By the time I was 31 years old, I was a completely broken person and possessed no self-worth at all. I struggled with normal life all the time. I’d lost the ability to enjoy anything at all. I carried around enormous feelings of guilt and shame about my brothers. The sexual abuse they had experienced as young children had very badly affected them. They were never ever the same. My youngest brother had experienced a crisis and was sectioned. We had been happy children, really curious about the world, and caring about everything. However, we now considered the world a dangerous place, and we wanted little to do with it.
In 2011, I started a relationship with a new partner and for the first year things were okay. However, I didn’t notice his controlling behaviour appearing and then increasing. He initially would say, ‘You’re really struggling, why don’t I look after your bank card and sort the bills out and other matters.’ I was completely ready to have somebody else take responsibility for my life, as I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. I was ready to check out of life. Things had been so hard being a single mum, trying to finance and maintain my drug habit, and being surrounded by people who weren’t there for me. Any decent person was not going to stay around someone living the life that I did.
The first time my partner used violent behaviour towards me was was when when my daughter was three years old. I wouldn’t travel to Liverpool to pick up a package of drugs for him. He threw a cup which smashed, and then used a piece to cut my leg. He would hit me, kick me, and grab me by my long hair. I’ve had head injuries, been strangled, had cracked ribs, and a broken arm which he wouldn’t allow me to get fixed in hospital. At times, I had to lock myself in the bathroom. This wasn’t the sort of violence where a person lashes out suddenly and then regrets their action. This was sustained violence over a long period of time. Everyone around us knew what was going on. I couldn’t escape because I was convinced he would then find me and my life would be at risk …
I was being seriously coerced and controlled by this point. My partner was a heroin user and we had drug dealers working out of our apartment. I was forced into working with different dealers. I learned to just do as I was told, because sometimes it’s just easier that way. Otherwise, I would get badly hurt, as I found out. I’ve since been told this is called modern day slavery. I had to pick up packages of drugs from other dealers, sometimes in Liverpool. A drug dealer in our flat would receive calls from people who placed their order for drugs. I would then have to take the drugs to the caller and bring back the money. My partner also forced me into shoplifting, because selling drugs wasn’t bringing in enough money to maintain our drug habits.
I couldn’t get away. Sometimes I contacted a Substance Misuse Service (SMS), and they arranged an appointment for me. I would say that I wanted to get a methadone script, like he had, but he wouldn’t let me go. Sometimes, I went to Women’s Aid in Colwyn Bay and a lovely lady, Katie, would allow me to catch a few hours sleep on a beanbag in the kids’ corner. I knew I was facing a beating when I got back home, but I just had to sleep. Katie pointed out that they couldn’t put me in a women’s refuge for my safety, because my drug habit was so huge that they wouldn’t know what to do with me, particularly if I continued to commit crime.
In the end, I ran away and lived rough in Llandudno for about nine weeks. I was sleeping at the back of Boots, along with a bunch of Big Issue lads who were so kind to me. I would shoplift during the day to be able to feed my drug habit, and they would bring their Big Issue money and drugs in the evenings. Eventually, I was arrested for shoplifting and also charged with Going Equipped for Theft, as I had used aluminium foil in my bags so that the stolen goods would be invisible to shop sensors.
They were very kind to me in Caernarfon Crown Court. I begged them to send me to jail, but as they knew I was a victim of domestic violence, they said they would put me in touch with a women’s justice service. However, this service insisted I provide a bail address, so my only option was to go back and stay at the address where I was being abused. A ‘red marker’ was placed on my address, as my life was considered to be in danger. A police officer came to my residence every 48 hours to check that I was still alive.
For the next year, I wouldn’t go near my partner or talk to him. I wouldn’t sleep in the same room. I’d barricade myself in a room to get some sleep, but he stopped me sleeping by continually banging on the door. I would sometimes manage to get to Women’s Aid in the day, and they would again let me catch some sleep for a few hours. I still had to deliver drugs and supply him with his drugs. I didn’t want to stop taking drugs, but I wanted the adverse consequences to stop. However, I started to think that I must get clean, as the drugs were always going to take me back to him.
One Friday night in April 2018, he beat me really bad. He grabbed my hair and bounced my head in between the door frames. My head split open on both sides and blood gushed from an eyebrow. He threw me onto a coffee table and broke a couple of my ribs and my left arm. I was then strangled until I passed out. All the blood vessels in my eyes were broken and my neck hurt badly for a very long time. I didn’t sleep that night because I was terrified that he was going to kill me. I knew I couldn’t take any more.