Voices surround Anna as she lies on her hospital bed, but she cannot answer them. Her voice has been taken, along with her mobility and her sight. She can hear the nurses chattering and her family that come to visit. Her mum cries a lot and her dad struggles to deal with what he sees. Life used to be good for Anna, but life can change in a heartbeat, as she knows so well. 

And then there are the people we think we know. When the smile hides the anger. When the beauty hides the beast.

Only Anna knows the truth, but Anna cannot speak.

And now Sadie Mitchell with:

Hope and Healing

I had done it, I had left my abusive partner.  My friends were proud, my family was proud and everything was going to be okay, or so I was told. 

I didn’t feel okay.  I felt broken.  I felt stupid and foolish.  I felt guilty. My children had suffered – pulled from the home they loved, into a new bigger better house for a few months – only to be pulled from there just as soon as they had settled in.  Now we were renting a tiny little cottage and we had fuck all to put in it.  Nice one Sadie.

To top it all off, I still loved my ex.  Every night I dreamt that we were back together, only to wake with the crushing disappointment that we weren’t because he was an abuser and the reality was, he was never going to change.  It was horrible, especially as I only managed a few hours sleep a night, if that. 

So I found us a cottage that I could barely afford and I started over.  The letting agent must’ve thought I was crazy, walking behind him from room to room sobbing as I went.  

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, trying not to look at me, ‘no, but I’ll take it,’ I replied.

I collected the keys on an uncharacteristically sunny day.  My wonderful friend came with me and together we brought a few bags and boxes to start the process of moving.  I remember choking back the tears.  Swallowing hard.  I didn’t want to move here, I wanted to rewind and find that my partner was who I had believed him to be at the start.  I wanted the caring man who loved me, not the controlling monster who hurt me, but here I was, traipsing up my new path with my arms laden with boxes, swallowing the tears.  Then, just as we were almost done, I stood on a loose thread that was hanging from the bottom of my jeans.  I had been meaning to cut it off but hadn’t got around to it. I tumbled over the threshold of the cottage, box in my arms, unable to put my hands out to break my fall and landed face first onto the collapsing box, its contents strewn across the floor.  My friend rushed to help me, and we sat on the floor as she held me like a child.  The floodgates had opened, and I was sobbing like a child.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ she promised. ‘You are strong,’ she reminded me. ‘I will help you,’ she said. And then I noticed how beautiful and light the room was.  The early spring sun shone brightly, and I just knew that my friend was right.  I had done the right thing. Abuse is not love.  Walking on eggshells is not love, name calling is not love, bruises are not love, but my friend helping me up from my knees and being there for me, rooting for me and listening to me, that is love.  And that moment, sitting in the early spring sunshine, with my friend beside me, I knew that things really would get better.  I felt the first feelings of hope and healing right there and then, and I knew that everything would be okay.

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