The vast majority of reports of domestic violence come from women. During their lifetime, one third of all women and girls experience some kind of physical or sexual violence, according to United Nations statistics. Significantly less frequent, and less commented on, are attacks on male partners and family members. Domestic violence against men is a taboo topic in many societies, and victims often have to fight the battle alone. "When I remember the punches, I put on my sneakers and just run." Here’s what sexual abuse looks like "My fiancé seemed perfect - but he just wanted to control me." A young man from Ukraine shared a life story with BBC journalists, on condition that he remain anonymous. Here is what he told us, as well as advice on how to recognize the signs of domestic abuse and what to do about it. My first I don't know if my friends suspected anything. Everything from the side looked great: smiling faces, lots of friends, lots of money, joy and confidence. We traveled half the world together. I didn't have to be afraid of her while we were traveling: she wouldn't hurt me in front of others. The most important thing was to avoid being alone with her.
vatio that my ex-wife raped me for 10 years. Ira was the first woman in my life. We met in our early twenties - she was the one who asked me if I wanted to go out. My parents told me that I had to move out as soon as I started having fun with someone - starting a relationship meant giving up family and a roof over your head; in one day I had to lose everything. It was scary. And so I could only afford a relationship when I saved enough money to be able to live on my own. Lack of self-confidence With all that, my mother was ashamed of me and how I looked - I had a lack of self-confidence. My first attempt at sex was with Ira and that's when I wanted it. However, it was not that it was exactly normal: it was painful and aggressive. Our first sex lasted about five hours and after that everything hurt. She was obsessed that there had to be sperm at the end. She would rub me until it happened. On average, it would take from one to two hours. Sex should be a pleasure, but for me it was never pleasant. I had no previous experience, I thought it was just like that and I got used to agreeing to everything. Soon, however, I began to refuse. But that would never stop her. Then it turned into rape.
Trapped I had to travel abroad on a long business trip. I was afraid of losing Ira, so I asked her to come with me. I even offered her to get married first. She refused, but she still came with me. That's how it all started. I was too tired from work and I just wanted a break, but she started demanding sex. I agreed once, twice… She would say, "I want it, I need it, and that's why you have to, come on, I've been waiting a long time." And I would answer, "No, I don't want to, I want to rest, I'm tired." Then she would hit me and I couldn’t do anything. She would scratch me until I bled, she would punch me. It would never leave marks on my face - it would only hurt the covered areas: my chest, back, arms. I didn’t resist because I thought beating a woman was something that was aggressive and wrong. That's how my parents raised me. I felt tiny, weak and I couldn't escape. She would get what she wanted and mostly she was on top. line I once tried to rent a separate room for myself in a hotel. But I didn't know the language, so they didn't understand me at the reception. I ended up trapped. I was afraid to return from work to the hotel, so I wandered around the mall until closing. Then I would wander around the city. It was autumn, cold and wet, and I didn't take any warm clothes with me. And so in the end I got a urinary tract infection, prostatitis and fever. That, however, did not stop Ira: I had to do what she wanted. The weekends were the worst: it would happen on Saturday mornings and Sunday evenings. I counted the days until my return to Ukraine. I thought it would end our relationship - but I was wrong."I tried to leave, but I gave up."
I moved back to my parents and I didn't even intend to be in contact with Ira, let alone live with her. But my attempts to get rid of her took years.
We would quarrel, and I would turn off the phone and block it everywhere; I would hide, but she would come and sit on the other side of the locked door. She would call me and tell me everything would be fine.
And I would come back to her every time. I was terribly afraid of being left alone.
At first I tried to leave her many times, then less and less, only to give up completely in the end.
She insisted that we get married, and we did, even though I didn't want to.
Ira was jealous of everything: my friends, my family. Wherever I went, I always had to call her.
"Why do I have to go to those conferences?" "Why would I go see my friends?" I had to be with her all the time, in her home.
She couldn't go anywhere without me - I was a toy for her that had to entertain her all the time.
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Ira didn't have a job - I supported us, cooked for us, cleaned us.
We rented a large apartment with two bathrooms. I was forbidden to use the main bathroom and I had to use only the one for "guests".
Every morning I had to wait with the use of the bathroom for her to wake up at nine or ten, otherwise I would disturb her sleep.
She decided we had to sleep in separate rooms, and my room didn't have a key. I could never be alone.
If I did “something wrong,” she would yell at me and hit me.It happened once a day or every few days.
Whatever happened - I was to blame for it. I kept listening to what kind of man she needed, what and how she should do everything.
I was helpless and I did everything she asked of me just to avoid her anger - outbursts of anger that would soon follow.
I remember once going down the stairs and getting in the car, crying. She walked past me and saw me.
When I got home, she said she was sorry but couldn’t stop.
And so the next day everything would start all over again. No matter what I did and how bad I felt, nothing changed.
"I tried to leave, but I gave up." I moved back to my parents and I didn't even intend to be in contact with Ira, let alone live with her. But my attempts to get rid of her took years. We would quarrel, and I would turn off the phone and block it everywhere; I would hide, but she would come and sit on the other side of the locked door. She would call me and tell me everything would be fine. And I would come back to her every time. I was terribly afraid of being left alone. At first I tried to leave her many times, then less and less, only to give up completely in the end. She insisted that we get married, and we did, even though I didn't want to. Ira was jealous of everything: my friends, my family. Wherever I went, I always had to call her. "Why do I have to go to those conferences?" "Why would I go see my friends?" I had to be with her all the time, in her home. She couldn't go anywhere without me - I was a toy for her that had to entertain her all the time. line Ira didn't have a job - I supported us, cooked for us, cleaned us. We rented a large apartment with two bathrooms. I was forbidden to use the main bathroom and I had to use only the one for "guests". Every morning I had to wait with the use of the bathroom for her to wake up at nine or ten, otherwise I would disturb her sleep. She decided we had to sleep in separate rooms, and my room didn't have a key. I could never be alone. If I did “something wrong,” she would yell at me and hit me.It happened once a day or every few days. Whatever happened - I was to blame for it. I kept listening to what kind of man she needed, what and how she should do everything. I was helpless and I did everything she asked of me just to avoid her anger - outbursts of anger that would soon follow. I remember once going down the stairs and getting in the car, crying. She walked past me and saw me. When I got home, she said she was sorry but couldn’t stop. And so the next day everything would start all over again. No matter what I did and how bad I felt, nothing changed. I'm not perfect either. To avoid all that, I usually worked 10, 12, 14 hours a day, both on weekends and holidays. It was easy: some people drink - others work.