Don’t Boil the Beans!

By K I. Greenwood

This story was written by someone who thought their marriage stood a chance, although from the start, it showed all the warning signs that their relationship was simply not meant to be. She looks back now and thinks how naïve and how vulnerable she was, and at times she is still embarrassed to think that her frustrated reactions just fuelled her anger and hurt even more. But initially she really did think that she could make her relationship with her husband, and her life, work out

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadOnTime BV
• Release date: Jun 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781742840871

Book preview

DON’T BOIL THE BEANS!

BY

K. I. GREENWOOD

Smashwords Edition

Don’t Boil The Beans!

Copyright © 2011 K. I. Greenwood

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN: 978-1-742840-87-1 (pbk.)

Published by Book Pal

www.bookpal.com.au

CONTENTS

Introduction

Pre-emigration

Australia

2004

2005

2006

The End

INTRODUCTION

This story was written by someone who thought their marriage stood a chance, although from the start, it showed all the warning signs that their relationship was simply not meant to be. She looks back now and thinks how naïve and how vulnerable she was, and at times she is still embarrassed to think that her frustrated reactions just fuelled her anger and hurt even more. But initially she really did think that she could make her relationship with her husband, and her life, work out.

Since then she has learned better how to communicate. She has learned to appreciate how different people are wired, how different personalities act and react, and can now also see that her husband really was more complex than she ever imagined. She has also spent time on personal development, and has read countless books (such as The Five Love Languages and other books on psychology and healing) which have been invaluable. At the time things overwhelmed her and she couldn’t always see the picture as it really was. She also acknowledges that some people simply press the wrong buttons. Usually she is a pretty calm and easy going person, though admits she has a few off (growly) moments, and can be impatient and get frustrated at times, but overall she dislikes confrontation and always looks for the simple, easy, quiet way of life. She is a positive, decent, compassionate and caring human being, who always tries to see the good in people; yet was made to feel like an out of control, unloved and worthless individual for a long time.

She now gives thanks for the harmony in her world. She treasures her sanity, her quiet times, and ultimately, her peace. She loves and appreciates those who have helped her along the way; through her often tumultuous, and at times scary, rollercoaster of a ride. At times she really thought she was going mad; yet had the resolve to dig deep, to have courage, and to have faith.

Special thanks goes to her beloved counsellor. She started seeing her with aim to try and save a marriage, but then it changed to trying to save herself. Her counsellor became a rock; a life coach; and a great mentor to help her strive to always better herself, and to understand as much as she could about the psychology of people. Of life. And thanks to her best friends (both here and in England), who helped her more than they’ll ever know.

She is grateful to this day for seeing the sunshine after all those clouds.

I’m a protector.

So why do I feel like I want to kill someone?

I’m a protector; I preserve life.

But the feeling is still there.

Do I really mean I want to kill someone? Or do people just say that in the heat of the moment?

Maybe you should work that one out for yourself.

This is my story.

I’m a protector.

I look around me, at photos I have strewn around my lounge. In these pictures I have my arms around people in loving embraces. My arms are around my nieces; protecting, nurturing them. Pictures of them at varying ages; always the same; I am showering them with love. Unconditional love.

My arms are around children I met on my travels (I wonder whatever happened to them?), showering them with all I could offer them at the time. Love. I love giving, and I love nurturing; it’s who, and what, I am.

So why do I feel like I do?

My arms always are around friends, family, children, strangers, animals.

I give. I always have.

But why?

I’m a protector.

Or maybe I’m not. Am I mad? Maybe I am. Read my story, and maybe you’ll find it’s me that’s crazy after all. Who knows? Maybe I just like to think I’m a good person. Maybe I really am insane, and as irrational as I was made to think I was.

I have always been quiet, unsure, insecure. But suddenly I have confidence. I want people to hear me. Hear my voice. But why would I think people want to hear me? Hear my story?

I want people to know that you can change. Circumstance can change; that life doesn’t have to always be sad and bad. You can believe in yourself. You don’t have to justify your existence; you can just be yourself. Love yourself, be true to yourself, and don’t let anyone put you down. You are worthy and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

I’m a protector.

Yet, I didn’t know how to protect myself.

I have had a huge chunk of my life taken from me. Or that’s how it felt at the time.

I never used to understand, or listen to, my own feelings; I wasn’t allowed to. But now I do and I now know that I am allowed to feel happy or sad; feel angry or at peace; and that I can feel whatever I want to, and I don’t have to justify to anyone why I feel the way I do.

Right now? I feel restful in my soul, yet restless at the same time, as I feel I have a lot to share and I feel frustrated that I can’t get words down quick enough. I feel relieved I can now finally put everything down that’s been in my head, or scribbled in notebooks, for the last few years. I feel privileged to be able to think clearly and write from my heart. Many women (and some men too) are still suppressed; and not just in under developed countries as you’d imagine. Some women are not allowed to think for themselves; have a voice; have the same rights as men; have freedom of choice, freedom of expression. We must be allowed to heard, and must always be allowed believe in ourselves. Really we should. I love my life now. But it wasn’t always this way.

