Episode 6 Domestic Terrorism

Hello and Welcome to Episode 6 ..

Domestic Terrorism..

When I Reflect On My Past Life....Its Like Watching A Movie..

A Very Interesting.. Yet Sad Story...

Join Me On My Epic Journey To Freedom...

I Just Know My Final Chapter Will Be The Best Yet...

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:00

Hello and a huge big Scottish welcome. Sleepless in Granada episode 6. I'm sitting on my huge big comfy couch sipping homemade lemonade. It's very hot today. I've been reminiscing today. I have always had a really happy personality but a sad soul. I saw this written on a wall many years ago and I wrote it down. It said, love is the song of peace, passion the clap of thunder, the space in between our words. Until recently I was the faded ink on an old journal that was never read a story that was too painful to be told and I was just living in a dead body going through the motions a long time ago when I was in a very bad place in my life I would always question my decisions now that I'm on my healing journey I realized that I was so unfair to myself I would regularly punish myself so much doubt and feelings of despair no matter what I did I felt as if I was never enough I no longer want to blame myself. And as I evolved, I grew, I learned. Perhaps looking back, I would have made different choices. But perhaps, just perhaps, the strong, confident woman I am today is here because of all the huge decisions I was forced to make for my own mental health. I used to bleed in silence. My void of nothingness became my shroud of absence. I was growing more and more invisible with each passing day. I realise every decision I made was based on how I was feeling I was always striving somehow for what I did not know. Aren't we always telling our inner voice such negative things? We would never treat a dear friend, nor would we speak to them in such a horrible, soul-destroying way. Courage is simply a push. The moment I moved, that's when I discovered I still had strength. So much strength. My therapist told me, don't you ever say, I have anxiety. I have such dark thoughts. She told me, say, I feel anxious. or I feel sad never allow yourself to be defined by your feelings let that sink in she taught me to sit with whatever I was feeling take the time to acknowledge where this pain is in your body is it in your head or a tightening in your stomach is your throat closing etc etc anxiety is simply separation from yourself your power and your heart so instead of eating drinking smoking sexting or sleeping it away, just let it be and sit with it. Believe me, healing happens when we begin to feel. Yes, that's right, when we begin to feel and it's fucking shit. Pain isn't our enemy, avoidance is. And although my scars will always be tucked away safely in my subconscious mind, they no longer encircle my soul. For many, many years, I ran from my emotions. I was in survival mode. I to change and challenge my mindset I felt so stuck I couldn't face my pain and whenever it showed up at my door usually in the wee small hours I barred it I pushed it away I just couldn't handle the anguish I had to shut it down I wasn't healing I was in survival mode I told the world I was fine with the biggest smile painted on my face but inside I was dying I was empty and I was numb I used to work to distract me I would come home so tired that I would literally fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. But sometimes just when I didn't need it or at least wasn't expecting it the ghosts of my past return to torment and torture my fragile mind with a vengeance. My pain was mental and physical. They say time's a healer. It will fix things. What an absolute lot of fucking pish. It took me years to heal. On reflection I know now that I had to fix myself. There's nobody coming to save me. The day I faced my pain instead or burying it as per always but I actually acknowledged it and I felt it in my body that was the day I became a warrior woman and in the famous words of the Helen Reddy song I am woman hear me roar I had to first forgive myself later I forgave him not because he deserved it but because I wanted peace today I focus on the present not the past and not the future I couldn't change the past but I could change how I allowed me how it influenced me and caused me the most indescribable torturous pain I learned that for me to heal I had to let go of all the shit in my head that was holding me back all the shit that was stopping me from having peace of mind and contentment I used to replay in my head all the toxic conversations and try and come up with different scenarios where I would behave completely differently I stopped overthinking everything that was out of my control it wasn't easy But I did it in the end. Back then, I yearned for and needed and wanted clarity, apologies, closure, and the why. Why? Why did you abuse me? Why did you torture me? Acceptance for me was a ginormous step in my healing. I deserved to have peace and I was going to fucking well take it. I stopped looking back. I was no longer looking for an apology. I acknowledged just how fucking sore and how damn hurt I was. I acknowledged I acknowledged