TELL YOUR STORY

If you are a male victim of family violence - domestic violence, violence from other family members, child abuse, elder abuse, sexual assault, or other forms of family violence and abuse - this page is available for you to tell your anonymous story. Please click here to tell your own story. If you feel like you need support, please click here. Stories are moderated to prevent the posting of spam, so it might take a little while for your story to appear on this page.

PERSONAL STORIES FROM MALE VICTIMS OF FAMILY VIOLENCE AND ABUSE

Monday
Jun032019

Jay's personal story

I am both an abuser and abused. I am an abuser because I shout at my wife. This happens regularly – out of frustration that I am called names, put down, told that every time I speak I am speaking bullsh** and lying.

It happens because my wife will ask me a question, I will attempt to answer and she will cut me off, again telling me I am lying or that I am wrong (because I don't agree with her perspective) so I get frustrated and angry.

It happens because I am tired of being called "damaged goods" (I was sexually, physically and mentally abused by my mother when I was a child), am tired of being called a dumb c**t, stupid f**k, an idiot, lazy, useless, incompetent and hopeless, and generally a waste of space.

I am an abuser because I "control" my wife by cooking meals, doing the weekly shopping, driving the car while she is in it and because, even though she has over a third of my take-home pay put directly into her bank account every fortnight, I won't give her control over my debit card as she sees fit.

I have even been told that she is "in command" and in control so I should seek her permission to fold "her" towels and sheets, to move her washing and even to fill the car with petrol.

I am dirty, messy, untidy, disorganised, and would be happy living in a pigsty. I am so filthy that I have to wash my hands thoroughly and change my clothes when I come home from work every night. I work in a professional position in a very clean environment. I am abused because I feel worthless, lack confidence in completing even basic tasks because I never quite get it right, I am not allowed to pat or feed our dog without permission. I have been allocated my own area of the house, and all of my things have been moved there. I am not allowed to even look into “her area” but she is able to take my things, rearrange them, move them or even throw them out if she desires.

I have done a lot in the past of which I am not proud – including forming friendships online (but never meeting or indulging in innuendo or sexual flirtations) and having an affair when we were separated for several months almost 15 years ago. These indiscretions came about because my wife would not let me touch her, withdrawing physically and emotionally for months or even years at a time. She would also spend long periods of time interstate looking after family members, leaving me to work full time and look after children. Being lonely is not an excuse, but it is an explanation.

I have not always been the perfect father or husband but I do my best. I rarely drink, I don't smoke and I don't gamble. I rarely go out unless to work or a family function, and very rarely spend money on myself.

I am abusive because my wife tells me I am. I am a victim of abuse for the same reason. I hate living.

Friday
May312019

Chris' personal story

My family is one of those ‘out of the ordinary’ families when it comes to domestic violence. For years growing up during childhood, whilst Dad would be at work, my mother would mentally and physically abuse my sister and I. She always wanted to get rid of Dad because she didn't see him as someone to show off to people. I put it this way because Mum uses inanimate objects and her own living breathing family members as nothing but status icons. Mum would occasionally attack someone and get police involved and would attempt to manipulate or coerce my sister and I into falsifying statements or lie to people in order to get Dad into trouble.

As years passed and my sister and I became teenagers and later transitioned into young adulthood, things began to escalate. One night my mother chucked dad's work bag at my face and put a hole in the wall behind me as his bottle missed my head. I phoned the police and they made the situation much worse. Despite calling them and showing where and how I was attacked, including my facial injuries, they did nothing. Instead my mother told them that my Dad attacked her and they took him to the station for questioning and made an IVO for my mother against him. He couldn't return home that night and slept at a petrol station. On another occasion I chose to leave with my Dad and slept in the trunk of our car just to get away from my mum. It was my fault as I got attacked by my Mum and called police. A Sergeant from the Police told me, “you're a 20yr old male, I doubt your mother could attack you, grow the f### up son”.