He started working his way into my life slowly; he started destroying my heart, my soul, my life. And almost took my sanity. And stupid me let him.

I’m a protector.

But I couldn’t, and didn’t, know how to protect myself. But I learnt. And if I can, so can you.

We all have a story to tell. Here’s a part of mine.

PRE-EMIGRATION

When I started going back out with Kent, I thought things would work out this time round. I so badly wanted things to be perfect. In hindsight, perhaps I was on the rebound, but was I in love? Looking back, I don’t think I was, although at the time I really wanted to be and really thought I was. Despite my instinct saying no from an early stage, I just carried on and ignored what every person should trust. That inner voice. I so wanted this to be it, yet I’d come back from weekends away with him in tears, so unhappy, telling friends how upset I was that he never put me first and how angry and negative he seemed to be. But I always tried to see the good in him. He wasn’t used to relationships and maybe, in time, things would change. After all I was different. He told me so and I believed him. He said he would try and that he would love me more than anything. I so wanted things to be OK. Well, I wanted things to be great. Don’t we all? And he promised me they would be. And I fell for his promises.

I’d often be in tears; I remember opening the door to let him into my house (one of the few times he came to my place), having felt so excited to see him, having felt so upbeat and positive, just bursting with energy, bubbling over with happiness; but once he came in, it was like someone had sliced me open and drained the life from me. His negativity smothered me. It was like he stole my goodness. And this is how it stayed. Being around him, I felt like my life was being sucked out – yet I still believed I loved him. Why did I think I loved him, when looking back, it was so obvious I was unhappy? With him my positive attitude changed and his pessimism drained my soul. And yet I still believed things would be OK. I so badly wanted life to be good.

We had rekindled our relationship on Boxing Day 2002, after copious amounts of wine. Not the best basis to start a relationship is it? We’d originally dated back in 1993, for a few short, intense months, but had split up saying we were too young and too different (amongst other reasons). Yet for some stupid reason, despite me saying I’d never go back to him, I did. It was probably the only time I went against my instinct, and the only time I, therefore, had the regret word come into my vocabulary.

Anyway, we started seeing each other again. Then in February 2003 I remember him saying, What about Australia? as he’d already applied for residency. What do you want to happen? I asked. I want you to come too he replied. So that was that. I thought I was in love, and having always had a passion for Australia, and having had numerous visits on holidays there, I was delighted to think my new life with Kent would be in the lucky country. Of course, I was sad at the thought of leaving family and friends, but I believed everything would be just wonderful and I truly believed I’d live happily ever after. I still do.

On Easter Sunday he proposed. Well, originally he said (following a disagreement), What would you do if I asked you to marry me? I replied, Why don’t you ask and find out. So he did. It was a bizarre feeling, and I felt astounded to think I was going to be engaged and married, and it hadn’t really occurred to me it’d happen so soon or that it even felt wrong. I had spoken to the company who was dealing with Kent’s visa, asking them how I could get to be with him in Australia and be permitted to work; I was too old for a working holiday visa and not entitled to have a business visa or to be sponsored, so they said the easiest way was to get married. So that was that.

I remember mum sounding disappointed when we broke the news. I actually got Kent to ask for her permission to marry first; but felt perhaps she was just sad as I would be moving so far away. Kent’s parents were ecstatic; I think they’d given up all hope of Kent getting married.

For my engagement, Kent’s mum gave me a beautiful diamond and platinum ring; something that had been her mother’s. It was unusual, and took a few days to get used to, but it was gorgeous. I had to have it resized; of course, it didn’t occur to Kent to pay for that.

So, that was the April. By then I was working hard, commuting backwards and forwards at weekends to see Kent, working full time in Hampshire, in addition to my part time study. It was hard going but it didn’t occur to me to slow down. Kent got his residency in the June and we decided to go to Australia in the July, to validate his visa and to have a quick scout up the coast to see where we were going to live. He had already had his heart set on Coffs Harbour, a place I had never been before, but to be honest I didn’t care where we would live, I just wanted to set up a home with Kent and live the amazing dream I had in my head.

We spent three weeks traveling from Sydney to Brisbane. I should have read the warning signs. It was a stressful, argumentative three weeks; he did exactly what he wanted to do; he had no thought for me, and stupidly, I let him get away with it. If he wanted to go fishing that’s what he (we) did; if he wanted to go for a walk that’s what he (we) did. I’m pretty easy going so mostly just accepted that’s what we’d do, but not once do I remember him asking what I wanted to do. We played the CD’s in the car he wanted to play. He’d be critical if I didn’t say much; why didn’t I talk, why didn’t I sing. He was also very careful with his money and didn’t like to spend much; although at the time, I had already paid for his air ticket. And he wasn’t used to sharing. Anything. At all. I remember we stayed in a hostel in Port Macquarie and it was there he divided the four apples into two lots of two and simply said, these are mine, these are yours. Then he said, this is your wine and these are my beers. I simply put them back altogether and said, these are ours, Kent. But he wasn’t used to sharing. Well start now. He didn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’t. And never did.

