I Lost 30kg and My Face to a Woman Who Controlled Me

I had a bad feeling the moment I met her. It was October 2007, and I was a 29-year-old computer science graduate, single and looking for a connection. She was 36, a mother of twins, living on social assistance. We met on a dating site, and despite that initial instinct warning me, I moved in with her in Paris just a month later.

It didn't take long for the dynamic to shift. Within four months, she began confiscating my documents and payment methods. She took my phone, destroyed it, and hid my wallet and ID card. She demanded the code to my bank card and took control of my computer. I felt a strange pressure, a sense of being trapped, but I told myself it was just a rough patch.

I lost thirty kilograms and my face to a woman who turned my apartment into a prison, forcing me to sleep on the floor while she held my identity hostage.

Then came the first violent outburst. On Christmas Eve, she attacked me. She hit me in the face until I was bleeding, right in front of a neighbor. There was no explanation, no reason I could understand. I was shocked, confused, and terrified. The police arrived, but they didn't dig deep into the situation. I was left with a bruised face and a sense that something was fundamentally wrong, yet I couldn't articulate why.

The situation escalated rapidly. She began to treat me like a servant. She forced me to sleep on the floor without a blanket, locking me in a small storage closet for hours. She used my own principles against me, manipulating my sense of duty and shame. She threatened to file a complaint against me for harming minors, even though I had done nothing wrong. The control was total. I was isolated, terrified, and unable to react.

The abuse became physical and psychological torture. She forced me to ingest dish soap and sponges. She burned my forearm with a red-hot knife. She forced me to watch her engage in sexual encounters, making me feel extreme shame. I felt like I was in a state of domestic slavery. I lost 30 kilograms during those eight months. My face was so damaged that I required eight reconstruction surgeries. I considered suicide as the only way to escape.

The turning point came from the children. On March 1, 2009, they alerted their uncle to call my parents. The next day, my family arrived to rescue me. They were shocked by what they saw. My uncle photographed my condition before the police arrived. The intervention led to my hospitalization and her arrest.

She was sentenced to two years in prison, with three years suspended. She owes over 200,000 euros in damages, but she remains solvent and free. I am the one left with the scars, both visible and invisible. I lost my job because of my injuries. I was reduced to a state of captivity, and she walked away with her freedom.

Today, I have written a book about my experience, titled "Ma compagne, mon bourreau, violence conjugale." I am in a state of recovery. I no longer fear meeting her. The situation is objectively behind me. I feel capable of resisting, and I hope to give hope to other families who might be suffering in silence. Many male victims never report the violence, and the statistics are limited, but I believe recovery is possible. The past remains the past, and the future is ahead.

I still don't fully understand the psychology behind her actions. The exact duration of the torture before the rescue is vague in my memory, but the impact is clear. I was under her control, and I was broken. Now, I am rebuilding. I want others to know that it is possible to survive, to heal, and to move forward, even when the world seems to have turned against you.