That's just one prime example of how male victims are treated and goes to show how dodgy the police can be. Men beware, when you're a victim of domestic violence, don't rely on the police. They'll just turn around and slap you, your son, your brother or your father with an IVO for no reason and they may also not be allowed to return home. But it doesn't end there. My mother is a narcissist, anything that goes wrong or anything she does wrong, she'd go into denial mode or blame the nearest person, causing heated arguments. Eventually after her constant physical attacks, my sister and I took IVOs out against her and the police and Crisis Assessment Team locked her up in a psych ward for a while. Dad being dad, loving Mum too much despite all the wrong she's done to him and their own children, convinced us to remove our IVOs. I still remember that day. My sister and I had a massive argument with him in the Magistrates Court and all the way back home. Even the Magistrate and police warned him not to take this path…

Fast forward to 2019. After allowing our mother to breach our orders (we failed to remove them) and return to our lives, the trouble began again. She put up this remorseful facade towards Dad but she wasn't fooling me or my sister. Skip to February, I was enjoying another 35+ degree scorcher in the pool. My mother was screaming like a banshee, verbally abusing my Dad and sister (she was angry why I asked her to help me pay my house bills as everyone helped me but her). Things escalated when I heard loud bangs and my sister screaming for help, so I bolted inside, almost slipping on the floorboards as I was soaking wet. My sister was struck in the head and hunched over clutching her face, crying hysterically. My mother was kneeling and filming my sister, breathing heavily looking like she had done something exhausting. My Dad came and helped them both off the floor whilst I stood there in shock.

My sister phoned police and an ambulance. I stood in the hallway talking to my Dad in the kitchen wondering what just happened. My mother came barging out from the master bedroom and yelled to me and my dad, trying to convince us that my sister bashed her, even though I clearly saw the climax. She shoved her phone in my face filming me and I smacked it out of her hand and told her not to touch my sister again. She picked up her phone and started yelling at my Dad saying that I punched her in the eye (even though he was right in-front of me). She then ran into the bathroom and phoned police as well. Later, police and paramedics arrived and assessed my sister's facial injuries. They worked on getting my mother out of the house and send her to the hospital for a psychiatric assessment. One of the female Senior Constables told us that if she was to get another call out to my address, she'd issue everyone with a safety notice. She refused to have my mother charged for assaulting my sister and instead told me off over slapping the phone out of her hand. She also said (as I assumed) that my mother's video didn't really show anything worth needing any action to be taken so they all left my house.

One day later, my mother came to my house in the company of two police officers and got her clothes and electronics. She claimed she needed some time apart to cool off and the officers assured us that nothing dodgy was going on, when Dad asked them if they're not letting her stay with us and questioned what was going on. We never saw my Mum again for almost an entire month. I even phoned up the Melton police station and asked about any reported incidents as I had a hunch that she was up to no good again. They denied it so life continued as normal…

…Until February 26th. I was watching Game of Thrones that evening and I heard an aggressive knock on the door. It was two officers from the local police station. They served me, my Dad and sister with IVOs on mum's behalf and told us that although she didn't live in my house and that we could stay put (apparently we weren't allowed to stay in my house) we would need to leave if she was to show up. This news hit us hard. I attempted my first suicide that night and lost EVERYTHING.

To this day, as I type this story out, things have only got worse and we're still waiting for our court date in October. My sister, Dad and I were made homeless over my mother's fake IVOs. Even though the police knew what happened that day, they allowed my mother to commit perjury and fabricate the facts of the February incident a month later and somehow had a silly Magistrate approve of the IVOs, all without anyone's knowledge that this was even happening behind our backs. The legal system officially stuffed us over. My sister was a victim of my mother's assault and my Dad and I were witnesses and somehow we all became respondents to mum's 3 IVOs. The Magistrate kicked us out of my own home and onto the streets and refused to alter the IVOs on many occasions even though my mother already had housing and support from the various women support agencies. We were left with nothing but the same smelly clothes we were kicked on the street with and that Magistrate had not a care in the world.

Since the serving of the IVOs in February, I attempted suicide multiple times, lost all my belongings and now, my house, as my mother exploited the IVO system, broke into it, changed my locks and started making demands that I sign it onto her. I'm powerless to do anything about it. My Dad also lost his job, my sister never got to complete her VCE and we've all wasted what was left of our savings as my mother took all of our money and started financially controlling us, and the courts don't give a toss, even though our IVOs against her state that she cannot do such a thing. Obviously mothers are granted immunity to IVO conditions and are free to breach them with zero consequences.

2 key points of this story: a. The courts are ruthless and one-sided and will discriminate against men and young adult victims of family violence if the Mum pretends to be the victim b. The police are useless. If you're a male or female victim attempting to get help because of an abusive mother, don't risk it, they'll put your entire family on the street.

