Later that night, Lucy picked up the journal for what felt like the hundredth time. There was something about writing down her feelings that made the remand in custody a bit more bearable. Dr Moloney was right. Lucy knew that she had to get the thoughts out of her head, but she had to be careful. Telling the truth would have consequences that she was not ready to deal with yet. Instead, she wrote about what it was like to live with Patrick on a daily basis. Maybe someone would understand why she did what she did. Lucy didn’t give any of the entries a date or title, she just wrote what came to mind, letting the words tell the story …
Every day in that house with Patrick was becoming more and more of a struggle. I’m not sure people could or would ever understand how I felt … still feel … and how I could go about living a lie. Inside the bricks and mortar, which were no longer a home, I felt exactly the same way as I do now – imprisoned. It was like living with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde at times. Never knowing which of the two I would be dealing with – yes, dealing – and negotiating my own feelings, to keep Patrick happy. Now that’s a joke! I’m not sure Patrick was ever, or could ever, be happy. A deep-rooted anger took hold of him some years ago, before he ever met me, and he never let it go.
Work was my only escape. Somewhere I could be something else … someone else completely. I suppose that was also part of the reason I used my maiden name at work: I told people it was to protect my identity on social media – but that wasn’t the truth at all. Being Lucy Sherwood meant I could be assertive, in control of my life, confident. The ‘Lucy’ I used to know. I could laugh, tell totally inappropriate jokes, be fun.
Even more ironic was the fact that I work with … specialized in … domestic abuse cases. The abusers, not the victims. I hate that word – victim – though at times it was exactly what I felt like. I’m a survivor, but that still doesn’t feel right as I stare out of the bars on the window in my cramped cell. The only thing that each of the men and women I worked with had in common: the absolute desire for complete power and control over another person or people.
Why didn’t I just leave? Oh, if it was only that easy! Being made to feel like you’d be hunted down, never be able to live your life free of the threats, constantly looking over your shoulder – those are some of the reasons I didn’t leave. I was afraid if I left, Siobhan, and Rory would have no positive role models, no one to teach them what they should or shouldn’t accept, even if that wasn’t actually true. I thought that by giving up my own happiness, I could somehow secure theirs. I know, that really doesn’t make sense. But when you’re in a situation like the one I was in, crazy thoughts become normal, logical thoughts.
I also feared Patrick would turn his anger towards them. He loved his kids, but I have seen it happen. The loss of power over the partner and that anger needs to be redirected. The bullying starts, the child becomes the target – easy to manipulate, degrade, and better yet, too afraid to ask for help. There was no way I was going to let that happen.