I feel anonymous within myself. I hold no value or image of who I am or what I want to be. I have become a possession to someone who claims that they love me. I suppose he uses physical violence to reflect his feelings of love, delivering physical and mental torture each time, with every attack. This is not a fairytale. In fact, in my story there is no such thing as a happy ending- maybe the ending of my life, but that's about it. I am a victim of domestic violence, projected from a man reminiscing his passionate desire for me: desire no one else can have, let alone share. It starts with love, happiness, then eventually hate, to a point where life is no longer worth the cost of living. I am no more than an object - that is all I will ever be, but how can I escape? Maybe I don't, maybe I can't, maybe I won't. "His head turned as my petrified-self, made a slow and unsure pace towards him, almost like a lion hunting its prey, yet it was me who felt victimised."