I should have known that his meanness, his selfishness, was never going to change. I didn’t understand his behaviour; I’d never had any sort of dealings with this depth of meanness or naivety, yet I always tried to see the good? But why? Why do we challenge our inner most thoughts and feelings?

Yet I so wanted Kent to be the one. I truly did.

As I earlier said, I’m a protector, but not once did I ever feel protected by him.

I was miserable, yet still agreed that we’d get married. As we had to marry before we emigrated (hopefully we’d leave later in the year), I decided to start planning our wedding from Byron Bay where we were at that moment. I called mum and asked what she was doing on 29th August. She sounded stunned; shocked. In hindsight, she was devastated. I tentatively booked both the registrar and the wedding venue from Australia, which meant we (I) only had three weeks to organise things when we got home. And so I did.

I made the invitations, booked the wedding, sorted the evening venue, talked to people, sourced accommodation, and made executive decisions as time was scarce. I didn’t think to include mum as I was so busy doing things to minimize fuss. She also didn’t live nearby, and as I was managing my full time job and study too, I just needed to get things done. My actions hurt mum badly and we fell out; something I am sad about. Perhaps I was a bit thoughtless, but I never meant to be. I just thought it was easier to keep control.

And so we had a wedding booked.

The day before was stressful. I had my full medical examination as part of my immigration application; had the last dress fitting, driving for hours in the process; in addition to having beauty treatments booked at the end of the day. I was running late for our rendezvous back at the pub where we were staying. Friends and family had already arrived. His family had already grouped tables together and had taken over a room in the pub, yet for some reason kept my family segregated. They never encouraged my family to join them and expected me to sit with them away from my own flesh and blood. Luckily my best friend, Adriana, was there to help and support me, though I was desperately torn, and now regret sitting away from my family. Why do we do such stupid things?

Kent’s cousins wanted me to leave Adriana and her fiancé, Charlie, and sit with them at the other end of the table. I’m glad I stuck to my guns and said no. I needed Adriana’s strength and backing as I felt overwhelmed and sick. I was supposed to be happy and excited, yet I felt cornered and frightened and just wanted to run away.

The morning of the wedding I felt cold; detached, and it felt like I was in a dream; like it was happening to someone else. I felt like I was just going through the motions and I should have simply read the warning signs. I wasn’t excited and happy; I was just overwhelmed and felt so alone.

Mum and John (step-dad) took me to the Manor House to get ready. I was calm, but it was still so surreal. I dressed, and I must admit I felt beautiful, like a princess, and I finally relaxed and felt back in control. Being out of control is terrifying. And so we got married. I really wanted, and believed, we would be happy together forever.

It was a wonderful day all in all, but it was more like a big dress up party than how I expected to feel on my wedding day. It wasn’t until afterwards either, that it dawned on me that Kent barely had paid for anything. I did. My parents contributed too. It took over a year to get any money from him, something I wouldn’t have worried about if he hadn’t kept sponging off me, if we actually shared our world. But silly me, Kent didn’t like to share. Not even with his wife. He even wanted to wear a tatty belt with faded pictures on it, for the big day, to save buying a new one. In the end he wore a belt of mine. He also balked at spending six English pounds on a new tie. For his wedding. But he cleaned his old boots though for the big occasion; I should be grateful for that. Oh, and he wore a scruffy old akubra. I’m serious.

But overall, the day was beautiful, and I felt so loved by everyone. Everyone that is, except for my husband.

I’d already used my annual leave so wasn’t entitled to more time off for a honeymoon. We married on a Friday and stayed at the pub where we had our reception on that same night. We then had two nights in a hotel on Dartmoor and then I had to drive back to work early on the Monday morning. But he refused to come back with me. I was still working in one part of the country and he lived with his parents in another. He wanted to stay at the hotel after I left and use the facilities, before heading back to his parents. I was sad, very sad, that he didn’t offer to come back with me, and when I suggested he did, it was like but what will I do? Be there for me perhaps? Be there at the end of the day when I got home? But no, he stayed. And so I drove straight back to work, alone. My colleagues were wonderful and supportive, unlike my husband. At the end of the day I went home to my rental place and felt sad. Neglected. Lonely.

He wouldn’t even spend one night with me, let alone a week, as our new lives together began. I was alone. I felt so alone.

Darkness in the soul is appearing.

I wonder why.

When it came to weekends, I would drive to see him. He never suggested getting casual work and coming to live with me. He wanted to work on his parent’s property until we emigrated. I needed to work and earn money, so stayed in my job, but it would have been nice if he’d chosen to come and live with me, even just part time, but he refused to. It was him and his parents. And that was that. I eventually gave up work (a few weeks before we emigrated) and moved to live with my lovely mum and step-dad; not once did his parents offer me a place to stay long term. I just visited. Visited my husband at their place.

When I did visit, I paid my way. Our way. I didn’t question it. We shared, right?

I didn’t ever think it would always be so one-sided.

Always trust your instinct. I didn’t. For once I didn’t.

Instinct. Such an important word.

