It was going to be a magical, romantic day. I’d even bought slinky festive underwear to ensure it went with a big bang.
I’d been living with my boyfriend for almost a year and was wildly obsessed with him.
When he suggested we spend Christmas Day alone, just the two of us, and have lunch at a swanky restaurant, I almost popped with excitement.
Our tree was sparkling proudly, photos of us kissing were decorated with glitter and glued onto baubles. And of course, Christmas stockings of various varieties had been purchased ready to be enjoyed. It was to be the day of dazzling days, filled with love and lust in equal measure and, like a child before Christmas, I counted the sleeps and woke up with butterflies as it approached.
On Christmas Eve, we popped in to drop off gifts to friends and family with side-ways glances and cheeky glints in our eyes, and waved goodbye with giddy smiles. Little did I know that I’d never be able to look them in the eye and smile again.
I fell asleep in his arms and woke up still locked in a love bubble; clammy and slightly claustrophobic, but I peeled myself away gently so I didn’t break the spell. I was spoilt with gifts and a smoked salmon breakfast in bed before it rocked and made its own Christmas tunes. I remember laying, stretched out under the twinkling Christmas tree, a rare ray of British sunshine streaming through the window and in that moment I felt contentment.
I wore a slinky dress and killer heels, rare for me but for the day of dazzling days, they were as essential as mistletoe. I’d bought them especially and spent more than I should, but reasoned I’d be spending hours in them what with the horizontal dessert that they’d be required for too. And with that, we were off to one of the most expensive restaurants in London.
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The Quicky
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I've been through this myself with somebody who was an amazingly kind and special human being - except when he was blind rotten drunk. Because he liked to drink to excess and then more and more excess, it became a recurring theme in our lives together. The sober him was funny, kind, caring, affectionate and considerate. The drunk him was tortured and torturing. For ten years I remained hoping against hope that my best friend and partner would come out of his denial but one night a hunting rifle came out and the bullet whizzed past my shoulder which also had our two year old daughter attached to it. The bullet went through the window and left a hole. Still, he would not believe that he was capable of doing such a thing. We ended soon after and I had nightmares for a long time after. I lost my best friend to alcohol addiction and became a sole mother. It was like cutting off my right hand doing it but he'd backed me into a corner. There was nothing else to be done except to stay and put myself and our daughter in more risk. Alcohol is discounted as being the most dangerous of factors in abusive relationships. Why this fact is downplayed I assume comes down to the money it generates in advertising and jobs. It is a reality though.
Yep, the pollies, papers and shock jocks fulminating about illegal drugs, when the drug that causes the most damage and heartache is the legally bought alcohol
I agree about the alcohol. As a young reporter, I was assigned to write a feature on domestic violence. At one point, I called a local women's service to ask about shelters, etc, in our area. On my editor's instructions, I also asked if they found that domestic abuse cases increased during holiday periods such as Christmas/New Year when alcohol consumption was likely to be higher than at other times.
The highly educated woman on the other end of the phone started shrieking at me, calling me ignorant and "how DARE you even suggest alcohol might have anything to do with it". She called me an idiot and told me not to quote anything she'd previously told me in our interview and to never call her again.
What she didn't know was that I grew up in a violent home. My father was extremely charming, intelligent and funny, an amazing carpenter and an all-around great dad... until the booze was opened. He quickly became some kind of dark monster whose repertoire consisted of filthy verbal abuse and physical violence, mostly directed at my mother. Mum ended up in hospital more than once. He thought nothing about drunk-driving us kids and one night abandoned my older sister and I in the CBD without any money to get home because a) he was already so shitfaced he'd crashed the car three times on the way there and b) he wanted to go to a bar and continue drinking. We were there for a school event and had to ask a teacher to help us get a lift home.
The monster my father was only existed when there was alcohol in his system.
I partly agree with the women's counsellor who yelled at me all those years ago: alcohol is rarely if ever the root cause of violence, but it IS often the trigger. It releases a lot of inner turmoil that is contained when the abuser is sober. More does need to be done in that department. Counselling a perpetrator will not work if substance abuse is not also treated.