Every day police officers all over Australia attend thousands of domestic violence situations, mostly after well-meaning neighbours or friends report disputes.
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But while the media constantly reports on the wrongdoings of drink drivers, drug dealers and thieves, the topic of domestic violence topic is one that is hardly ever being touched that is often still treated as a taboo.
In the Northern Territory, three lives were lost to family violence in the last week alone.
Where was the nationwide outcry?
Domestic, Family and Sexual Violence Prevention Minister Kate Worden publicly called on Australia to take note.
"If you're a woman in the Northern Territory, you are six times more likely to be murdered in a domestic violence situation than you are anywhere else in Australia," she said.
But unless people speak up about it, violent offenders will keep doing what they do and the victims will stay put in their violent surroundings.
Violence at home - Indigenous or non-Indigenous - is everyone's business; the costs to our community are far too high for us to continue turning a blind eye.
But speaking up isn't always that easy. Likewise, asking for help isn't.
How do I know?
I've been there.
It started with a push, more like a nudge, and a few loud words.
We had been in a relationship for a year or so, and something had set him off.
I can't remember what it was, maybe dishes that hadn't been done in time, or the floors hadn't been mopped properly. They are women's jobs, after all, aren't they? I should have paid more attention to my duties at home.
It happened again a few days later, a loud word, a little push. It happens in every relationship, doesn't it?
No, it doesn't, but I didn't realise that at the time.
When his fist hit my ribcage a few weeks later and sent me flying backwards on the couch, I couldn't comprehend what was happening.
Within a second, he was next to me, with tears in his eyes, apologising and kissing my cheeks, saying he would never hurt me and he didn't mean to hit me.
He loved me after all, didn't he?
The X-ray scan came back with two broken ribs.
He held my hand when the doctor told me.
'What happened?', the doctor asked.
'Oh, I tripped and fell ...'
Nobody needed to know.
We were in a loving relationship, after all, weren't we?
It wouldn't happen again. He promised.
But he broke his promise.
He broke more ribs.
And more promises.
And what did I do?
Nothing, really.
I wanted to believe that he wouldn't do it again.
I wanted to believe that he loved me and that it was an accident, something that wouldn't happen again.
And I didn't want to see what was happening to me.
When it happened again and again, he played the guilt card. He said he wouldn't have snapped if I hadn't done this or that.
He would produce a little tear and make me feel bad.
I had made him hit me again.
I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you so much, Id say.
I started apologising for everything and felt like his violence was my fault.
He made sure I didn't spend too much time with my friends, not by myself anyway and looking back, I know it was his safety measure to avoid me telling someone about what was happening at home.
Whatever we did, we did together. There was no time alone, no time for me to think and comprehend.
Over the years, I lost count of the broken promises and of the broken bones.
But I didn't leave.
For years, it actually didn't even cross my mind just to walk out.
Or to talk to the police about it.
Where would I go? What would I do? What would people think? I was raised believing that if something is broken, you fix it, don't throw it away.
Our relationship was just a little broken. We could fix it, couldn't we?
It was my own fault anyway, wasn't it?
I just had to become a better person for him. Do things the way he wanted. He loved me. Didn't he?
When my wrist was in a cast for the fifth time, a colleague at work pulled me up.
Okay, tell me, he said.
Tell you what?
Tell me what's going on at home.
He had seen it all before his sister had spent years in a violent relationship and he saw straight through my smiles and excuses.
You have to talk to someone. It's not right. He doesn't love you.
That's where it started the long journey out.
But it took more than a year to actually physically get away from the situation I was in.
I tried to fix things, I tried to be better, I tried to talk about it.
But then the threats started.
He must have noticed that I wasn't going to apologise for his wrongdoings forever.
You're not going anywhere, you hear me. I'll come and find you and it won't be pretty.
And don't you tell anyone ...
He didn't have to say much more.
The look on his face sent chills down my spine, and my ribs started hurting before he even dealt another punch.
When one of his friends got married interstate and I couldn't travel with him due to work commitments, his grim grip loosened.
I left the house by myself for the first time in ages and felt the sunshine on my face and suddenly, it dawned on me.
My colleague was right. But was I brave enough to just run away, hide, start over?
I had to be where would I end up otherwise?
I called a friend and we packed a few of my clothes and I left. I stayed at friends' houses, a couple of nights at a time, before moving on to another friend. I didn't have to explain anything to them. They all kind of knew, but nobody knew how to help or what to do.
I felt that if I told you he wasn't good enough for you, it wouldn't have changed anything, one of them said.
"I think I knew. But I didn't know how to bring it up," another said.
I guess I was lucky when he returned from his interstate trip and realised I was gone, he didn't contact me.
He didn't come to find me.
But it took me a long time to not jump at the slightest noise in the hallway.
I still can't handle it well when people raise their voice.
I still carry scars on the outside and inside; it has taken a long time to remember how to stand tall.
But I got there.
I guess the old saying that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger is true.
But who knows, it could have killed me; and it could kill one of my friends, a stranger, a colleague.
Domestic violence is simply not okay. There are no excuses and no good enough reasons for it, there is no making up for it later and no 'I didn't mean it'.
Domestic violence is not okay, but only if we all speak up about it we can make a difference.
These days, many years on, I often still find myself keeping a distance from people just to be on the safe side.
But I've learned how to give smiles and shoulders and hugs.
Sometimes asking a friend or even a stranger whether they are okay can mean so much.
Sometimes it's the little gestures that help the most, and if a small word can encourage someone to grab a helping hand, we can make a difference.
If you see something, say something. Don't turn a blind eye.
Domestic violence is not okay.
If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence and there is immediate danger, call 000. If it is not an emergency, call police on 131 444. If you don't feel comfortable, get someone you trust to call the police for you. You don't have to give your name and contact details if you don't want to. The national domestic, family and sexual violence support service is available on (1800 737 732).