I had hoped we would emigrate by the November, but we didn’t, as I still hadn’t heard about my application, which was frustrating! I had handed my notice in at work in anticipation, and we did a tour around the country to say goodbye to people. We argued. A lot. Kent was mean, both with money and love. Do you know what? In the October, my mum and step-dad went away and left us newly weds the house, but Kent wanted to stay at his parents instead. Yes, he only stayed one lousy night with me before heading back to his parents. I remember Adriana and Charlie (who had got married by now) came to stay for the weekend, and when Kent turned up the Saturday night, he said he had to leave in the morning. I thought he was joking but he wasn’t. We’d already arranged to spend time with my best friends and he wouldn’t stay away from his parents for one stupid weekend. He wanted to work on their land. He didn’t want to spend time with me. Not to spend even just a few days locked away to enjoy each other, especially in the early days of marriage. We shouldn’t have seen day light for days! But no, he put his parents first. Always did; always will. I was so upset he just did not care.

I got my temporary status approved in the November, as we were touring around Wales saying goodbye to Kent’s friends. I remember pulling over in the car, and taking the call. I should have been excited, but instead, I felt sick and scared. Straight away Kent wanted to call his parents; I said no, I’ll call my mum first. I dreaded saying I was definitely going. It was such a horrid day.

I also remember when we were in Guildford, again saying goodbye to two dear friends of mine, that it was made even more wretched by Kent. We’d met up for drinks then went for a lovely dinner with them. When the bill came, Kent simply sat and just waited. He didn’t attempt to find his wallet; absolutely no mention of paying. My friends paid their half and I then paid the other half, though it had been awkward as I’d waited for ages for Kent to offer to pay, or at least his share (I already knew he wouldn’t pay my share), but he just sat and stared. He then turned really cold and nasty on our way home and was very blatantly rude to my lovely friends. It was most odd. We stayed the night, although for most of it I was very sick (from fish sauce in the food – I’m allergic). Anyway, I had a terrible night, made worse by Kent’s sudden weird mood. In the morning, my friends left for work and we were left to let ourselves out. I questioned Kent’s mood change and asked what had happened the night before. He’d waited for Gary to pay up. Yes, he expected him to pay the whole amount. But why? Because on our last meeting I shouted lunch, so this time Kent expected him to pay. He expects tit for tat. I’d kind of forgotten about that, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me for Gary to pay for our dinner. So Kent got the sulks. He just stated that Gary should have paid, end of story. He was foul. And no, he never paid me his share. Again, I never used to worry about him not paying, yet I should have seen the warning signs. He never, ever, paid for me unless I paid him back. Yet it was OK for me to pay for him, which I did. Often.

Anyway, that morning, to try and brighten his frame of mind, I said it’d be great to wander around Guildford (as all the Christmas decorations were up) and meet another couple of friends of mine for coffee before Kent had to head back. Yes, he had to head back to his parents. Anyway, I’d thought what a lovely morning we could have, already trying to forget his mood swings. He didn’t reply. Then he suddenly called his mum, who proceeded to say that she and his dad were going to Plymouth to see some friends, and then were going for a swim. He closed the call, then looked at me and relayed the conversation, before looking contemplative. I said to Kent, half jokingly, so what would you rather do, spend time with your mum and go for a swim, or spend time with your new wife, have a (romantic) stroll around Guildford, and meet my friends? He simply said, I haven’t been for a swim for ages, and before I knew it he’d jumped in his car and was gone. He didn’t even look around to wave goodbye to me. By now I was in tears. He, again, chose his mum over me. He had no regard for my feelings. I think I threw up again. I don’t know if it was still the food that made me sick or the sadness I felt within. I simply was gutted.

We all need protecting at some time in our lives, yet he never, ever protected me.

Darkness in the soul appeared again. It’s a dark, scary feeling and I felt the shadows inside my body; consuming me. You’d think I’d learn wouldn’t you.

Leading up to Christmas was very hard. It was so emotional. I was trying to enjoy the atmosphere of Christmas, yet was counting down the days until we emigrated. I packed up my possessions and they were put into storage early December. I was left with just a few belongings until we left on New Year’s Eve.

Kent was adamant he wanted time with his family at Christmas, which was natural, just as I wanted time with mine too. I suggested that I go and visit him on Christmas Day evening and then stay for a couple of days. That wasn’t good enough; he had to spend time with his good wifey. That’s what he’d call me, his good wifey, and he had to see me on Christmas Eve. Had to. Yet he didn’t want to come up until Christmas Eve night, as he had to work at his parents place first. Of course. I said that mum and I would be going to a carol service in the evening and he would be welcome to come. But, he didn’t want to go out to a carol service with mum and I, so I said don’t worry, I’ll just come down as originally suggested then. He wouldn’t have it. He turned up Christmas Eve evening and was adamant he wasn’t going out with us. I said fine, stay at home with John. I think he thought I’d stay at home with him. Wrong! He wouldn’t have that either, so reluctantly came out. Afterwards he said he enjoyed it, but I had already gotten upset over his attitude, so my happiness was marred.

Christmas morning, as usual, I did a stocking for mum and John, and did one for Kent. He said, but I didn’t know you were doing that; I haven’t got one for you. I said it’s not about reciprocating, and I always do stockings, so don’t worry. He then fretted, grabbed a couple of presents (which were already under our tree), and put them in a sack for me. He really got quite stressed, almost frustrated, that he hadn’t done the right thing. But honestly, it was no big deal.