that working until I dropped was not the answer. Instead, I sat with my pain and cradled it like a newborn baby in my arms. I let it pass through me. This was so difficult, but eventually I did. And as I already said, before I accepted my situation and everything I couldn't change, I chose to move forward and seek the peace I crave. I began mourning my dead relationship. I mourned what I wanted, not what it became. I missed the I mourned the imagined life with him that was never going to be. I grieved for all the unspoken words, the woulda, shoulda, coulda, remembering all the good stuff, the laughter and the memories, the places and the songs, the cherished moments and the incredible ventures. All the while, I was forgetting the horrific, torturous behaviour, the silences, the screaming, the insults and the degradation, all the while feeling that I was never enough. I had to practice this really hard. practice I had to remember all the sordid details the entire thing and not just the beautiful highlights that were going through my head one by one they all died slowly at first some I kept on life support machines for way too long so painful yet in the end it was so freeing so empowering until I buried all these fantasies and dreams I kept wondering if he would knock on my door and beg for forgiveness and tell me he'd been an absolute fool they say that grief is love with nowhere to go and that That's how I feel about the end of a relationship is very much like this. Now I'd like to read a piece of writing that I found in one of my journals from years ago. It doesn't have the writer's name on it. Someone sent me this again when I was feeling very low. It's called You Were Never Meant to Fit In. There was a version of you who used to laugh without shrinking, who ran toward life barefoot and wild without asking permission. But the world told you, calm down and grow up. Be realistic. So you molded yourself to fit in. Now you wake up tired even before sleep. You stroll, silence numb in a world that won't stop talking you tell yourself you're fine but you miss someone that version of you that used to dream in full color the one who believed believed life could be beautiful just because it was and maybe the worst part isn't that you let that version go it's that you drifted so far you thought you can't come back but you can you can they're still there in the morning light and in the quiet moments when you finally breathe deeply and remember you were never meant to fit in, you were meant to fly. And now for a chapter from my memoir, Domestic Terrorism. The anger and hunger inside me exploded. His cruelty knew no end. We are now 10 days into my excommunication and it's a stalemate. Each day was an endless cycle of mental abuse and the loudest silence, trapped within his web of anger and contempt. My sanity gone, emotional wounds now scars that ran deep. The fear and alarm were normal. Love and kindness. no longer resided here. The twisted logic that ruled our relationship reverberated around my broken mind. His grasp of right and wrong imprisoned me in my head and home. I was a shadow of my former self. Where did that happy, confident, optimistic woman go? One day I noticed she just vanished, simply gone, with no warning. I miss her so much. Usually I would have conceded by now, but something in me had changed. I had no recollection of the heinous crime I was guilty of. I had strayed from the straight and narrow in his mind and that was enough. The silent treatment was the worst form of mental torture. I found it unbearable. I was his plaything and controlled by his violent outbursts, trapped and dependent on him. Then his subsequent silence ensued. Over the years I learned my exile would end if I apologised, even though I wasn't the instigator of the argument. It was a vicious cycle of abuse I had come to know only too well. He wielded the silent treatment like an axe. Each non-verbal blow rained down on me with a vengeance, leaving me in a state of complete bewilderment and despair. I would do anything Fuck you! I wouldn't allow this silent treatment to dominate my life anymore. I became engrossed in self-care, devouring every book I could find. I filled my mind with knowledge, power, and resilience. I began exercising again. I found solace in nature. On this particular morning, I rose early and stretched my arms wide. I told myself I would not luxuriate under the sheets today. The routine became my mantra. I wondered what was in store for me today. I opened the blinds and smiled at the melodious chirpy songbird that welcomed me to another bright and beautiful day. It was glorious, sunny, and I felt happy. The sky was turquoise blue with a smattering of fluffy white clouds across the vast horizon. The sun had already risen over the Sierra Nevada mountain range. I was appreciative of the small things that gave me joy. I grabbed my walking boots, dog leads and most importantly my coffee and headed up to the national park with my furry pals. It had rained through the night and the delicious smell of ozone hung in the still morning air. The solitude in the park made my heart sing, mesmerised by the ever-changing, rustic beauty all around. With