The Prozac Year
Despite honestly believing from the bottom of my heart that the relationship was over, I still went back at least four more times. These make up periods would never last longer than three days and would take me right back to square one. I would feel miserable for weeks afterwards and my friends and family would suffer as I moped around, drinking myself into sleep and self harming regularly. I would hear nothing from him for maybe a month, and then I would either have a weak moment and text him, or I would check an old phone and sure enough there would be messages and missed calls from him.
The first time this happened was over the summer. I had had a brilliant time for the first few weeks. I had been down to visit my best friend jasmine in Canterbury and we had spent the days lying in out “pool” (our £10 Asda paddling pool). Jas and Dave had been brilliant and I had begun to text the guy from before, Jamie, just as a friend. We got on really well and it was nice to have someone to hear from each day.
I had a bad week around the middle of the summer, just after graduation week, and came home to find hundreds of missed calls and messages on my phone. I didn’t reply immediately. I didn’t want to go back to that. I tried to resist so much, but I wasn’t sleeping and becoming increasingly sad and disheartened. The messages were everything I wanted to hear. Justin promised to tell me the truth about everything, the cheating, and the other girls. And he promised he was sorry. The messages sounded so heartfelt, like he was truly sorry and meant every word.
It was literally a few days later when a huge thunder storm hit. It was five in the morning and so my first thought was to text Justin. He knew I was terrified of thunder and I almost wanted an excuse to contact him. He was wide awake and text back straight away. And our make up went from there. We were on the phone all that day and I told him I wanted the truth. Looking back, it is so obvious that I didn’t get the truth, despite his promise. He told a bunch of fairy stories coupled with words I had missed hearing. We arranged to meet a few days later and within a fortnight we were back together. It lasted at most a week.
Justin hated the fact that whilst we had been apart I have been doing my own thing like visiting Jas and Dave in Canterbury and going out in London with my elder brother. We argued almost straight away and I found myself permanently angered that he would question my lifestyle and what I had been doing when we had broken up because of his cheating. His remorse for the cheating disappeared very quickly and he went back to his arrogant horrid attitude. Needless to say I was misery and he grew bored. I knew he was cheating again. He would jump if his phone beeped and at night he would switch it off or put it safely in another room. Our ‘make-up’ was off before term was due to begin for my fourth year at university, and there had been several weeks of silence as I prepared to start back for a new term.
I knew that my feelings for Justin had begun to change. I was sad every time we made up, and of course, broke up. But it wasn’t the deep rooted, immobilising sadness that had plagued me before. I begun to see him through other people’s eyes, and the games that he played became recognisable. I also began to realise that maybe I wasn’t as unattractive and awful as he had told me I was. My confidence was still very low. But small changes began to take place in me and the world no longer seemed as black as it had previously.
I had organised living in a house with my some friends from the previous year and was looking forward to having a safety net of people near by. My intentions were to avoid Justin and the mess that had been my last life the last few years. So I began my fourth year at university with the intention of a fresh start. Within a month of the first term, Justin had found out my address and I had ended up in Hospital.
Commitment
He had been in the local nightclub and was obviously very drunk; all of his friends were there and was he all over his new girlfriend. I was surrounded by my own friends and actually did really well. I wouldn’t meet his eye and avoided him. He was taunting me and staring over, pointing with all his friends. If I went to the bar he would walk very closely past me and carefully bump my knee so I would stumble. Or he would push my shoulder so I would fall into the person in front of me. My friends were getting angry with him, but I have to say, I felt alright about what was happening. It simply struck me as sad.
There he was, a guy surrounded by his brand new girlfriend and best friends having a night out, and all he could do was stare over and try and intimidate me. It occurred to me that for all his friends and girlfriend, he wasn’t particularly happy. I knew there and then that Justin had rebounded into a new relationship in order to find a new person to control and I found myself thinking that I was just glad that person was no longer me.
As the night wore, the drinks flowed and it became obvious that Justin was incredibly drunk. At one point my friends and I were on the dance floor and he came and stood in front of me and started sobbing. Big wracking sobs, he could barely stand and I didn’t know what to do. My friends were trying to drag me away but I felt a strange sense of loyalty. I couldn’t leave him like that. I tried to get his friends to help him, to take him off the dance floor. The bouncers were being to circle and I didn’t want him to suddenly kick off and start a fight. His friends looked at me like I was mad when I told them to take him home. They told me he was my problem and I was to deal with him. He was by this point clinging on to my arm and crying. His girlfriend had come along and literally pulled him by the arms and tried to drag him away from me. He had just turned to her and said “Fuck off”.