A bit later we sat around the tree with mum and John opening presents. It was sad; sad that it would be my last Christmas with them for a long time; so it was very emotional. As usual, they spoiled me rotten, as I do them. It’s not about monetary value though, just about thoughtfulness and kindness. I could not believe Kent. He bought me two Mars Bars. Yes, he wrapped two individual Mars Bars; he said I liked them. Then I unwrapped a small gift, I was surprised to see it was a tiny bottle of perfume. But not in a box, just as is; a tiny travel size bottle. Oh well. It transpired that he’d bought me a box set of the perfume and split them up to give them to me individually to make it look higher in value. I wondered if I was being cynical, mean maybe, but no, it was to make out that he’d spent more. Mum and dad were astounded. They were so sad for me.

We went to his parents that afternoon. I tried to bring happiness and light into the darkening day. When we swapped gifts, Kent had neglected to put my name of their presents. We’d already had a disagreement when buying presents for the family, but I’d said I’d put his name of a gift I’d bought my mum and he said he’d do the same for his. But no, he didn’t. (He’d done the same with his mum’s birthday present a few days earlier. He’d said he’d wanted to get his mum a specific present, so I said I would donate towards it, even though I had already bought her some gifts. Anyway, I went to give Kent fifteen pounds and he balked. He’d expected, and then demanded, half the amount. I said I couldn’t afford it. He went ballistic, and it really shocked me. I stuck to my guns though, but when it came to giving the present to his mum, he neglected to tell her it was from me as well. Now it was the same at Christmas.) The gift we bought his mum had his name on it. And the gift to his sister? The same. This reduced me to tears once again. How mean could he be? Even if I hadn’t paid for anything, it would still be nice to have our names on the gifts. It was a miserable afternoon. It was him and me. Nothing shared. And his family thought I was just mean and hadn’t bought them anything.

Then his sister, Jayne, tried on two of the gifts she had been given; a bra and a jumper. When she sat on the couch next to me, Kent asked her did they fit OK (not that they were even from him), and then he openly fondled her bra strap and chest in front of me. Was I seeing things? No. He again played with her bra and chest and joked about it. This was his sister. I was appalled and felt physically sick. I slapped his hands and said, don’t do that! But no one else thought it was odd. Why did he have to touch her? It was disgusting; I just wanted to go home.

So, by the time I got back to mums on the 27th December, I was devastated. I felt emotional, sad and so unloved. Kent and I had one argument after another and I felt wretched. Then on 28th December I made a call to see if I could stop my belongings being shipped. I couldn’t see a future for Kent and I, after some displays of irrational and weird behaviour, and I wrote and told him how I was feeling. Amongst other things, I said I didn’t think we had enough in common and that I felt sad and humiliated to have him keep putting everyone and everything else before me.

He persuaded me that he loved me and that things would be different when we were in Australia; and I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? Despite everything, I still had so much hope. Hope to live happily ever after.

Leaving England was so hard, and saying goodbye to my distraught mum was just horrible. It’s not like I was leaving with a protective knight, willing to slay a dragon for me, I was leaving with a selfish child, who had never had to share or compromise in his life. I was appalled to think he really wouldn’t look out for me, but he promised me he would. And I believed him.

It’s getting so dark.

I wasn’t going to start a new life with a supportive, amazing husband who I was totally in love with.

I was going out alone, frightened, confused, and with a childlike idiot. But I still hoped and believed things would change. After all he promised me they would.

Perhaps it was on the plane that my soul turned to the dark side.

I felt I must have been really bad in my past life to have this one now.

Really, what on earth had I got myself into?

AUSTRALIA

The flight to Australia was long. We arrived into Brisbane, and it felt like I was in a dream. We stayed for the first few days with Kent’s friend, Brianna, and her partner, who we’d met up with the previous year when we were out. I later I found out than he and Brianna had been lovers at one point. Not that it mattered now as I was married to him, but why the secrets. There were always secrets.

The day after we arrived we went to look for a car. All we ended up with was sunburn. We opened a joint bank account too; a memorable experience; for all the wrong reasons. I remember vividly that when we left the bank, we walked past a handicapped young man trying to make a living selling raffle tickets. He tried to speak to get people’s attention but all he could do was make a sound. What an amazing, gutsy person, to be able to do that; selling is a hard job at the best of times, but with a disability? It was commendable. And do you know what? Kent simply said, People like that shouldn’t be allowed out. I said sorry? I thought I had misheard him. He repeated what he said. I was aghast. Sad. Appalled. I said he’s just trying to make a living, Kent. Kent then backed down saying he didn’t realise he was selling tickets and that he thought he was on drugs or something. It just proves unless you’re perfect, Kent won’t like you. I couldn’t believe his attitude; his prejudice. He repulsed me.

We took a bus to stay with my friends (my saviours) for a few days. My second parents, as I fondly refer to them as, live about a four hour trip west of Brisbane. It was there we found a car, got our Australian driver’s license, and where I first voiced my fears and sadness to my second mum.

