She would leave money on the table. It made me feel cheap that she would never give it to me. Said it was for the shopping. I had to make it stretch, get everything on her list, no excuses. Sometimes, though, it wasn’t enough, and I’d have to beg or steal to get everything. Couldn’t go back without it all, it made her mad. I tried to use it once to make a break for it, but she tracked me down. There was no escape.

Money

She would leave money on the table. Never handed it to me, never even acknowledged it. Just left it there like a reminder. Like proof of what little control I had.

It made me feel cheap. Like I wasn’t even worth the effort of a conversation.

Said it was for the shopping.

I had to make it stretch, get everything on her list, no excuses.

There was never any extra. Never enough to buy myself anything—not a coffee, not a snack, not even a bar of soap if we ran out. Every penny had a purpose, and if I got the numbers wrong, I paid for it in other ways.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t enough, and I’d have to beg or steal to get everything.

Couldn’t go back without it all. That made her mad.

Once, I tried explaining. Said the prices had gone up, that I couldn’t get everything with what she gave me. She just looked at me, eyes cold, and said, “Figure it out.”

So I did.

Stole fruit from market stalls, slipped tins into my coat pocket when no one was looking. Begged strangers for change, lying through my teeth about forgetting my wallet.

And she never asked how I managed it. Never cared, as long as I walked through the door with everything on her list.

But I had an idea.

One day, I didn’t go shopping.

I took the money and ran. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t care. I just needed out. I bought a train ticket—one way, anywhere. For the first time in years, I felt like I had a choice.

But she tracked me down.

I don’t know how. Maybe she had people watching. Maybe she just knew me too well.

There was no escape.

She made sure of that.

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UNSEEN ECHOES - Objects of Domestic Abuse | Photography Project & Exhibition

At first, it was just a bit of harmless fun, just a game we played.

But he started leaving for longer periods. He would go to the pub. I was scared. I dreaded his return and what he might do. I didn’t know what state he would be in.

Sometimes he would bring other men home. To use me for fun or to pay off his debts. I would lay there. I couldn’t run away.

I wanted it to stop. I wanted to die.

He was a control freak. He made schedules for everything, even when I could eat or sleep. I was too scared to do anything differently.

I didn’t have the freedom to choose for myself.

He always come with me to shops, never help, just follow me. He make sure I don’t stop to talk to anyone.

After shop, he watch me struggle with bags, tell me hurry up for TV.

It feel like I can’t do anything without him watching.

He would put sleeping powder in my drink. I’d wake up confused, not knowing what happened or where I was. Sometimes, I’d also feel pain, you know, down there. Maybe it was a good thing in a way, because I wouldn’t remember what he did.

But it still left me feeling violated and scared.

I painted the bathroom mirror with black paint. I just couldn’t face looking at myself anymore. He kept saying I was ugly every day. Not just once. Every time he looked at me he said it. I heard it so much I believed it. I couldn’t go out. I couldn’t even look at myself.

He would put a chair in the kitchen and make me sit on it. If I refused, he would push me down and tie me to it.

He would make me tell him all the things I had done wrong that day. Then he would hit me for them.

If I couldn’t think of anything, he would call me a liar and lock me in there until I thought of something. I had to think of something even though I knew he was going to hit me.

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