I was drunk and I didn’t want to leave him. I walked him out of the club and my friend Vandna was with me. She was very drunk too and we started to walk towards the footpath to go home, at this point I had left Justin on a wall. I realised he was following us. Before I knew it he had started on a guy that we walked past and said hi to. It was our friends cousin, we knew him from a long time ago. Justin began to shove the guy; I think at this point Vandna tried to get me away. We ran to her car which she had previously decided she was too drunk to drive and got in it. Justin again followed us and took Vandna to one side. He persuaded her that there was no way that she could drive home and he could drive so would get us back safely. By this point, to our very drunk ears, the idea of getting home quickly, without Vandna getting caught drink driving, and with no more fights was very appealing. We were too tired, too stupid and too drunk to think it through or care. Justin did in fact drive us home safely.
When we got back to mine, the crying mess that had been clinging to my arm suddenly changed into a character I knew and recognised. Justin began to taunt me about his new girlfriend. I was told she was far better in bed than me, that I was disgusting. That I was a slag and he was glad he was no longer with me. He began to go for my throat to strangle me, pinning down my arms. I remember kicking him as hard as possible, screaming my head off. Any strength I had managed to find was sapped and I found myself that helpless victim I seemed to always turn into when he was around. I was crying uncontrollably and grabbing razor blades from my drawer. I just remember slashing my wrists as hard and deep and possible. Justin was grabbing at the razor blades telling me I was a loony and a crazy person. Which, ironically, at that moment in time, I was. I remember seeing my pill box in the floor and swallowing anything I could get my hands on. Sleeping pills, pain killers, all washed down with the bottle vodka one of the girls had left in my room earlier. After that I remember very little. Something hit me round the face, either a fist, or an object was hurled at me, and then everything goes black. My friends told me later that campus security had turned up twenty minutes later and then an ambulance. I have no recollection of being carried off in the ambulance. I only know I woke up in hospital on a drip the next day.
The nurse that initially dealt with me was lovely. She didn’t ask any questions, she just hugged me. I was told a man, a consultant, at the hospital was coming to speak to me, and another lady began going through a questionnaire with me, to assess the ‘level’ of my depression. By the end of the questionnaire I was told that unless I bucked up my ideas I would be placed in a special ward for people with social problems. In other words, I would be committed. I just remember my reaction was to shrug. If being committed stopped me hurting myself and kept Justin away, what could be the harm?
My friends came to the hospital with fresh clothes, as mine were covered in blood. The original nurse that had been so kind told me that actually the consultant wasn’t available to look at me and so I was being sent home. She quietly took me to the side and advised that I got help myself. She suggested that I spoke to the university doctors and got some counselling. My wrists were bandaged up and my friends helped me to the car. I felt ill for days and couldn’t keep anything down
“Help”
Through the university medical centre I was put in touch with a counsellor. Her name was Polly and she was the head of the Counselling department. In my first meeting with her, I was told that the sessions were not to be about the last year or other people aka Justin, but instead she wanted to know about my childhood. She said that was more often than not the cause of problems. She explained that because she was voluntary, I was only allowed five sessions and my first piece of homework was top go home and think of my earliest few memories.
I can remember walking home from that session feeling really low. Polly did not get me, and I felt she was reading from a big manual and wanted me explained, wrapped up and fixed in 5 hours.
I had three more sessions with her. In was in my last session that I was told that I was too busy being a victim, and had no desire to help myself. Polly told me that she couldn’t help me and doubted that anyone would be able to. I have never felt so low before. It was bad enough that now, every time I went out, Justin would be there with either his girlfriend or friends. I was getting evil looks; he would constantly knock in to me on purpose or flaunt his new relationship. His friends would barge past me, or whisper to each other in loud voices that I was the psycho ex girlfriend. I was in hell. I began to drink to a lot, more often than not when I was alone. The girls I was living with, whilst they were sweet and kind, had no idea what hell I was going through and with Polly’s words echoing my every move I played up to the role she had cast me as, The Victim.