We drove down to just outside Coffs Harbour the Thursday before Australia Day weekend; and so started our lives together.

Getting a rental place (furnished) was hard. But we found a place on the Saturday morning and, of course, we needed a bond; a deposit. I couldn’t get my debit card to work at the cash machine, and the banks couldn’t give me an advance on my credit card for some reason, and I didn’t remember the pin number as I rarely used my credit card. Panic! I tried to scrape the cash together, yet I was still a bit short. Kent didn’t offer to pay for me; yet he had a credit card he’d withdrawn some money with so he could have helped if he’d wanted to. He simply didn’t want to spend his money on me, and he just let me panic and worry. After an absolute age, I said I just don’t have enough money and had to beg him to help me. Finally he offered to lend me $200.00. Yes, lend. I had to pay my way. His half; my half. Of course I would have to pay him back first thing Monday morning. Heaven help me if I didn’t. He infuriated me; allowing me to panic unnecessarily, and for being so mean! Then again, maybe I was asking too much from him. After all, perhaps husbands were allowed to make demands like this.

I so thought things would change. But it didn’t. It never would.

But I still so badly wanted it to.

Darkness is filling my heart.

And so we moved in to our first home together. It was a pleasant two bed roomed place, a block or so from a fantastic beach, and in a great area. Sigh; how I grew to love Sawtell.

Within an hour or so of moving in, he upped and went fishing. I wish I could escape that easily. I was so unhappy. Desperately unhappy. Already.

Those first few weeks should have been fun; exciting; a new adventure! But it was the start of a miserable time with him; nothing I ever did was good enough. Nothing. I was criticised for not having friends or hobbies; everything I did was wrong. My cooking wasn’t like his mother’s. I even pegged clothes out the wrong way. I was wasteful. I was careless. Bad girl. Bad wifey.

Put down. Put down.

Darkness………

I still had hopes. Was I mad?

I had to put into our joint account exactly the same amount as he did, regardless of what I was earning (or not). Even later, when he earned a lot more than me, he simply said it was tough that I didn’t get paid as much. Not his problem. My outgoings were more than my incomings so in time I pretty much used all my savings to support myself. I didn’t fritter money away, I didn’t have enough to; I was almost broke. But I had to still put in my share. I lived off my savings, he lived off his earnings. It was always my fault I didn’t earn more.

And he thought this was normal.

I was always at fault. Bad wifey.

Darkness.

I just wanted someone to wave a magic wand and make everything all right. Or at least make Kent disappear. I used to think how much easier life would be if he just disappeared. How those dreams kept me going.

I remember trying so hard to make things work, to make a good and happy place for us to live, even though we were still waiting for our belongings to arrive. I must admit, whilst we moved into our house at the end of January, and whilst I knew we had to get work, I still didn’t see the urgency and assumed we could get work easily; so the first two or three weeks I tried to enjoy our surroundings. I simply didn’t know how hard it would be to get work. After all, I was prepared to do anything, and I’d never not worked before. Even if I got a job at the supermarket, surely I would get something? But I was so wrong.

When I started to look for work, I sent my résumé to all the travel agencies as well as other office environments to start with, thinking I’d get a job. I thought my résumé was fairly impressive, but I didn’t even get one response. I have a strong administrative and I.T. background, so presumed I could at least work in an office. I was prepared to work anywhere though, and it was hard; so hard. Impossible. I’d get frustrated and upset from looking fruitlessly for work; I couldn’t even get a job in a coffee shop (no experience), or even at the pub. You need a ticket, or qualification, just to work in a pub here; in England it was easy. I simply just wanted to earn a wage. I was living off my savings as I said, and, of course, Kent wasn’t going to start looking after me; supporting me. He never intended to, so why start now. I was frustrated that whilst I couldn’t get a job, he wasn’t even bothering to look for work yet and I was panicking about money. He kept saying he couldn’t work until his equipment arrived from England. Yes, but any job to keep going would be good surely? Labouring, fruit picking? Anything. No. He was enjoying his play time too much; he had plenty of money to keep going with, so what was the urgency?

As I said, he was just happy playing, and I was frantically trying to get work, and going round all the agencies, shops, everywhere, just desperate to get a job. I kept being told it’s not what you know, it’s who you know, which made things impossible as we didn’t know anyone. At one point, even though we’d just been here two or three weeks, I said to Kent that I’d find work in the city (Sydney or Brisbane) and commute at weekends; I was desperate. He wouldn’t have any of that, and didn’t want his good wifey away from him. The control thing again. But he wasn’t looking after me, looking out for me, even caring or loving me, he just wanted to control me. He just blamed me for not working, but I was trying so hard. Casual, permanent, anything.

