Not sure if this is the right sub for this but I expect a more compassionate welcome and less trolls here than anywhere else.

As it is probably the case for many, certain current events in the news have stirred old memories. I've carried these for 13 years. I'll maybe return to proof read and reformat this later but it's like 2am and I just want to get it off my chest. Trigger Warning: description of suicide attempt. 

For me it started within the first week of dating her. Let's call her "Sophie".

Sophie was my first girlfriend and I had just lost my virginity with her. She was slightly older and was much more experienced. She acted as if she were an expert in relationships and in how couples should act. Any sign of lack of affection from me was a criminal offence.

We met at a bar where we both worked while at university.

Within the first week her jealousy of an attractive coworker almost resulted in me breaking up with her, but I was too inexperienced to see the red flags for what they were and I didn't follow through with it. I forgave her for the argument she caused.

Every argument was a horrible experience. Over the top, intense, angry and cruel. Her tongue lashed with venom every time. She looked down on me like I was a piece of dirt under her shoe. I felt like a coward.

She was so strong and opinionated, I was always in the wrong and never good enough.

We nearly broke up again only two weeks or so after we got together. This time due to another one of my many failings. We had been out for a group lunch with workmates and she had ordered a burger which was served with a stick of rosemary poked through the bun. She didn't like rosemary and I was an asshole for not giving her my burger. I wasn't allowed to enjoy what I had ordered. 

Another time I was a complete asshole was when we walked 3 minutes around the corner from our flat to pick up dinner. It started to rain. We were both wearing jackets, only mine was waterproof and hers wasn't. It was my fault she wore inappropriate clothing. I got it in the neck when we got home for not offering up my jacket. It was a 3 minute dash home and she survived, but any hope for an enjoyable evening did not. This was several months into our relationship.

Rewinding back to the earlier days. I wasn't allowed to look at or ask about other girls. We had bumped into her flatmate coming home from a night out. I wanted to make an effort to seem interested in her friends so had asked where she had been. She told me. I didn't particularly care, it was just small talk. The second the bedroom door was closed behind me I received the order: "don't ask questions about hot girls". She was deadly serious.

I lost count of the times she descended into a jealous rage. Several times it would be in relation to my sister's friend who I had kissed an entire year before even meeting Sophie. A girl I literally had no interest in and who I had barely any interaction with.

One evening we were out with friends and she had been repeatedly making "your mum" jokes. Eventually I responded by joking "enough of the Anne jokes". My mum's name is Anne. Sophie knew my mum's name was Anne, but she was blinded by jealousy. "Who the fuck is Anne?!" she demanded to know. I wasn't even allowed to mention another female's name. 

After we moved in together, I stopped seeing my friends socially. Any time I had occasion to see them, Sophie would act all sad and ask if there would be any girls there. I'd end up staying in. 

One night I was really excited to meet my friends for the university boxing club annual fight night. They were always a great show. My best friend was coming at my request, a friend I hadn't seen in months as he had been in the States. Another friend of mine was coming through from out of town, again at my request. However, because there was going to be ring girls and a dance show at half time, I wasn't allowed to go. A night of enjoyment was replaced with being shouted at and called names. I was becoming a recluse, yet there was no decrease in the amount of time Sophie would see her friends.

I grew to keep my head down when we walked in public. Otherwise, Sophie would look at me and trace my line of sight to ensure I wasn't "checking out hot girls". I was always nervous to speak to Sophie's friends when they were around. One day we went to a gig in the city. It was a small venue with maybe a dozen or two in the croud. We sat to the side of the dance floor to watch the band. I was immediately uncomfortable when I realised the lead singer was an attractive female. So I spent the entire gig pretending to watch the people on the dance floor instead - conscious the entire time not to be seen to be looking at the girl on stage. Once we got home I was accused of looking at hot girls on the dance floor. I couldn't win. 

The first time I met her family I was told to stop looking at her brother's wife. I was simply observing her dish up the meal as we sat at the table.

