When I first met him he was very charming. First came the isolation from friends and family. Then came the control. Then the belittling and gaslighting. Last came physical violence.

By the end of our relationship I was not allowed to eat dinners, not allowed to sleep more than a few hours a night, not allowed to shower or bathe for more than a few minutes. I’d had blood flicked deliberately across my face, he’d threatened to throttle me if I cleared my throat, he’d used his forearm against the side of my head to body slam me into a wall and pointed a loaded rifle at me and threatened to blow my leg off.

When I finally managed to gather together what was left of myself and leave him, I reported the abuse to the police. The first time I tried, the policeman was dismissive. “So, he didn’t actually assault you?”. Yes he did. “No, I mean, you weren’t actually hurt.” I was bruised, terrified and traumatised. Isn’t that hurt enough?

The second time I reported it I went to a different station and the policeman took the complaint seriously. He was charged with 11 offences. He paid the best criminal barrister in the city $50,000. I was cross examined for 6 hours. The prosecutor did her best, but she was clearly unfamiliar with the facts, didn’t ask the questions she should have, didn’t put the material in front of the judge. Why not? I assume because she was overworked. I know that she didn’t put one tenth of the hours into the matter that his lawyers did. How could she? She does hundreds of these cases every year.

He was found not guilty and the AVO was dropped. It is my understanding that his firearms were returned to him.

The legal system was as traumatic for me as the abuse. It put my recovery back months.

I refuse to be silenced. I know what he did. I was there. The judge was not.

I am a survivor.