Article: Belinda Ross from FAIRLADY
Image: True Love magazine

Hard and eroded – life is slowly wearing me down. Oh, to be a sponge, to drink freely from experience, to be wrung out by the hand of pain, to swell with saturating joy. My wish is to be porous, to have the capacity to imbibe and outpour.

March 28 The double bed bothers me. I don't want to sleep with its memories. I wish he'd taken it. So much effort has gone into purging the past and still I feel I've been treading water for the past three months. Isn't pain meant to result in growth? I'm aware that a storm is raging while I sit in a little glasshouse looking out at the blackness, the heavy clouds and the lightning with blank, surprised eyes.

I've been observant, seeing all, but hardly understanding. I can look out but the rain can't wash over me. I can't stand in the storm and feel heavy drops sting my skin. It's claustrophobic in here; the air barely moves. I want to obliterate my sexuality. Seeing that on paper is shocking. How do I explain the desire to withdraw intimacy? I still hear his words calling me 'a titless, unwomanly, boring bitch'. My throat thickens. I choke. I need air.

March 29 Saw Shakespeare in Love with Karin. It was good to laugh. Seeing romance, I felt twinges of the memory of love. An internal movie projected images of happy, tender times onto my mind's eye. The telephone broke the spell. A message to call a mutual friend. I lie here again with the nausea of fear. What's the message? Am I in danger again? Is he a danger to himself? Have I unwittingly done something wrong? Why am I so conditioned into thinking that it's my fault? Solid ground turns to quicksand.

March 30 The call wasn't what I feared. It was about him wanting to sue me for what he put into my house. But I have already paid him more than his due. I'm certain no lawyer would look twice at his demands. He wants to bill me for gardening and odd jobs, most of which I've taken pleasure in undoing since he left. Another call from him.

It was angry and abusive, going round in circles. I put down the phone, dizzy and dazed. I should've cut it short, but I get sucked in. When he launches a verbal attack, I want to defend myself. It's so pointless. He is like a child who will try every angle for a bit of attention. I don't want to play this game any more.

April 1 My dog Emma died. It was horrible. Been nauseous all day. The presence of death wouldn't leave. I said things couldn't get worse. Wow, was I wrong! Later, after my poetry meeting, I felt better. The creative spirit never ceases to amaze and delight me.

April 2 Today was a relatively good one. I went to a church lunch, which was pleasant. People were sincere and caring. Later in the afternoon Karin talked me into participating in a 5km fun walk along the beachfront. It was a great idea. It felt good to be out getting some exercise.

As we arrived at the beach I saw Andrew leaving his car. An unfortunate coincidence, as that brief crossing lingered in my mind. Still, it was a good day. Trauma-free and for the most part pleasant.

April 3 I feel utterly alone and afraid. I can't grasp the concept of getting out of this space. I can't picture myself filled with the joy of existence. A happy, energised me. I remember times when I was enthusiastic, when I really liked and respected who I was. There was so much hope, so much to enjoy and look forward to.

I remember loving and being loved. But I'm afraid that person is buried now in the garden with Emma. Death is obscene. It stinks. Decay, and the loss of the soul, is terrifying. Ironically, tomorrow is Easter Sunday, the celebration of resurrection.

April 4 I'm too weary to even admit to this page the contents of my day. I've had the most symbolic Easter. First, dad's gardener came to exhume and rebury Emma. I'd dug the grave too shallow and the neighbours had complained to the Department of Health about the odour. A sympathetic employee of the department came here and suggested I dig a deeper one. I enlisted the help of the gardener, escaping to church while he did it.

I was caught off guard when, during the sign of peace, Andrew took my hand. He knows exactly where he can be sure of bumping into me and, when he can't, he resorts to stalking. After the service he asked me out. In the spirit of forgiveness it seemed right.

He launched into the usual tirade about how useless and frustrating I am. If only I'd sorted out my papers and written 'to do' lists and so on, he wouldn't have given me 'a few smacks'. He wanted to spend the day with me tomorrow. I said no. I drove off with him swearing and shouting at me.

April 5 Today is family day and I spent it alone. I slept a bit, went shopping and spoilt myself with a lovely bunch of pink flowers. Also tidied and threw out junk. Satisfied with the day.

April 6 The court case is tomorrow, and it's all I can think of right now, but I feel calm. Our legal system baffles me. Until today I've not been subpoenaed. After about 10 phone calls I found out I must be there. If not, the case would be remanded. I had to go to my new boss and tell him where I must be and why. Very embarrassing.

The prosecutor told me I could withdraw the case. I then contacted the magistrate, who contradicted this. I would really like to know what the hard and fast rules are. Can a domestic violence case just be dropped? The wheels are in motion. I pray justice will be done.

April 9 The case was remanded. There are so many options. If it goes ahead the outcome is entirely in the hands of the judge. He determines what punishment is meted out? whether it's jail, a suspended sentence or a fine. I feel jail will be the least beneficial. But that likelihood is slim.

I wasn't seriously injured. (By that I mean hospitalised.) The police saw my bruises, but, compared with what other women go through, it wasn't severe. If he goes to jail I'm afraid of him really wanting to do me harm. He hates me now and I shudder to think of his wrath when released. The sad thing is that ultimately neither the judge nor I can make him see that his behaviour was bizarre, unwarranted and wrong. I don't want to hold this hot potato any more. My hands hurt.

April 10 I got a new dog today. She's a real pavement special. I've called her Nix, short for Phoenix, as we are both beginning a new life. I should make a rule – no romantic movies. It's near midnight and here I lie, pining for romance. I want to be held, looked at with love and desire. Why do they make soppy movies? Let's get real: Romance is dead!

April 12 I'm alone and fragmented, lost in a strange barren place. I'm afraid of the future. I'm afraid of failure. Afraid I don't know how to love. It's so hard to let go. It's hard to believe in happy endings.

April 13 He phoned tonight to say he's collecting his stuff tomorrow. I confess the call left me feeling sad. What a pity things went so horribly wrong. I feel a sense of failure. If only I hadn't been so infuriating. Could I have learnt to placate him, made him happier, stilled the anger? It's too late now.

Picture: Nadette Clare-Talbot