This is another example showing just how broken our IVO system is and how easily it can be exploited. Even though I blame my mother for causing all this trouble due to her violent behaviour towards everyone, is it right for me to blame myself too? I cannot forgive myself for destroying my family as I was the one phoning the police every time my mother would assault someone. If I had just kept quiet and put up with her abuse, maybe things would be different today…

Sunday
Apr282019

Sean's personal story

We were married for 13 years. I was in the Navy and she was studying her VCE as an adult student. We were both 20 at the time. We had a great relationship for the first year or so, but then she started to show her violent side. She would kick, punch and scratch. I had ashtrays, plates of food and even dog poo thrown at me. One Sunday morning when we were living in Rockingham, WA, I was cleaning out the shed. She came out and demanded I go into town and buy more Chinese food for her and her cousin, visiting from Victoria. I refused, for two reasons. The Chinese restaurant we went to the previous night was not yet open, and I was filthy from cleaning out the shed. As I bent down to pick up a piece of timber, I felt a thud on my back, which at first I thought was a punch. After a few minutes, the area where she hit me began to sting, so I went inside to look in the mirror with my shirt off. I couldn't get the shirt to come up over my head, and when I looked, I found that she had stabbed me in the back with a fork, which was pinning the shirt to my back. The fork was buried so deep, I had to use as much force as I could to pull it out. It also had a pork & prawn dim sim still attached. I just carried on cleaning outside, and didn't give the stabbing much thought. The next day, I felt sick and went into the Base Hospital to see a Doctor. The doc straight away could tell what had taken place, and said I needed to report it. I refused and begged him to just leave it alone – just treat my injury. He said the fork just missed my spine, and the wound was infected. He cleaned it out, patched it up and I went on my way back to work.

At other times, she would get drunk or stoned on marijuana, and lash out with her nails when I refused to have sex. She would ring me at work and tell me when I got home, the dogs would be dead and cut up because I refused to have sex. I told her many times that it was not right, and she needed help. She overdosed on Valium and Largactil several times, each time ending up in the psych ward at the hospital for weeks. I stayed because I thought she needed me, and we were both in Perth, thousands of kms from our families. The ODs continued, along with the violence.

In 1995, I left the Navy and we moved to Adelaide to be closer to my family. I bought a Jim's Mowing franchise, and I was working 12 hours a day, 6 days a week, earning great money. I left the banking to her, as I was too busy. After a couple of months, I discovered she had been depositing the money into the Pokies, not the bank. When I confronted her, she tried to stab me again, this time with scissors. As the months went by, I became more and more depressed with the combination of running a failing business and coping with being freshly discharged from the strict regimented life in the Navy. By Christmas in 95, I was suicidal, and in the Daw Park Repat Hospital Psych Unit. I was also going bankrupt.

After a year of not working, I finally found a job driving buses. Most of my shifts were afternoon shifts, so I was not normally home for dinner. There were several occasions where she would wait at the stop where I would have my meal break and beg me to just leave the bus where it was and come home because she felt lonely. It made working very difficult. In 1997, after many years of trying, she finally fell pregnant. I thought maybe having a baby would settle her down. 18 weeks into the pregnancy, she began bleeding and went into labour. We lost the baby, and the doctor believed it was due to a weak cervix. This happened again twice more, the second baby again lost at 18 weeks, and the third at 22 weeks after a cervical stitch was inserted. Her and my depression deepened greatly. In 1999 we moved to Vic, where I began a career as a Prison Officer. We also discovered a new technique which gave us a final shot at having a family - an Abdominal Cervical Suture, basically a big drawstring around the womb. We had it done, got pregnant and at 36 weeks had a beautiful baby girl. The suture was meant to stay in, but was causing great pain, so she had it surgically removed. During surgery, the surgeon nicked her bowel. 4 weeks later, her bowel ruptured and she ended up with a colostomy bag.

The abuse started again, as she had become addicted to opiates, smoking marijuana, drinking and using the colostomy as a form of abuse – she would deliberately take it off in bed and let the contents leak all over me. I spent many nights cleaning up shit in the bed and all over the house. I still stayed, because now I had a little girl who needed me. The colostomy was reversed after 6 months, and she was again put on even stronger pain meds. I had to install a secure medicine cabinet in the bathroom to prevent her from over dosing on opiates. With this, she then began calling 000 for an ambulance at least once a week for “chronic pain”. She'd get a shot of morphine in hospital and me and baby daughter would drag our arses out of bed in the middle of the night to go and pick her up.

The final straw for me was when she kicked me out of our home on several occasions, and I was forced to sleep in the local park at night. She would pass out on the back porch from all the drugs during the night, so I would sneak home, have a shower and get ready for work, and take my daughter to a neighbour's to go to school. At the end of the day, she would have no recollection of what she had done.