Happy Pills
It was around November, during my fourth year at university that I visited my local GP and was prescribed the anti depressant fluoxetine, also known as Prozac. The side effects began to take effect after a few weeks. I lost my appetite again, the weight fell of my already very thin frame. I developed the worst insomnia I had yet experienced. I felt sick most days and I began to experience anxiety and paranoia. My stomach felt like it was constantly in knots and I would get butterflies if I had to leave my house or speak on the phone. Again, I became sensitive to loud noises.
When I went out with my friends, I would still drink considerable amounts and found that I began to see Justin everywhere I went. I felt he was haunting me. I would smell his aftershave and see T-shirts he owned on every man I passed. I was jumpy and on edge, believing him to be around every corner. I would always leave nights out early, wanting to just be alone. I lost almost common decency to my friends; I would never tell them that I was going. I would simply walk off into the night. More often than not I would go and sit by myself on a quiet bench late at night. I couldn’t even tell you what I thought about or did. I would simply sit there and stare into space. I would turn my phone off. Sometimes I would call home, wanting to speak to my mum, yet at the same time, I didn’t know what to say. I could feel huge amounts of anger inside me, but I couldn’t express them or tell anyone how I felt. I felt like screaming my lungs off and yet at the same time I felt like I was in a big mass of bubble wrap and didn’t want to let anyone close to me. I wanted to be hugged and yet I wanted to kill everyone around me. And the worst part was these were only my thoughts. I didn’t have the energy to act on them, or the words to explain how I felt.
To everyone around me, I looked permanently vacant. My friends became good at recognising what they called my “dead” eyes. This would mean I was likely to disappear soon. When I look back at pictures of me in this time, I would have a smile on my face, and yet my eyes were lifeless. I desperately wanted to give up university and go home, but like a moth to a flame, I found I was unable to just walk away. I was scared that by going home, I would still be unhappy. It’s like any happiness that had been inside of me had been extinguished and if I left university, I would have nothing.
My Telephone Box
I was finally taken off the Prozac after a night my elder brother came down to visit. It was just before we broke up for the Christmas holidays and we wanted a big night out to celebrate. Everything was fine; I had a fabulous new outfit and amazing new shoes. I honestly thought I would be fine. I had had no funny turns for a few weeks and I was settling in a pattern. My sleep had now regulated itself to the other extreme, and I was getting a minimum of 15 hours a day. My relief at finally being able to sleep was short lived as the excess of sleep made me as tired as having had none.
My friends, my brother and I went to our local nightclub. The mood was good, everyone was jubilant and happy and I seemed to feel ok. As the night wore on, Justin walked into the club with his friends. He saw me also instantly. I avoided him. Kept my head down and stuck close to my friends. As the night wore on, I began to feel really strange. I had something building inside me. It was like a deep rage growing. Not against anyone or thing. Just a blackness that seemed to be enveloping me. All I knew was that I was needed to get away from everyone. I remember walking out the club, walking in the opposite direction to my house. Not wanting anyone around.
The problem was, my friends, with my elder brother down and visiting me, suddenly felt an overriding desire to look after me and take me home. Whilst they had the best intentions possible, it was the last thing I wanted or needed. I can remember seeing them coming after me, down a big hill, and I just knew I needed to get away from them. Running after them was Justin. He had followed them out of the nightclub and was now coming after me. I could hear him calling me, telling my friends he was going to look after me. My instincts told me to run faster. At one point, security guards employed by the university to make sure that the students got home safely tried to grab me and told me to calm down. I remember pushing them away and turning down a funny path that led into the woods. I lost everyone chasing me, and for the next hour or so I just kept walking. I ended up on the other side of Canterbury. I found a telephone box and simply sat in it, relieved to be out of the cold wind and on my own. One of the windows in the telephone was smashed and my feet were cut to shreds from glass. My friends, who had gone home and got their cars eventually found me and called an ambulance. I had by now cut my hands, my feet and my legs. I was covered in blood and turning blue from the cold. It took the ambulance men over an hour to cajole me out of that phone box. When my brother came near me, I screamed so much and tried to attack him. My friends got no better reaction. I think it was finally numb exhaustion that let anyone near me.
It was after this I was referred back to my GP, who suggested I come off the pills gradually over the next few months. I was also put in touch with Helen, who became what I can only describe as my guardian angel. She was a mental health worker working for a year at the university clinic and from my first session with her, I knew she understood me. I told her I was angry, I explained about the self harming and everything about Justin. She didn’t judge me. She just listened and helped me find some perspective.
