this work. I kept hanging in there and it kept getting worse. When our baby was one year old, I decided to take a break from him but it only lasted six months. We patched things up and decided to give it 100 per cent because we had a son and loved each other. I couldn’t live without the fabulous emotional and physical highs, it was heady and addicting. I’d forget the bad times after the next good time.

The ‘honeymoon’ was short lived. He soon went back to his old ways. I wished he hadn’t abused me in front of our baby. After a year, I was numb; I could barely function or sleep. I felt uncomfortable being with him in the same room. Whenever he would come back from work, I would cower not knowing what my day was about to turn into. I was constantly blamed for our problems.

The last stroke was when he pulled a knife on me in the kitchen. It frightened me; I was scared for my life and our baby. I wanted to report him but I could not bring myself to do it. I wanted to leave him but I did not have the courage to do so. I confided in a friend for the first time since I started being abused. My friend encouraged me to get a job, leave the guy and start over. I was sure that I would leave.  

I packed my bags while he was at work, got myself a new place with the help of a friend and started waiting tables at a hotel. I don’t regret leaving. I think about him constantly, I cry when I’m alone. It’s like being possessed. I do hope it goes away soon. It’s been eight months since the last time I saw him. 

As told to Dean Karemera