At night, she would fall asleep at the sink while washing the dishes. She would come into the bedroom with a knife and tell me when I went to sleep she would come in and slit my throat. One night, I left, with basically the clothes on my back and some uniform for work. We divorced, and to get back at me, she allowed the family home which was still in my name and hers, to go into foreclosure. She had gone bankrupt, and therefore was not liable for any of the debt, including the Mortgagee Insurance. I was left to pay. When I would visit to see my daughter, she became violent. On different occasions, she threw a treasured picture from my childhood at me, smashing the glass. She kicked my car door as I was getting in, trapping my head between the door and the body. She attempted to reverse over me in the driveway as I approached the house one day, just missing me. She was going as fast as she could in reverse, with our daughter in the car. All of this was reported to Police, who said there was nothing they could do as it was a “Domestic Dispute”. They also knew that I was a Prison Officer, and basically told me to harden up.

Fast forward a few years, and the abuse continued in the form of having IVOs brought out against me by my daughter, under the guidance of her mother. I have not seen my daughter for more than two years, except in court. My current partner and I have two children, who also miss seeing their sister. She is now 18.

In August 2018, my ex wife passed away suddenly from a blood clot on her lung. For the first time in years, I am finally free of her abuse. I went to her funeral, expecting to be glad to be there. Instead, I was a sobbing mess, not because I missed her or her presence, but because I realised I was grieving for the life she took away from me for all those years. The life I could never get back. The years without seeing my daughter. The years I suffered mentally and financially because of her ongoing campaign to bring me and my family down. I am finally free to tell my story, because, after all these years, her hold over me was still so strong that I was afraid of the consequences if I dared speak out while she was still alive.

Not everyone you lose is a loss.

Thursday
Apr042019

Blind Justice's personal story

I met my wife 3 years ago.

At the time I did not know she was still seeing her ex-boyfriend and we had moved into the same building as him. When I did discover this it was too late she was pregnant. During a pregnancy test, it was revealed I was the father. I did what society told me was the right thing to do and marry her against my gut feeling at the time. From early pregnancy she became erratic and violent towards me. Accepting this as pre and post natal depression I persisted and did not give it a second thought. After the baby was born she would become angry and violent, hitting my face, kicked me in the testicles, or throwing cups and plates at me. She also threatened to take my son away and that I would never see him again. She often reminded me that the law sides with the women and anything she said was taken as evidence. She was very controlling and would use psychological games to make me submit to her monetary demands.

I did not wake up even when police attended our house and they named me the perpetrator of family violence unknowingly in LEAP reports. It was 9 months later until I received a summons to appear before a magistrate court to face accusations of financial and emotional violence. The application was not approved by the magistrate. This application was made by a police officer who relied on a baseless accusations and less than the half truth. Coupled with this was the cowardice and pathetic response of the Victoria Police and DHHS who were adamant I was the ‘bad guy’ without proof or evidence and just hearsay accusations. I later discovered that one police officer gave my wife his personal mobile phone number and offered to help my wife perpetrate fraudulent charges of violence against me to help her get a visa. I was very disappointed. I rang the officers, I wrote complaints, I even escalated the matter to anti-corruption boards but to no avail. No one believed me, especially the police. To my saving grace, my wife had hit me in public the week before had been witnessed by a passing Good Samaritan who stopped to check if I was ok. He was more than happy to provide evidence of my wife's assault of me. In the end I did not press charges but favoured the road of forgiveness and giving my wife a chance to seek counselling instead of a prison sentence.

For 99% of the time, my wife is a great wife, a fantastic mum, but when she loses her cool, she hits me and damages property. What she needed at the time was psychological services not propaganda fed to her by DHHS case workers with hidden agendas. I realised my wife has been at a very vulnerable point in her life been manipulated by a propaganda agenda.

Through their negligence, I am taking the Victoria Police, DHHS to VCAT (Equal Opportunity) for Human Rights Abuses; Gender Victimisation as a male. Also I will be proceeding to sue them damages to our family and my wife for gross misconduct and police torts.

Through this process I was able to clearly identify the female violence against me both physical, psychological and sexual abuse started as a boy with my mother. She was a proud feminist burning her torches of freedom in the air in the 60's yet in her liberation she sort vengeance against the male gender and literally enjoyed ‘male bashing’ and making me ashamed to be a man.

I realised that since a young age I have had feminist ideologies beating me.

My advice to men in domestic violence situations where your partner female or male has abused you; if police attend your property first act with caution. Unfortunately your gender is discriminated against with the Victoria Police. They have already decided you are the perpetrator of the domestic violence before you speak.

