Why I believe some women ADDICTED to abusive men

From a woman once trapped in a violent marriage, a chilling insight into why she wouldn’t leave

To Be honest, I knew my ex was probably damaged within weeks of meeting him. the alarm bells were screeching. Could I hear them? of course! Did I listen to them? No.

I was 18, an ambitious young actress, when I met Ben at a party. A little older than me, he was already a successful actor. he looked like a model; tall, dark and handsome.

I first noticed him standing alone in the corner of the room, nursing a drink in his hand. he looked my way, with his baby blue eyes.

there was something so innocent about him, so vulnerable. I took a deep breath, walked over and said ‘hello’.

the sexual chemistry was stratospheric. ‘he’s the one,’ I thought. I felt winded, such was the intensity of the connection we had.

We talked and laughed for hours. Although the room was full of gorgeous models and actresses, his attention was only on me. When it was time to go, he promised to call. I went home on a high.

A few weeks went by and I waited, without any word. In the end I couldn’t bear it, I phoned him. he was just as charming. his honesty appealed to me. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I want to take you out, but I was too embarrassed to tell you I’m skint,’ he confessed. he was between acting jobs and had little money. ‘Don’t worry’, I said. ‘I’ll pay.’

that evening we went to a popular bar where a band was playing. I noticed girls clocking him as he entered the room but, again, I had his undivided attention. It was intoxicating. he talked about our future lives together, painting a beautiful picture of our big house filled with lots of babies.

For a few weeks we saw each other every day, spending most of the time at my place, having lots of great sex. he told me I was what he’d been looking for all his life. he spoke of marriage and a long, happy life together.

then: nothing. he went home to get some clothes, picked a fight over something I didn’t understand and slammed down the phone. I didn’t hear from him for weeks.

When he reappeared, it was like nothing had happened. he brought flowers and love-bombed me again with how much he needed someone like me in his life. Perhaps a more secure girl would have walked away from this hot and cold tap right there and then. But I was already too hooked on a drug that felt as powerful as any opiate.

It’s taken me decades to understand why I didn’t split up with him at this point. Instead, ours would be a whirlwind four-and-ahalf year relationship that descended into a dysfunctional and destructive vortex.

It did lead to marriage and a baby. But, ultimately, it almost cost me my life when, years later, he strangled me. It sounds crazy, I know, but even after that, I went back to him.

I now see that almost from the start an unhealthy addiction kicked in. An addiction to someone who was unavailable to me. I was chasing the original high I got from that charismatic, remorseful, attentive side.

If I’d admitted this relationship was no good for me, I would have lost what I needed to feel good again.

I’m not alone in this. on various online forums, others — men and women — have described having had the same addictive experience that’s part of being in an abusive relationship.

Although I appeared confident and was starting to build a successful career, I was insecure inside. I’d grown up in a comfortable middle class world of expensive schools and holidays abroad and my parents were happily married, but I suffered from innate low self-esteem.

Ben’s words were what I needed to hear. I thought I’d found what I’d been looking for, someone to love me and grow o ld with me.

Although the hints were there that this relationship was volatile, I batted the truth away. In my mind, all he needed was me to rescue him. And that made me feel wanted and good.

An abusive partner operates as an emotional bait and switch. the romantic, wonderful person hooks and reels you in. then bam! A lurch to this moodier side.

But no sooner do you get a glimpse of that, than it switches back and it’s all wine and roses once more. So it’s easy to get confused.

the bad behaviour is explained away. they had a ‘difficult past’ or a ‘traumatic childhood’. Past partners cheated on them. When it’s still early days, why wouldn’t you believe them, feel sorry for them?

then you’re told their outbursts are about something you’ve done. In my case I might have been flirting outrageously with a man (whom I’d barely said one word to). So you change your behaviour to avoid upsetting your partner.

I started to see less of my friends who Ben implied would ‘be a bad influence on me’. I started wearing more conservative clothes, those he wouldn’t deem ‘slutty’. You do anything to keep the peace.

But no matter what you try, nothing works. they find another reason to blame you for their anger.

then the first signs of physical abuse may appear. A push or a shove that comes out of the blue. But the thought of ending it and never seeing your partner again terrifies you even more than how they are treating you.

You earlier ignored the warning signs, now you deny the reality of the abuse.

Denial is aided by the fact their remorse is equal to the scale of any attack, verbal or physical. they sob, bring you flowers or chocolates to make up for it, vow to never do it again. Ben kept telling me he ‘needed my help more than ever to change’, which was music to my ears.

the highs and lows of abuse, followed by remorse, become a vicious cycle. After each dreadful low, you are desperate for a ‘fix’ to get that high again.

Slowly, it wears you down. You start to feel worthless, almost deserving of their anger.

Deep down I did feel shame. But I, like most others I’ve talked to, was good at covering most of it up. And in those days domestic disputes were seen as a private matter.

If I’m honest, my behaviour deteriorated, too, and I’m not proud of it. Whenever Ben pushed me away, the more clingy I became. When the cycle returned us to a calmer phase, I grabbed the opportunity to try to turn him into the man I wanted him to be.

When I got pregnant, Ben was elated. I thought: ‘this is what he needs to make him happy, this is what will make things work out all right.’ So, I agreed to marry him.

Four months later, he tried to kill me.

It happened after a row about nappies, of all things. I was frustrated with him being out of work. he needed to take more responsibility now we were to have a baby.

With a torrent of verbal abuse he started smashing everything in sight. A lamp shattered, glass spread across the floor. then he turned on me.

I was just 22 years old and >>