How It Feels To Be Free

I started writing about something else this morning (how it's a tracky dack kind of day heh), but quickly realised it wasn't what I actually WANTED to write about.

I want to talk about my time with the She Devil.

Have you ever been influenced by somebody to the extent that their hold over you remains long after they've exited your life?

I have.

It's been two years since I closed the chapter on her. Two years since I burned the book on her lies, deceit, malice, manipulation and control. If you met her, you wouldn't think she had nearly destroyed me. That my time spent 'working' for her (I say 'working' because I was never paid) hollowed me out until I was a shell of who I'd once been.

No, you'd never know. Unless you knew me before, during and after our time together.

When people ask me about her, I tell them it was like living with an abusive boyfriend. An emotionally manipulative micro manager; a psychotic individual who most likely had un-diagnosed bipolar disorder. To be fair, she wasn't always like that. When we met (via Twitter), I was enraptured with her. She was passionate, determined, ambitious and a tonne of fun. She offered me the world - but what she didn't tell me was that it was in exchange for my soul.

Thus began our tumultuous relationship.

It wasn't always horrible. We had some fantastic midnight chats over our shared love for television and Henry Cavill. She praised my ideas and challenged my writing. My reviewing style did improve substantially under her guidance and fierce teaching. She was critical, but she knew I was talented. She probably recognised an opportunity to mould a young mind and therefore tried her darnedest to 'create me' in her image.

If only the tides hadn't turned.

I started spending countless hours on my laptop, burrowing myself in articles and research and every TV show imaginable. I cancelled on friends and family as "I had reviews to write." I locked myself in my room and focused on her and only what she wanted from me. I grew weary in spirit, I put on weight and I neglected what I should have been concentrating on: my university degree. I gave up everything to please her, and I didn't even realise I was doing it. I was suffocating and powerless to escape.

Fast forward a few years and we reach San Diego Comic Con 2013 (basically, my ultimate happy place). I'm as ecstatic as you can get. I had some misgivings before leaving (she'd chastised me for leaving articles unfinished, among other things), but I pushed them aside. How could I miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime? How could I say NO to meeting Joseph Morgan and Julie Plec and all the wonderful people who were a part of the TV series I loved? I couldn't. And so I went.

Reflecting on that year, it's probably safe to say I was disillusioned with how much I enjoyed it. Hanging out with Tiffany and Joshua, hugging Joseph, brandishing a press badge - they were niceties that paled in comparison to the mistreatment we received at the hands of the She Devil. We were admonished for the dumbest things, like taking photos with the cast of Hannibal and posting them to social media (something that every Tom, Dick, Harry and Gabby were doing). We were told we had a standard to maintain, that publicists were 'watching our every move' and so we couldn't afford the luxury of following the crowd. But wait... did I mention SHE could take photos with the cast members and post them to Twitter? Honestly, it was all about control. I see that now, although I felt wretched then.

Coming home, I was ready to leave. I had packed my metaphorical bags and I thought to myself "Enough is enough." Yet somehow, I was coerced into writing the articles for post-SDCC. Somehow, I stayed when my instincts told me to flee. Perhaps it was her flattery that changed my mind. To be honest, I blocked a lot of those memories and I can't recall why I remained with her. All I know is that I made the choice (and yes, it was a choice, despite the blame I've wanted to cast on her) and I kept writing for another year.

This brings me to San Diego Comic Con 2014: also dubbed the Best and Worst Time of My Life. About 6 months prior, I had asked my dear friend Erin (@speedmouse on Twitter for those of you 'in the know') to write for the same site as I. She eagerly agreed, especially as SDCC was the goal if she did. It must have been God protecting me, as He knew what I was going to face that year and how much I was going to need Erin to be my support. Oh, how right He was.

With the She Devil, SDCC the second time round was brutal. It was akin to arriving in Neverland and being told you had to wait below deck and watch from the circular window in Hook's cabin as Peter soared with Wendy across the sky. It was being thrust into what should be a familiar, friendly place and feeling completely foreign. I was made to feel guilty for having even the slightest fun, and forced to sit on the sidelines while she took all the press rooms I was longing for. Erin and I endured her [often public] temper tantrums, were humiliated in front of other journalists and witnessed firsthand the backlash that came from daring to sleep (when we should have been writing). I won't detail the money we lost nor the other horrors we withstood (it isn't worth repeating), but needless to say - it was dreadful.

On the plus side, this gave me the 'out' I so desperately needed. The final morning brought with it a tantrum the likes of which Veruca Salt would be proud of, as the She Devil cracked under whatever pressure she'd placed upon herself. She exited the hotel room and - praise the Lord - my life for good. I have Erin and Pam (the other poor witness to this madness) to thank for helping me retain my sanity during those last few hours. Without them, I honestly do not know where I would be today.

Unfortunately, the terror and anxiety attacks did continue after SDCC, although I was blessed with Erin's company during that time. We went on to lounge, eat and shop our way through Hawaii for 10 days, and were awarded with countless reassurances that we had done the right thing by leaving the She Devil and her site. Friends, family and journalists alike reminded us how precious we were and how professional we'd been throughout the whole ordeal (a fact for which I am eternally grateful). It was the start of an incredibly long healing process for us both.

So why now? Why did it take me so long to write about this? Well, I've been wanting to but haven't been able to because of fear. I was afraid she'd see it and send me abusive emails. I was afraid she'd reach through the screen somehow and suck the life from my chest again. Mostly, I was afraid she'd think ill of me - which is ridiculous isn't it? Yet she had the fiercest hold over my thoughts; my dreams and my aspirations. I cared about her feelings towards me - I still do, to some extent. That's why I've held off sharing this with the universe.

In truth, she invaded my safe places. My blog, my TV shows, my ability to write - she tainted them with her belittling brush and they were painful to behold. I've - at long, long last - recognised that I need to reclaim these treasured places and make them my own again. I have to reject the idea that she will ruin them, when she is halfway around the world and I need only a "block" function to silence her. No, the real demons I've been battling for the past two years have been in my head... and they've been the most powerful and crippling of all.

It's a bizarre thing, to be free from an abusive relationship. On days like today, I believe I can forgive or have already forgiven her. On other days, such as when I hear a late-night Facebook message ping on my phone, or I run across a photo of us from SDCC, or I see her name surface in my emails and a sickening feeling washes over me - I recoil from the idea of forgiveness. The truly difficult thing to overcome has been the loss of my work, the resources I had and the wonderful contacts I made. I sacrificed the things I'd held dear for 4 years in order to get my sanity back. The majority of the time, I feel it was worth it. Occasionally - when I'm at my lowest - I mourn for the past. I know I have to start from level zero again and that hurts.

But, I am free.

That is what I tell myself when the grief threatens to smother me. I cannot look back with regret, especially seeing what arrived at my doorstep when I left. Friendships were restored. A handsome, kindhearted man walked into my life. I found a new passion for clothes. A beautiful soul named Mel let me write for her TV site (The Televixen) for a time. I joined a gym. I beheld the stars once more.

Yes, it's taken me longer than I'd have liked to enjoy writing again. No, I'm not fully healed from the ordeal I survived at the hands of the She Devil. But I'm getting there. I fall in love with writing and television a little more every day. I know I can be that talented girl once again, and this time she will be stronger, cleverer and more inspiring than before. How do I know?

I am free, that's how I know.

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