Before you open the door, remember if you have not committed a crime, do not open the door. Police have no right or entry nor DHHS without a warrant. Be courteous and respectful and first enquire as to the nature of their visit through the screen door. Switch on your video on your phone and record. Tell them exactly why you are filming, because you fear gender bias. Ask for their name and number(s). Ask them the reason for attending your property/ place of residence. Provide facts and record what is being said using your phone. You do not have to answer any questions being asked if you do not feel comfortable.

Next, apply through Freedom of Information for your LEAP/ police record. Ensure that what you discussed has been recorded, and that nothing else has been recorded i.e. false or misleading statements that are made by police.

If you find any discrepancy, contact the Professional Conduct Unit of the Victoria Police and complain. If you feel the attitude of police is still unchanged then apply to VCAT under Equal Opportunity, for male victimisation i.e. gender bias.

Have your story heard for free in a legal setting and summons the officers their to face the video conversations you had with them.

The only real justice is the truth and exposed gender bias for what it is; Human Right's Abuse by the state and their appendages i.e. Victoria Police, DHHS and funded NGO social services.

I have been driven to tell the world about women to male violence, and the feminist agenda fuelling the propaganda in our current media.

I hope to make a difference, to end the war of gender victimisation, to bring reality to the discussion table and the real facts and end gender victimisation in domestic violence and expose Victoria Police, DHHS and Social Services corruption once and for all.

I end my story with a quote by one of the most bravest human rights campaigners in history.

Martin Niemöller prominent pastor who was an outspoken public foe of Adolf Hitler, and who suffered the last seven years of Nazi rule in concentration camps.

"First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me."

Sunday
Mar172019

Jane's personal story

Growing up my mother was very emotionally/verbally abusive toward my father. I've never really talked about this before, but after reading so many of these stories in which men stay with abusive women for the sake of the kids, I'm going to go ahead and do so.

My mother is one of those people who isn't happy unless she has someone to hate. That person was usually my dad, but he worked out of town a lot and when he wasn't there that person was me, the oldest child. She was often cruel to me, telling me she wished I'd never been born because I ruined her life and such, but the pain of that sort of thing was nothing compared to hearing her say terrible things about my dad, or, when he was there, to him.

He was a wonderful dad and I loved him fiercely. At the same time, though, I dreaded him coming home, because that meant non-stop screaming and yelling between him and my mom. Sometimes I'd catch myself wishing he wouldn't come home... then I'd be terrified that my wish would cause him to die (so he wouldn't come home) and I'd spend all night crying, looking out the window for his headlights and taking back my wish with all my might.

Sometimes my mom would rip into him with such cruelty that he'd start crying. When that happened sometimes I'd think about sneaking into their bedroom and killing my mom in her sleep. Those thoughts also terrified me, ripped me to pieces, because she is, after all, my mom; she wasn't pure evil, sometimes she was very kind and fun, and I couldn't help loving her despite her cruelty.

The conflict of loving both one's parents while simultaneously wishing one of them would be gone for the sake of the other is a special kind of hell that children aren't equipped to deal with.

If my parents were in general proximity to each other they were guaranteed to be screaming at each other. My sisters and I spent countless nights under beds or in closets, covering our ears with pillows, trying not to hear the words that hurt as much as any physical blow. I still can't explain why our parents yelling at each other was so scary - there was never any physical violence and us kids were generally ignored when they had each other to yell at - but it was very frightening all the same.

We lived in a small town and the whole neighbourhood could easily hear their fights. Most of my friends weren't allowed to come to my house because of the fighting. Us kids got a lot of sympathy from the neighbours, always offering a place to stay and such if things got bad at home; while that was kind of them, it was also humiliating. I'm 40 years old now and still too ashamed to contact anyone I knew as a kid, be it my peers or their parents.

When I was 16 my parents finally got divorced. We were all so, so much happier. My dad only got to see my sisters a couple times a year (due to distance), which was sad for him and them, but it was worth the trade-off overall. I know that sounds terrible and in some ways it is, but it was much less terrible than the almost daily torture sessions of before.

The pain of abuse is often worse when it is targeted at someone you deeply care for. Wouldn't you gladly take a blow or an insult for your child, to spare them that pain? Your child would do the same for you, for the same reasons.

My point here is, leaving, even if it means you don't get to see your kids very often, is not necessarily the worst decision for them. Us kids were aware that our mom was kind of nuts and we never held any resentment toward our dad, nor did we believe for a moment the lies she tried to tell us about him. I remember being conscious of her lies as young as 5; small children may not be able to articulate this sort of thing, but, I believe, they often know exactly what's going on.

I wish you all the best and am truly sorry you have such hurtful people in your lives.