Women’s stories – Salima

It is difficult to tell a story of violence like mine, but the thought that, by reading it, even a single woman can escape the abuses perpetrated within the reassuring domestic walls, gives me the strength to retrace it and write it. I am an idealistic dreamer, clinging to her dreams, always ready to dive with enthusiasm, into stories, people, events.

My passion, since I was a child, has been Germany, with its language and its people, a land so cold and tormented that it has always had an inexplicable fascination on me. Since the age of 17 I have been fantasizing about my future, about marriage, about the ideal man, a companion for life until death do us apart.

“All the arts contribute to the greatest art of all: that of living”

B. Brecht

SALIMA

I stumble into adventures and disappointments, more or less serious stories, until one day, at my cousin’s wedding, unexpectedly, I meet the man I have long dreamed of, the brother of the bride.

He seemed everything a woman like me could wish for: sweet, spontaneous, affectionate, nonconformist, moreover, a handsome German man. My dream came true. I left my family and went to work in Germany.

He lived in Holland, on the border with Germany, so I naively thought that, by being there, I could keep the working. Instead, madly in love and eager to be with him, I was convinced that the job I had chosen was not right for me and that my place would be next to him.

After a few days in which that man, according to him, to show me his love and to protect me, stalked me in front of the places I frequented and repeated that my place was not there, but with him, I collapsed: a panic attack cut me off and he invited all his family to come and pick me up and take me to Holland.

Beginning; then the love idyll in the land of tulips and windmills; everything seemed magical and like in a fairy tale, the life I had always dreamed of. He adored me and had the ability to see everything under a positive light; He didn’t pay attention to appearances and I felt accepted for what I was, without artifice or pretense, I felt appreciated in my essence, without constraints or formalities. I did not ask myself, and perhaps I did not even care to know, why he did not have a job and why he received a subsidy, just as I did not mind the fact that he almost always lived alone, except for quick visits from relatives and when his best, and perhaps only friend, came to visit him.

So, for almost a year, I embraced his rhythms and his unbalanced lifestyles, at the limits of normal; for me there was only him, I didn’t listen to anyone when they warned me, showing me the evidence and saying: “He is a problematic man, he is not for you. Are you sure you want to get married? “. I was fine with him, period. The rest didn’t interest me: I didn’t care that he lived at night instead of day, that he abused beer and marijuana, that he spent his time on the computer, playing video games, that he didn’t care, that he had narrow interests beyond to have several problems behind them. Ours, in my eyes, was the ideal love story, so we decided, after almost a year of living together, to get married and start a family: I was in seventh heaven. My pregnancy arrived wanted and in a short time; I decided to return to Italy to give the news to my parents. Joy gushed from all my pores. I made the first gynecological examination in Italy; I felt her little heart for the first time.

Unfortunately, the ultrasound showed an ovarian cyst of an unknown nature, so it was necessary to set the date for an urgent intervention: I could not let such a thing put at risk the small life that was growing inside me, so I decided to undergo the operation in Italy, so as not to run into the language barriers that I would surely have found in Holland. He did not accept my decision and began to persecute me with continuous phone calls, telling me that I should go back to him immediately and do the surgery there; he started talking about broken promises. It was a crush on my psychological condition at that moment, I was afraid of losing my baby. We weren’t married yet, but the wedding date was approaching; at that moment he did not care about my health, but only the deadlines and the imminent marriage, he wanted to become his property.

But I was changing: that life inside me was opening my eyes, revealing to me the true nature of my future husband: angry, obsessive, possessive; for him it was inconceivable that I would make an autonomous decision without putting him in the first place. But now there was a son growing in my womb.

I spent days in hell, he decided to join me in Italy near the surgery date, continuing to repeat to me how incapable Italian doctors were and how unreliable our healthcare system was. He showed no empathy for my situation and his constant alarmism about the damage of anesthesia to the fetus came before anything else.

Fortunately, the medical team was very well prepared and the operation was successful without harm to anyone. Now we just had to go back to Holland and organize the wedding ceremony; but I no longer felt in love with him and began to see him in another light, dark and oppressive. Probably the pregnancy hormones had taken over my unscrupulous idealism.

I began to envision a life for three but I saw only an abyss, a black hole, a tunnel with no escape routes: my creature and I would have lived as two hostages on his terms; no, a child could not have lived like that. I thought that the marriage would have clarified my ideas, instead the nightmare began: back in Holland I immediately noticed the conditions of the house: he had not taken care of it since I had gone to Italy and was in a state of abandonment, of dirt , unheard of grunge. No, it wasn’t really a child-friendly home. She responded to my reproaches by saying that I could help clean up, even after surgery and pregnant. The situation had changed: there were no more filters between my eyes and the reality that now appeared to me in all its clarity and in all its squalor. He did not accept the change and turned into another person: disrespectful, irreverent, unscrupulous; his fixed thought was sex, he didn’t care that I was convalescing and with the hormones affected by pregnancy. And there were quarrels and tears. I was no longer clay to be forged in her hands, but a mother who fought for her little girl.

I didn’t want to be there anymore, that life wasn’t for me, it wasn’t for US. He was increasingly furious and began to get heavily drunk, his sick personality emerged forcefully; it became a battle in which the winners take home the spoils and survive, and the losers succumb. Our baby in my tummy was just a trophy to show. I couldn’t resist anymore and decided to literally escape from that situation. I am not owned by anyone, I belong to me and I love myself. Although he had completely nullified me and made me a larva that struggled even to express in words, I escaped from the wolf.

My daughter’s and MY life were far from that brute. I returned home to Italy, but the nightmare did not end. Even from afar, with emails, continuous phone calls, messages, he continued his work of psychological terrorism; he no longer recognized me because I did not go along with him as before; I had become a stranger and, according to him, there was a monster inside me that he had to kill, all this because I had put my little girl first and not my life with him. I went through the pregnancy without a partner next to me, or rather, with a partner who from a distance did nothing but make me anxious by threatening me, insulting me, making me feel like nothing and playing on my strong sense of guilt. I found solace only in my family and in a few, but true friends.

The burden of his distant presence was much heavier to bear than the size of my belly, which meanwhile was growing day by day. I took the pre-birth course alone, when all the others had a caring partner next to them on the couple’s days. I still remember that day when we were asked us to write some thoughts that began with “I feel as a mom because …” and “I do not feel as a mom because …” and I wrote: “I feel as a mom because you saved my life “. And it was true! Childbirth was also an adventure lived without a partner, my mother was there to assist me; He would not have been able, he had lost his temper due to a laparoscopic operation, let alone how he would have reacted to the contractions, to the pains, to my screams, to the fact that I did not consider him.

Just as he could not bear to be overshadowed by the child, whose crying he could not have suffered, he who hated loud noises. I believed with all my heart that it could change, that it could cure those psychiatric disorders that had never really been addressed and detoxify from alcohol; but despite the birth of our daughter, He continued to torment, threaten and insult me.

I understood then that my love could not save him but that what I already had for my little girl would instead save me and her, bringing us to safety, to shelter. Every so often I think back to the mills and tulips, the wooden houses, the sea breezes. And I see myself attached to my dream of love. Then the events unfolding in front of my eyes do not seem like a failure, but only a piece of my life, the wonderful thought is her, my daughter, my joy, my ray of sunshine.

When a cruel and ravenous wind blew on our fragile lives, its beneficial light gave me the strength to react, it gave me wings that made us fly embraced over the plain and tulip fields, taking us away, away from evil and from pain, towards our wonderful future.

true story from the blog: http://blog.pianetadonna.it/lestoriediagatha/salima/

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