Tension built up; made worse by the fact we weren’t working, and having just one car definitely was hard. Well not so much for him, as he’d either have the car or make sure he wasn’t affected by it. Silly me put up with his tantrums and anger; I always tried to make things work. Always. I’d never had anyone treat me so badly before so I also think I was in a bit of shock. I even began to think that I deserved to be treated so badly. It also sounded like I was moaning all the time if I reacted, confronted him or said anything; little did I realise that his manner really was over the top and unacceptable. And I kept making excuses for him. I look back now and cringe at the person I became. I’ll never go there again, and will do my utmost to help anyone in a similar situation. Emotional bullying, being controlled, victimised, humiliated, it’s so wrong. I had made the biggest mistake of my life, so it was up to me to try and rectify things. I had no choice. At times, I thought it was just me being silly, after all I was frustrated and alone and I blamed myself. But why? I felt I was already losing my identity, my confidence, my life; yet confronting, or dealing with him, was too hard. The aftermath, as I called it, wasn’t worth it; heaven help me if I ever said anything to him. How many people stay quiet as it’s easier? Yet it’s wrong. So wrong.

I started keeping a diary. I always did when I was overseas, but this time it also helped clear my head when it was so filled with unhappiness, confusion, and trauma. I only started it in detail from the end of February 2004. I look back now and I not only can’t believe I put up with so much, I can’t believe that someone can put someone through so much anguish, especially when they allegedly love someone. But it’s all part of life’s journey, and I wouldn’t be here now, the person I am, if I hadn’t experienced everything the way I did.

2004

20th February 2004

The alarm went off at 5.30am. Kent got up and went out fishing. How I soon learnt to hate fishing. I wasn’t jealous of him having hobbies, it’s just it was his everything. More important than finding work, more important than looking after me, more important than spending time with me, and he’d rather fish than have sex. Yes, fishing was everything. I was nothing. Things never changed. I just wish he’d just say roughly when he’s coming back, so I could plan our day. He likes to have me hang on just waiting for him. Thing is I stupidly do. I wish I didn’t. Why can’t I learn to change? And if I simply arrange the day, he’ll turn up at the wrong time and upset it all, or have a go at me. It’s sometimes simply not worth the aggravation. I text him at 10.30am to see where he was (a nice text, I tried! Yet why should I be proud of the fact that I tried? We’ve been married a few weeks and it’s never been easy, and I always feel I have to try. Sad. So sad.). He called about 11.00am to say he was on his way back. He turned up about 12.30pm. He’d caught two new species, but none big enough to keep, so he wasn’t in the best mood. As if he needs another excuse. It’s never a good place to be when he hadn’t caught anything; silly me thought fishing was supposed to be fun and relaxing. No one seems to have told Kent that part. He moaned and groaned; he was so miserable. To me that was strange as he’d just had a few hours to himself, doing something he allegedly loves. Weird.

Later, we bottled our second home brew. Again that’s stressful. There’s always something Kent has to grumble about. Takes ages too, and today the bottle tops didn’t want to go on properly, and that caused problems. It really is horrid listening to so much cursing. Unnecessary blasphemy really, it’s vile. The sugar was in the wrong type of container; it was supposed to be in a container to make life easy, and the caps didn’t go on a couple of bottles properly and a bit fizzed out and dropped on Kent. I thought it was amusing. Ooops, wrong! Bad wifey. He moaned and groaned like he was dying. It did take a while, and yes, I did want to get out to the beach, but we’re still new at it, so have to try and laugh about things. We then washed and sterilised, the equipment ready to do the next lot later, and so finally we went to the beach for a while. Bliss, as I wandered the beach, and he went for a swim. Peace.

Later, Kent said he wasn’t hungry. I’d really hoped he would get dinner tonight, as I always seem to be the one in the kitchen. I said I would cook for myself then, but when I asked if he wanted some dinner, he said yes. Silly me, why did I ask him? He always says he’s not hungry, but, of course, he always wants food if I cook. He just won’t cook for me. I asked if he minded me using the leftovers from yesterday, but he told me no I couldn’t, and that he wanted them, that they were his. I said but I would like to use them for dinner. He again categorically said no. I said, Kent, marriage is about sharing, and I’d simply like to use our food for dinner tonight. But no, he doesn’t understand this sharing thing, so I ended up cooking something fresh. Mean man. After dinner, his parents called. I decided to go to the bedroom to keep out the way, which was a good thing, as I heard Kent start to moan and shout at them. He then went on to say we were doing all we could do to get work. He got so unnecessarily nasty. Again. I don’t know why he has to be so vile. I was then forced to speak to them. I have to speak to his parents, whether I want to or not, and after a nasty conversation with their son, I didn’t think they’d want to talk to me. But I don’t get a choice. I kept it brief, and then went to bed. Kent then asked if he could watch TV in the bedroom. I said no problem, just not too loud as I wanted to sleep. He then had the volume up so loudly, it was ridiculous. I asked to turn it down, and he got nasty about that; got sarcastic that his hearing wasn’t as good as mine. I said I didn’t mind it up a bit, but not as loud as it was. He got nasty again. What about? I don’t understand. He finally got up and watched it in the lounge. I was glad to sleep; it’s the only stress free part of the day. So much anger, stress, unhappiness, in a single day. I sometimes wonder if I’m making things out to be worse than they are, but I’m usually upbeat and positive, and my cup is always half full, but no, he seems to only be happy when he’s miserable. Not that makes sense. Not to me anyway.