each step, I became more liberated. The light touch of the warm breeze called my name. I was in my happy place. I loved these lucid moments. My mind was at peace, and I had no thoughts of my toxic and riotous home life. I appreciated every deep breath that filled my lungs. For now, I was free! I could walk for hours and not meet another soul. The heady perfume of wild jasmine and thyme filled the air. I heard the faint tinkling of goat bells and the incessant yapping of the herders' dogs far, far away in the distance. Today our destination was the abandoned Catholic monastery and watermill, once a thriving, self-sufficient community. I had been there many, many times before. Each visit became a journey, a connection to the past. With rosy cheeks and portly figure, I could almost hear and see the head abbot barking orders to the workers, the smell of freshly baked bread and the taste of altar wine the monks produced for the entire region. I scrambled on with my dogs, twigs and branches snapped underfoot. The tinkle of water from the old water mill was so enticing. The dogs enthusiastically lapped up the cold water and on and on we trailed. I watched as they chased and played together, noses snorting with delight at every fresh scent that reached their delicate nostrils, tails wagging with excitement. Simple joy. Complete and utter contentment. I craved it so badly. And just like that, today's adventure had to come to an end. With a heavy heart, I trudged towards home. I never knew the delights that would await me. As soon as I walked through the door, I heard him banging about, swearing and muttering to himself. I completely ignored him, fed and watered the dogs and retreated to the safety of my bedroom. I quickly changed into my t-shirt and shorts. My eyes opened. When my heart finally closed. I remembered when he tried to bury, isolate and control me. He hadn't realised I was a tough Scottish woman whose roots were strong, just like a sunflower. I followed the sun, grew and thrived even in the face of evil. He was a creature of habit. During my silent treatment, he would go out in the car every day from 1 p.m. returning at 6. I knew he would head to one of the local restaurants for lunch and then do some food shopping. I received no invite. I remained in the house alone with the dogs. I welcomed the quiet times I spent in solitude with no access to money. He controlled all the finances too. I was forbidden to drive any of the cars. He hid the keys. But I knew the hiding place. He didn't have any imagination. Even so, I was too afraid to drive, too nervous and had absolutely no confidence. You're a fucking liability and a dangerous driver, he would scream when I asked him to teach me again how to drive in Spain. I stopped asking after that. This particular day he had gone out at 1pm as was his usual routine. I suddenly felt very hungry. Annoying emptiness occupied my mind. I'd been surviving on rice and pasta with soy sauce for the last 10 days. I began pacing the kitchen, talking to myself about the injustice of my life. An epiphany came to me just in that moment. I felt energized and brave. The hunger I felt in my bones enveloped me. I ran through my open plan, expansive living room. I felt excited and alive. I'm going on a heist, I said to the dogs. They cocked their head in an inquisitive way in unison. I told my furry accomplices that a black and white stripy top and ski mask were unnecessary. Our tormentor would be out for hours. I was unsure if the chuckle that gurgled in my throat was nerves, bravado or just sheer insanity. The notion came to me just a few minutes before. His luxury food supermarket hall was in the vast fridge freezer located in one of the garages. I would watch fascinated as he made his selection. He didn't even hide the fact he kept all his culinary delights away from me under lock and key. Before leaving the garage with a decadent pudding or a bottle of fine wine under his arm, he always made a massive fuss of locking the garage door behind him, giving the handle a final hard tug, ensuring his treasures were safe within. I hated this fucking... theatrical show. I was sick and tired of eating bland essential carbs and mentally I began to fail. I could sense that I was going down, down, down into a place so dark, so remote that rarely anyone returned. I snapped out of my black thoughts and fury erupted within me. It took over my entire being. My anger knew no boundaries and I raged. Standing outside the locked garage door, a plan formulated in my head. I needed to eat. You fucking cruel bastard, I yelled at the door. I was so close to the food, yet so far. So near, yet so far. I yanked at the locked door, roaring like an angry bear. My sheer frustration and rage were overflowing. I was determined to get in. I pulled and pulled at that door handle, screaming and crying. I was like a woman possessed. I let all the push-down energy and fury erupt, and I continued my onslaught on that poor wooden door. Suddenly, the lock gave way, and the screws holding the handle in place fell to the door. Oh, fuck! My legs buckled. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I'd done it. I was in. I tiptoed into the warm, muggy, airless room and threw open the vast fridge door. My eyes grew wider and wider at the vast array of all my favourite eatables and drinks. My mouth began salivating in anticipation. There was such an abundance of food. Aladdin's cave fell to bursting. Now, decisions, decisions. What do I feast on first? I ripped open a packet of thinly sliced Scottish salmon. My empty belly growled. Today, I was no Epicurean. I was a guzzler at a Roman banquet. The delightful smell of the sea reached and tingled my nostrils. I devoured the contents in seconds. My taste buds were on point. Delicious. I opened the box of luxurious. Belgian chocolates next, biting at the cellophane wrapping greedily. These were my favourite. I didn't take the time to look at the beautifully embossed selection card. Each one of those little delicacies had my palate tingling. Unceremoniously, I stuffed three into my mouth. Nom, nom, nom. I had inhaled three, perhaps more, one after another after another. I had to come up for air. I laughed at the thought of anyone passing my garage door. Would they imagine all sorts of chaotic scenarios unfolding inside? The sounds were an unusual mix of exasperation and determination, the thuds, the rustling of packaging and the occasional faint squeals as I devoured more and more beautiful food items. If only they knew the anxiety behind those sounds, the conflict that raged inside me. I envisaged they had stopped, head tilted, curiously deciding whether to intervene. This wasn't a tragedy that needs saving. It was a Reckoning in my mind's eye, I almost heard the disbelieving gasps. Concerned, yet intrigued by the drama behind that garage door. Each sound echoed my determination, a testament to the resolve I was building within. They wouldn't hear despair again. Would they have heard the quiet assertion of a woman ready to reclaim her voice, power, space, and life? Or were the sounds coming from within simply sexual as my heavenly squeals of delight reverberated around the room? And I laughed as my vivid visual imagination was in overdrive. I felt my sense of empowerment rise. i had more pigging out to do delighted i spotted at the back of the top shelf another hidden stash my heart pumped with sheer excitement luscious triple chocolate cookies cried out my name eat me eat me you know you want to there would be no more meager offerings for me I felt so defiant, so exhilarated that my hunger transformed into power and resolve. I reclaimed my spirit. Was this my awakening? I reached up eagerly to claim these little gems. I crammed the sweet deliciousness into my mouth, scoffing one after another after another. I stuffed a few more biscuits into my pocket for later on. The finest serrano ham was my next victim. I wolfed down the entire package. Lastly, a block of magnificent Spanish Monchego cheese. Having no knife, I devoured huge chunks as if they were a juicy apple. The delectable aromas permeated the airless room. At last, I felt utterly satisfied. I suddenly felt very thirsty. I cracked open and glugged down A litre bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice that spilled all over my t-shirt. I burst out laughing. My mind returned to a clip from the movie nine and a half weeks. Kim Basinger and Mickey Rourke had an incredible sex scene. He sat her down in front of the fridge, ordered her to close her eyes and proceeded to force feed her food and drink. There was nothing erotic about my situation. I chuckled again at my distorted imagination. Like a rabid dog driven by my primal needs that had taken over all my senses. I rummaged about in all the shelves. The annoying hunger no longer enveloped me, opening one thing after another. Empty food packages strewn all over the greasy garage floor. I do believe I lost my mind that day, yet I felt so empowered. I suddenly thought, fuck, I was such a strong woman before. Or was that a dream? A fantasy? Was it always this way? I no longer had dignity. I had no pride nor self-respect. Where had my self-worth gone? I stole food from my captor's fridge. I didn't even clear up the mess or try to cover up what I'd done. I retreated to my room with my dogs to await my fate. The silence within the house enveloped me. It was my silence, and I owned it. It was comforting. My fire of rebellion was smouldering. Deep down inside, I was no longer that broken woman in the mirror. Now, I would fight. As a little girl, I always dreamed of having a hero in my life. I learned late on that humans are a disappointment and let you down. I decided to become my own superwoman. and with every ounce of energy I possessed I rose from the ashes. I found myself and life as I knew it ceased to exist. I finally realised all the pain, rage, humiliation, Torment and sadness I endured was my own making. I gave him the power to hurt me over and over again and again. I tolerated his behaviours. Eventually I concluded that I had titanic strength. The power down in the depth of my broken soul was to end us. I had to stop this insufferable torment. I forgave myself. He may have been the big monster who lived in all my dark night terrors, but he never got to destroy my dreams or my spirit. I