On my 21st birthday we were out with a large party of both of our friends. This was the one and only time I had been out in months. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. That was until Sophie leaned in to my ear, yelling over the music "I know you're shagging your sister. I see the way you look at her. You're fucking rubbing her!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I didn't say a word, I couldn't process thought. I simply got up and raced out of the club. I ran a few streets away and found a dark alleyway where I sat down on the ground and cried my eyes out. I stayed there for what felt like hours, ignoring all calls and messages from concerned friends and family.

I couldn't feel comfortable being in the same room as my own sister from that point onwards.

I was trapped. We had had a baby together. We were engaged to be married as I felt I had no choice. I loved being a dad and our daughter was the world to me. I was stuck with her mum whether I liked it or not. 

Moving rooms to escape the screaming, being followed. Pleading to be left alone. Moving rooms again. Your silence and unwillingness to engage the argument causing an escalation of rage and further torrent of abuse against you. You start being pushed around. Objects fly in your direction. Doorways get blocked. You just want to get out of that trapped space and to be left alone. After so many months that pressure cooker environment becomes unbearable and you find yourself running away into the woods where you stay late into the night. You find yourself strung up to a tree branch because you had the presence of mind to take a dressing gown cord with you before you pushed past and out of the doorway. Stepping off the log is all it takes. But you don't. You're freezing cold. The Jack Daniels is wearing off. Your cut up forearm stings. You're tired. You just want to be tucked up in bed. So you meekly return home, creeping quietly like a nervous teenager who has stayed out late partying. In the morning she apologises for the way she treated you, again. She says nice things and you feel it's not that bad, forget about it. Then she tells you that the engagement ring you threw away as you disappeared up the street the night before is lost. You feel bad. It was expensive. You go out searching for it. She hovers behind watching. You apologise. She forgives you and reveals that she had it all along. Phew. That's a relief. You're friends again. You put the ring back on. It's not so bad. Until the cycle starts again within 24 hours. The insults get thrown at you again. She can't push you around since you're holding your 9 month old baby, so she does the only thing she can to vent her frustration and snatches your glasses off your face and that hurts. The name calling hurts too. You feel like a small defenceless school boy cornered by your tormentor, your weaknesses targeted. She ridicules your self harming and tells you to "do it properly next time". When you do push her off she yells out and falls across the baby's bouncer in comedic fashion, like a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tubeman. When her mum rushes downstairs asking about the commotion she proudly exclaims "he's abusing me!" Later when you've forgiven her again she laughs about how she over-exaggerated her fall for dramatic effect.

The next time you return to the woods in the dead of night, you tie your hands behind your back with a hoodie lace. You've passed the lace through the belt loop in your jeans to prevent you from being able to reach up and loosen your noose. This time you've made a second loop at the other end of the cord so you can use your foot to apply the tightening force. It almost works, however, you bend like a contortionist when your brain screams for oxygen. You manage to save your life by your fingertips and no more. 

You finally do walk away from the relationship, but not into the woods. Then you discover this is only the beginning. You haven't seen your baby in 10 weeks because she has effectively been kidnapped and you're denied access. You cry every single day. Your heart has been ripped out. You believe your sweet, innocent baby won't remember who you are. You are forced to struggle through court for over two years in an attempt to maintain your relationship with your daughter. You're fought against every step of the way. You're accused of horrendous things that make you choke to repeat, all to stop you from being allowed to be a father. The family court experience is a whole other rant in itself. Justice finally provails though.

Thirteen years later and I haven't forgotten. It still hurts deep down inside. 

Imagine watching your partner, who was on the verge of killing himself the night before, hunt up and down the street for a ring that was hidden in your pocket - seeing his remorse for throwing it away being more important than supporting his mental health. Imagine telling someone who you say you love, to "do it properly next time".

Sorry for venting, I don't speak of this much. It just frustrates me how she got away with it all and came out smelling like roses. She had a degree in psychology and went on to become a teacher of religious and moral education, if you can believe that. It's unbelievable.