My Perspective
I have seen films and read the books. If a guy hits you, you leave. He will do it again. But when you are in that situation it is very different. I questioned my sanity for two years. I believed that I was ugly and pathetic. Despite many doctors’ appointment and counselling I still to this day have times when I question whether it is all in my head.
My friends, my family, even strangers you see walking around on campus appear to be perfect. It seemed like I was the only one to be going through this. I couldn’t tell my friends what was happening. I didn’t want pity or the righteous opinions. It’s not that simple. For last four years Justin lived within ten minutes of me. I had smashed eight phones to avoid speaking to him. I hid at friend’s house and even tried to give up university. And yet it seemed I couldn’t get away. Through endless mind games and control techniques, Justin had me pleading for him to come back regardless of what he had done.
I was the victim of a controlling, possessive, violent man who believed the words “I Love You” would make everything right. Where I come from, and what I grew up believing, was that if you loved someone, you did not hurt them. And if someone was weaker than yourself, you protected them. Instead I was relentlessly hurt by the one person who swore he loved me the most in the world. It had never occurred to me that people like this could exist. Despite previous experiences, I had put my full love and faith in Justin and was almost unable to process that I was again that worthless fourteen year old being hurt and let down. I now find myself questioning every act of kindness shown to me. I no longer believe in the happy-ever-after fairytale.
My friends this year have been brilliant. I no longer see what happened in my relationship with Justin as my fault. I am trying to simply deal with the outcome. I became frightened of going home, and yet scared to stay at university. I become swamped with memories. I begin to doubt my ability to live without Justin and I begin to believe the names and hurtful things he spent nearly two years instilling in me on daily basis. I still have moments when I distrust my friends. I have attacked my brothers on two occasions now. It can take simply the smell of certain aftershave or someone grabbing me too harshly and I am off reaching for the razor blade or lashing out at everyone who I know cares for me. I am even scared if a guy stares intently at me, for it is a reminder of Justin’s eyes when I knew his temper was at boiling point.
I spent New Years Eve attacking my parents. I had been at a party with friends and there was a couple there I vaguely knew. The guy was being nasty to his girlfriend, he was drunk and accusing her off flirting. Whether she was, I don’t know. By this point, I had flipped and attacked my friend. I had called my mum and then proceeded to attack her and my dad in an attempt to get away from them and be by myself. It eventually took my entire dad’s strength to physically restrain me and get me home, whilst I screamed every obscenity I know at him.
I don’t pretend to know why this happens. I can certainly say that prior to Justin this never happened. I could barely stand to watch a vaguely violent film let alone be a victim to someone’s violent temper. With the help of Helen I am beginning to come to terms with what happened, but I have so far to go. Even as I write this, I remember more things that happened. I think that my first experiences with Wayne and Rob and the feeling of being ashamed and feeling worthless made me adamant that I would make it work with Justin. My relationship with Og had restored some of my faith in men, but it now seems clear that perhaps the things that happened in my life when I was a young teenager affected my perception on what was acceptable. I hate to describe myself as a victim and I hate to think of myself that way, but I think that I can safely say the experiences I have had with men must have at some point left me weaker and more susceptible to intimidation. I was determined that Justin wasn’t another man to hurt me, yet he hurt me the most.
I cannot finish my year at university. I have tried, perhaps not as hard as I could have done, but I attempted it. I hate the place now. And yet I found myself unable to go home either. I had met a guy who fell in hate with me; because I now know that it wasn’t love. I fell prey to older guys who saw me as an easy and gullible target to get what they wanted.
I was determined to move on and learn to live with what happened, learn to believe in myself again, and most importantly to love myself again. I knew I deserved to be happy. I deserved someone to love the me that I love. To not control me, or change me or use me. I don’t want to lose my faith in men, but I don’t want to be hurt again. I find myself cautious with new men, but I am still looking for real love. I hope that one day I can find someone out there that I can truly fall in love with for the right reasons and become genuinely happy with myself and my life. And if I don’t… I have the most amazing set of friends who care for me and love me. I have a fantastic family who love me, no matter what. They support my every decision, my every mistake. And I have survived this far. Anything is possible.
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