Like so many English girls, I fell in love with Australia. But when my boyfriend turned into an abusive monster I was trapped in a partner visa – and there was only one person I could turn to…

Twenty-four hours in economy class is never easy, but I knew that waiting for me at the airport in Australia would be the man of my dreams.

As I walked through immigration and security, bleary-eyed, all I could think about was seeing him again. What would I say? Would it blow me away? Maybe he brought flowers.

When I stepped out into the arrivals hall, I scanned the crowd. It was not in sight. My heart raced as my sister ran towards me. I smiled. I was glad to see her.

But where was it?

There was no excuse. The man I loved and believed loved me, the man I had moved from England to Australia for, had not bothered to meet me at the airport.

My stomach twisted into a knot. No big deal, I tried to tell myself. But I knew it was. I knew it was just another example of his cruelty, his complete disregard for my feelings.

It may not seem so terrible (saying he’d meet me at the airport but not showing up), but it was just one of the countless ways my ex Adam* would try to crush my spirit during our emotionally abusive three-year relationship.

For most of that time, I couldn’t put it down; I had a partner visa, which meant that if we broke up, he could notify immigration and they would deport me.

Like so many young Brits, I fell in love with Australia’s beautiful beaches, warm climate and friendly people. Of course I wanted to stay as long as possible.

But I didn’t understand how much power I was giving my Australian boyfriend by having my visa attached. I knew he did indeed own me, and as soon as my visa was approved, the man I considered my dream partner turned into a monster.

Adam was a master manipulator. Somehow everything was always my fault. He controlled when I left the house, what I wore, who I was friends with.

If he was out of sight, he needed to know where he was going, who would be there. I needed to provide proof of my whereabouts by posting it on my Instagram story..

If I didn’t follow his rules, I would experience a cycle of punishment: He would get angry, tell me I was the worst human on the planet, ignore me for days, and then pretend nothing had happened.

He never raised his hand to me. He was too smart for that.. I knew that if I had any bruises or signs of physical violence I could go to the police to report it.

And he always maintained that kind of “nice guy” public persona that meant no one would believe me if I told them. There were two sides to it: I have the monster.

I was on vacation in Australia when we met. I was with a friend in a bar when Adam He bought me a drink. At first I wasn’t interested, but he continued to pay attention to me and I relented. Looking back I wish I had I never exchanged numbers.

When I got to know him, there were a lot of red flags.

The first was love bombing, a psychological tactic in which you overwhelm someone with excessive affection so you can more easily manipulate them later.

Earlier he talked about being heartbroken so I could sympathize with him and kept mentioning his “crazy” ex-girlfriend.

Our first date was days later and we spent three intense weeks stuck together before I had to fly home to the UK when my visa expired.

Looking bad, I should have paid more attention to the worrying traits I noticed during that first month of passion: he always needed to be the center of attention and got furious when he wasn’t, he hated when other men talked to me and was quick to get jealous. .

While I was home in England, he called me and accused me of cheating on him with my housemate. It was a ridiculous accusation, but we spent hours on the phone talking about it.

This behavior foreshadowed what the next few years of my life were going to be: our relationship was not one of love and care, but one of intimidation and control.

Adam thought I belonged to him.

Living with a monster

When I flew back to Melbourne, he told me he loved me and we became exclusive, but we broke up and got back together several times over the next few years.

The first time we broke up, he called me on a drunken night and demanded that I meet him at a bar “with something sexy.”

I still hate to admit that I did what he asked, and even though I turned around to find him drunk and demanding a threesome, I restarted our relationship.

There were more warning signs: when I had to go to New Zealand for six months for work, he never came to visit and refused to get a passport.

Then when I returned to Australia to see him for Christmas he left me out of his plans and I had to spend it alone.

I asked him to move to England to be with me, but he refused because his whole life was spent in Australia.

Then, when I finally returned, he didn’t welcome me with open arms at the airport; my sister, who lived in Australia, did. And since I had sold everything and had nothing to come home to, I had to stay with him despite the humiliation.

