I am a survivor of domestic violence.  When I was 15 years old, I testified against our abuser via video link in Southwark Crown Court. His defence lawyer made it known he thought I was little more than a talented actress who had concocted an elaborate tale of abuse and violence in order to wring money from a poor, embattled man.  Despite having just played a recording of my frantic 999 call to the court where I screamed, cried and begged for help as our lives were threatened by a man wielding a knife, his lawyer somehow spun it. I was a delusional teenager whose love of film and TV had warped my sense of reality. We were devious, treacherous women who had lied and manipulated to get this innocent, kind, benevolent man arrested, get his money and get him out of our lives.