(Thread) While reading a very heartfelt story written by a sweet new friend I met online I was inspired to finally delete all the photos of my ex. A bit extreme? Maybe, but not really. It is something I wanted to do for a while and today felt right, like time had shifted...

Today I was reminded of something that was so painful at the time I blocked it from my mind. I never even told my therapist I used to see. I am not looking for any kind of sympathy over this. I merely want to write it down so it no longer needs to be hidden. Psychological abuse..

is not always obvious. You get very good at hiding it. I used to keep private journals. I would write all my thoughts and fears in those pages, pour my heart out in little stories & dreams. I also used to write down how he would make me feel and the things he would say to me to..

belittle me, remind me how worthless I was. One day he decided it would be 'funny' to take my journals and write in them, comments and footnotes ridiculing my words. I did nothing. Then he thought he would try and 'shame' me by reading them out loud. I still did nothing. Then...

about a week later, he took it further by reading my private journals out loud to 2 visitors to my house. They were his friends not mine. I didn't even know them, met them twice. To their credit they asked him to stop. I did nothing but look mortified. My ex started playing the..

Victim, saying he was 'hurt' by the things I had written, all the while with a vindictive smile on his face. That did something to my brain. I picked up the journals, grabbed some firelighters and matches and took them out the back. I burnt them all in the garden incinerator...

His reaction was to start yelling and telling his friends "I told you she was mental, now do you believe me? Look she's insane." Maybe I was, but to me those journals were no longer mine. They were tainted, defaced by his cruelty. He had taken the one thing that felt safe and ...

used it to torment me. I regret burning them now. They held a lot of valuable information I could have used in my writing. They held a part of my history. Maybe that's why I wanted to write this out in the open. It helps me to process it. I didn't write for two years after that..

Deleting the photos is part of that process. I no longer wish to see that person's face anywhere. I want to be able to look at my personal pics without worrying that I might see him. I don't hate him. I feel nothing. He is nothing. There are too many bad memories and I have dealt

with a lot of them, but then I might look at a happy picture of myself and remember that on that same day he did something mean or cruel. Behind all my smiles there was always a bad moment I needed to overcompensate for. I could never relax. Even when I flew thousands of miles..

away to NYC he still tried to ruin it for me by using my credit card to take out £300 thinking it would leave me with no money. Luckily mom and I had a separate currency card that we had uploaded dollars to so when he called me and joked if I'd run out of money yet his plan..

failed. I never got the £300 back. So it did taint my memory. There are too many stories, too much pain. I feel angry at myself for not leaving him sooner. For 'allowing' him to torment me over and over and convince others it was me who was 'crazy' and 'weird' and yes I was..

because of him. I pushed all my friends away, because he hated them all, yet was Mr Charming to their faces. He made me believe nobody wanted to be my friend, that they were all liars. People gave up trying to contact me. I was ashamed of him, of us, of myself. " 2 and a half..

years ago I finally broke free. I discovered he had been seeing someone else and they had slept in my bed together and lived in my home as a couple while I was away 1 month helping my mother move house in Holland. I saw them getting in his car and I followed them. He knew it was

me and he turned in the road and drove past me, the girl laughing in my face. I was suddenly overcome with this huge relief. I went home, packed all his stuff and took it to his son's flat. I got my landlord to change the locks and I sat in my home, peaceful, released. I saw him

once after that at the cemetery at my daughter's grave. He didn't want our daughter and he left me alone 2 wks before she was born. I fell apart, scared, alone, no friends as he had isolated me. My distress caused her to be born a week early and she got into difficulty and died..

He didn't even come to the hospital. All I got was a phone call. "Sorry for your loss." Those were his exact words. That is why she is my daughter not his. It was my loss, not his. I should have left then, but I was too broken and he knew that, it suited him. I'm not writing this

for sympathy or 'virtual hugs' I get plenty of those from lovely sweet people. I'm writing this because I have to, because I'm still here to tell the story. I nearly wasn't, but luckily I changed my mind & chose to live. One day I'll write a book & call it "Sorry for your loss."

I don't know if anybody will read this thread. I don't really care. I just wanted to write it down, put it out in the world. Maybe twitter is not the place, but why not? Seems perfect to me. Maybe someone else can read it and feel understood. I hope they manage to break free too.