But living together only made things worse. Either he was extremely affectionate or he didn’t approach me. I was always hot and cold for no reason; It was like he loved me and hated me at the same time.

I was no longer allowed to drink alcohol, he forced me to go to therapy, and he told me I wasn’t a “normal person.” If I initiated sex, he could refuse, while I could never refuse. It was the ultimate power play.

Over time I became his mother. I would cook and clean for him. I became a vegetarian and if we went out to dinner I had to pay for everything.

I guess part of the problem was that I didn’t want to leave. Even when he yelled at me, I thought it was my fault.

If his parents visited him, he would act like everything was fine and chat in a charming way, and then as soon as they left, he would go back to being controlling.

But even they were horrible to me at first, once asking me if I was only with him for the couple visa I applied for in January 2020, after we had been together for a year and two months.

The Covid period that followed was a nightmare. I was stuck with him 24/7 with no one else to talk to, but the partner visa was perhaps my worst mistake. She was legally stuck with him.

Every time I did something wrong, he threatened to cancel my visa and deport me, which at the time was my biggest fear.

how I escaped

Adam forced me to go to therapy while insisting he himself had nothing wrong, but during the Covid lockdowns in Melbourne I listened to podcasts during my 15-minute walks in the outside world and discovered this wasn’t normal.

I called Lifeline and they listened to me. I questioned myself and asked myself if I needed to be a better girlfriend. He always told me that I was the problem.

Then I called Orange Door, a domestic violence hotline, and spent an hour on the phone. It didn’t take long for the woman on the other end to become alarmed.

‘I don’t want to scare you, but you need to get out of this relationship as soon as possible. “Coercive control is a very dangerous thing for women in relationships,” she told me.

I shut it down by saying it wasn’t that bad and that I didn’t believe her, which she said was a normal reaction.

It took him a while to sink in.

A few weeks into another cycle of punishment, I called them and asked, ‘What do I have to do?’

They told me to pack my belongings when he wasn’t home, drive to the police station and then call back and they would arrange emergency accommodation for me.

As soon as he left, I unplugged the security cameras I had installed at the front door, packed everything I could into my car, turned the cameras back on, and left.

I drove to my sister’s house (the only place I felt safe) and turned off the phone.

The next morning I checked my phone and he texted me asking where my stuff was.

I called Orange Door, who gave me a secret address and told me I couldn’t tell anyone where I was going, not even my sister. I did exactly that and they took care of me.

Adam tried calling, texting and emailing me, but I didn’t respond.

For two days I barely left the room or ate because I was so anxious. I spent my time writing a 40-page statement of what had happened. Then they took me to the police station and there was a woman at the desk, thank God.

For two days I explained everything to them and they moved forward. But it didn’t take long for Adam to realize that he wasn’t coming home.

He demanded that I go back to the apartment and pick up everything that wasn’t his while he wasn’t there.

But when I arrived I immediately noticed that he had thrown out almost everything: photos of us on the walls, home decor, and other small items around the apartment.

It looked like a professional cleaner had been there and there was almost nothing to pick up.

Another way he controlled me even after I left was by not letting me out of the lease and I had to complain to the VCAT (Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal) to get me released.

After staying in emergency housing, I moved nine times in ten months. I didn’t know where to go. My friends would help me stay or I would stay in hotels to survive. It was a really difficult time in my life.

The Salvation Army then gave me a six-month membership with an expert to help me with my next steps.

I now support other victims of domestic violence and hope that sharing my story will raise awareness about how domestic violence is not always physical.

People are always looking for a black eye, bruises or scratches. I didn’t experience any of that.

I had an eating disorder but I didn’t know it at the time. I changed my clothes, posted on Instagram every time I went out, and avoided socializing.

Look for changes: fluctuations in weight, clothes, things they say, or if they’re always on the phone. Take note of the little things, because there are not always physical signs.

And if you know someone who has been abused, don’t abandon them. Their bubble needs to burst, but you can’t be the one to do it for them.

*Name has been changed

• As told to Carina Stathis