21st February 2004

Flippin’ alarm went off at 4.30am; Kent had forgotten to switch it off. It was hot today, more than 40c, even too hot for me. I felt shattered all day though, but I think I'm emotionally tired too, but no doubt I'll get over it. I didn’t do much, I really felt under the weather, literally, and all sorts of things accumulated, I reckon. I went and rested on the bed. Kent then got bored, or lonely, or both, and asked if I wanted to go out, but I said not yet. He then started bugging me; he was bored not me! He then went to see our neighbours for a while; so peace again. Later, I didn’t mention food; I am really getting frustrated that Kent expects me to do everything. Then he finally did ask about 7.00pm if I was hungry. Breakthrough! Anyway about 8.30pm he got up, faffed around, and 8.45pm started opening up cupboards, and huffing a bit. He asked what I wanted, but didn’t wait for a reply, and said he’d cook pasta. Then he couldn’t find the pasta sauce, and got really agitated, I said there were two jars were in the cupboard, or he could just make one up himself. He said if I could see them I’d be cleverer than him, and he started getting really narky. I think he just wanted me to take over. I knew they were there so got up, opened the cupboard doors and showed him. He was livid and had a go at me. But why? Then he stomped and moaned, but started cooking. He served dinner after 10.00pm. I wanted my bed, but daren’t say anything. It was nice, but what an effort for that. Wished I was anywhere but here.

22nd February 2004

Had a bad night. My neck and back hurt so much. Really struggling to wake up too; feel tired and need to sleep. Kent brought a coffee in bed; along with the bird book. Romance isn’t in his vocabulary. Kent wanted to go swimming, and walking, and then wanted to go into Coffs tonight, but he suggested going out all day, and then just staying out. I said I didn’t want to go out all day, and then go straight into town for dinner not having had a shower, and that it was just as easy to come home first. He sulked about that. I also said we should really sort the house, as if our belongings do arrive early in the week, at least we’re prepared. So I made a start. We did go to the beach mid morning, to see a fairly high tide, and watch the surfers for a while. I still didn’t feel great, so I went home, and I carried on preparing for the arrival of our possessions. Kent then came back and tried to then re-pack the bits I’d already sorted. Not sure if it was on purpose, or just to annoy me. Eventually I said, maybe he should go out; it was just too hard with him there; and we both knew he was getting on my nerves. No sooner said, his fishing gear was ready; he had an early lunch, and was gone. I didn’t mind in some ways, I need space and peace and quiet, but he’s too quick to do things for himself. He left before noon. He did say he’d massage me later as my neck was so sore, but I’ve heard that one before. I later went for a swim; I had text Kent and half expected him to say he’d come back and join me, but nothing. I keep trying. So went down on my own. It’s so nice just watching and listening to the waves though, watching swimmers and surfers, kids and puppies, and then feeling the cool tingling sensation of the water when you finally go in, and thankfully the water is so much warmer (and cleaner!) than back in England. Had a swim; then relaxed on the beach. I tried to read, but didn’t feel up to it, so went home. Really can’t put my finger on what’s wrong; it’s not too much sun as I haven’t been out too much, and always have sunnies and a hat on. I guess, as I said earlier, it’s just a combination of things. Had a shower, and sat down with a coffee, and read the papers. Kent came back maybe 4.30pm, and plonked himself down, and had a cuppa. He didn’t flinch when I went to the bathroom and finally threw up. Had been building all day, though maybe the final straw was when Kent showed me he esky, which had maggots in it, and boy, what a stench! Thanks. So sat down, clutching stomach, just feeling pathetic

Kent was not happy when I said I wasn’t up to going out to town that night. I felt horrid. Typical Kent just thinking of himself, and mumbled and grumbled. Then he said he was hungry and wanted to eat. I said I wasn’t hungry now, and I suggested maybe he cook a bit later. He wouldn’t have it. He wanted food now, and didn’t want to think about me. So he jumped in the car, and went and got himself fish and chips. Again it’s a sulking thing, and as I don’t conform to what he says or wants, he can’t handle it, so he gets into a paddy, like a two year old and stomps off. I just crave having grown up company, I really do. I felt terrible, and all Kent did was think of himself. Again. I was half expecting him to stay out, but he did come back about half an hour later, with his food. So he sat and scoffed. About 8.00pm I felt very hungry, though still felt horrid, so got up and cooked myself some dinner, but it would have been nice if Kent had offered to get me something. Get real, Anne, this is Kent we’re talking about. Eventually I went to bed; I was exhausted mentally, and physically.

23rd February 2004

Kent told me I obviously didn’t want a coffee. Obviously? Obviously. Of course. He didn’t ask, just assumed. I’d had a cold flannel on my head all night as I was so hot and had a headache. I no way felt like going into town as I’d hoped. Kent didn’t like it when I said I didn’t want to go. He really gets narky, at such the simplest of things. I just wanted to crawl into a quiet place, and just be, and he goes and gets nasty. Because I feel sick. It’s wrong. It’s wrong I feel guilty for being sick. He got himself lunch; he won’t get anything for me. Silly me thinking he might. I’d wanted to get to town for 3.15pm, as I’d made an appointment with an osteopath, but Kent now decided he