realised that fear didn't stop us from dying. It prevented us from living. He created a more resilient, fiercer, stronger version in his quest to break and destroy me. He arrived home around one hour later. This was two hours earlier than usual. I heard his key in the front door. The sound resonated through the silent house as he slammed the car door. I began to shake. I remained in my room The dogs leapt onto the bed, one on either side of me, my little bodyguards protecting me. My heart continued to race. Each minute felt like an eternity. I held my breath and braced myself in preparation for the aggression that would surely follow. The tension in my bedroom was already thick with trepidation. I began to hyperventilate. Footsteps grew louder as he walked across the marble floor downstairs. I listened as he strode the through the house. He removed his shoes and threw his car keys onto the glass console table. Then I heard the fridge door open and I heard him rummage inside. Then the familiar whoosh as he opened his can of beer. Then silence. Deathly silence. I sat tight but still nothing. I knew he had seen what I had done. Yet he didn't confront me. It felt foreboding. Two hours ago, I was a warrior woman, empowered and brave. And now my heart sank fast. I couldn't relax. My fists clenched and unclenched. I felt nauseous. That was my reality. I couldn't shake off the image of my reflection in that mirror. The woman who searched for courage and strength. She craved her freedom. I shook my head in despair. Keep strong, keep strong, I tell my... silent room suddenly his voice boomed my name oh he demanded to know where i was are the dogs with you i took a deep breath be brave be confident you are woman you are woman i slowly walked down the stairs head held high for sake you aren't going to the gallows i laughed silently he was watching sport on the television Lost in his world of anger, scorn and contempt, as I passed him, he casually said, we need to go to the supermarket for supplies. Oh, and I need to fix that lock in the garage door. We're leaving in 10 minutes. Be ready. His words hung in the air like a bad smell. And just like that, we were good again. And he was chatting to me as usual. It was incredulous. I sighed a huge sigh of relief. My torture was over for now. I let the moment breathe. I grabbed my trainers. I didn't want to linger in indecision. With each step I took towards the car, I felt my new found bravado fade. We drove the seven minute journey without exchanging a word. I felt the weight of his ominous silence settle in. Another thing that occurred and was part of my punishment when I was in the doghouse, I wasn't allowed to go to the supermarket with him. He bought no food to share with me and I survived on food from the cupboards. Even when we had moments of normality, I wasn't ever allowed to go to the supermarket alone. You're way too irresponsible. I can't trust you with money, he would sneer. Had he always had that arrogant air of superiority? On reflection, yeah. I simply ignored the signs. That seemingly ordinary everyday task was yet another layer to my punishment. My life was void of choice and independence. My wants, needs and desires went unheard. His tight control over every aspect of my life left me suffocated, confused, helpless and neglected. My dreams were mere whispers of hope. Slowly and cautiously, I moved within this battlefield. He thwarted my ability to make minor decisions. He cut off my access to the outside world. Within the confines of my gilded cage, I imagined what it would be like, a life beyond this silence, where I wouldn't need to fret about provoking his angst. In those moments of stillness, I found clarity and peace. I had no thought about the anarchy in my home situation. When we arrived at the supermarket, he would stride ahead, not once stopping to ensure that I was behind him. When I eventually reached the store, he already had several items in the shopping cart. I stopped as the lingering sweet aroma wafting from the bakery counter attacked my nostrils. Move it, move it, I've already got the bread in the cart. I don't have all day, come on. Was he testing me, waiting for a reaction? I hesitated, a sense of something stirring within me. He marched up and down all the aisles. There was no meandering for me. Military-style tactics. Oh, I abhorred this regimented routine. I had to justify why I needed a shampoo, a moisturiser or dog treats. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the onslaught of his brutal scrutiny. Each item I placed in the cart was scanned and scrutinised, his dark eyes inspecting the aisles. He resembled a giant bird of prey. Observing his territory, his presence loomed over me. He was terrifying. I was dubious. I knew every wrong move would spark his wrath. As we approached the checkout, I gathered my courage for what would come next. Would he dictate what was essential and what was not? I silently screamed, you're no longer that lost woman in the mirror. I am woman, hear me roar. Favourite Helen Reddy anthem filled my mind. Thank you for listening. I'd love to hear from you. Email sleeplessandgrenada at yahoo.com Feedback is very welcome.