I've had bad days. This is a very bad day.
I woke up 15 minutes ago and looked at my swollen puffy eyes, my raw nose and messy hair. I look like shit. Today all I want more than anything is to walk into my office this way. Broken. To not have to hide it.
I Know I can't, I know I will finish this short post. shower, apply make-up, do my hair in a neat little bun at the nap of my neck, dress myself better than usual and head out the door. Pretending that my life is together. If you feel like shit, look like a million bucks.
Whether you have been crying relentlessly all night, wondering how you will make it through client presentations and status calls and dreaming about buying a plane ticket and learning what a true and complete fresh start is. Even if I don't have the guts to try.
Tuesday 23 April 2013
Monday 22 April 2013
Crazy Love+ Breaking the Silence.
When people know you have been through something they try to understand, they absorb information and share it with you, hoping it will help. In the time since I have shared my story I have received emails, texts and had laptops and tablets with content about domestic violence shoved in my face. I haven't really appreciated it until Best Friend P shared something with me yesterday.
This is Leslie Morgan Steiner. During her Ted Talk on domestic violence.
I will let you watch the video, but this is the most comprehensive and deeply truthful view of the domestic violence I have seen. A story that mirrored mine in ways that I have been thinking about over that last 24 hours. I have repeated this Ted Talk over and over again, studying her words, hearing my own thoughts echoing. It plays on the background of my laptop as I write you this letter.
I have bought Crazy Love and as I flip through the pages I am sure I will share what I find in those words. On that note, Leslie brings up something in the closing remarks of her video. Abuse affects anyone, everyone, there are likely people within our circles who are battling this fight silently, Leslie states "abuse thrives only in science." this sentiment is wholly and completely true.
It was not until the words "he hits me" left my lips that I was able to leave, without sharing that with my friends, my mother only days before the last attack I am certain I would have soon after November 25th been applying another layer of cover up to new bruises, likely over top the ones that had yet to heal.
Telling them is what saved my life.
This sentiment also struck me for another reason, 1/3 American women or men have or are dealing with violence in a relationship. Somewhere in my circle of friends, someone is going through this hell.
Thus far I have been quiet silent about my ordeal, about what I went through. Select friends know, I write this blog under a pseudonym.
My own silence, even after surviving. My Voice and my story could be helping someone. Someone I love.
So my promise to myself, I will talk about it. I am not weak for experiencing it, I am strong for surviving it. I will share what I went through, with my family, my friends and this blog. Maybe one day someone will use what people like Leslie and myself went through to rewrite the next chapter in their lives and stop their domestic violence story.
This is Leslie Morgan Steiner. During her Ted Talk on domestic violence.
I will let you watch the video, but this is the most comprehensive and deeply truthful view of the domestic violence I have seen. A story that mirrored mine in ways that I have been thinking about over that last 24 hours. I have repeated this Ted Talk over and over again, studying her words, hearing my own thoughts echoing. It plays on the background of my laptop as I write you this letter.
I have bought Crazy Love and as I flip through the pages I am sure I will share what I find in those words. On that note, Leslie brings up something in the closing remarks of her video. Abuse affects anyone, everyone, there are likely people within our circles who are battling this fight silently, Leslie states "abuse thrives only in science." this sentiment is wholly and completely true.
It was not until the words "he hits me" left my lips that I was able to leave, without sharing that with my friends, my mother only days before the last attack I am certain I would have soon after November 25th been applying another layer of cover up to new bruises, likely over top the ones that had yet to heal.
Telling them is what saved my life.
This sentiment also struck me for another reason, 1/3 American women or men have or are dealing with violence in a relationship. Somewhere in my circle of friends, someone is going through this hell.
Thus far I have been quiet silent about my ordeal, about what I went through. Select friends know, I write this blog under a pseudonym.
My own silence, even after surviving. My Voice and my story could be helping someone. Someone I love.
So my promise to myself, I will talk about it. I am not weak for experiencing it, I am strong for surviving it. I will share what I went through, with my family, my friends and this blog. Maybe one day someone will use what people like Leslie and myself went through to rewrite the next chapter in their lives and stop their domestic violence story.
Thursday 18 April 2013
On my Way Out of the Storm.
It is easy to be confused when the earth shifts.
It is easy to be scared.
It is easy to lose focus or to focus on the wrong things. To let your priorities fall through the cracks that have appeared. Four months after my world ruptured this is what I am facing. I am facing the challenge of rediscovering my life as it now exists. I am facing my old friends, many of who don't know the whole story. I am slowly looping people back into my world, sharing what I have been through, explaining not making excuses for my absence.
For the first little while my life was a party, I drank and I hid and I tried to forget that my old life had existed at all. I worked until the office was dark, sometimes I would sit there and stare out the window dreading the thought of again going to sleep on my mother's couch.
Drinking wore off, the hangovers mixed with the sleep deprivation and long hours began to wear on me. Slowly I became more and more depressed. I felt fifteen, I felt lost, I felt broken and empty and alone.
I would alternate the friends I would talk to on bad days so they would think I was doing better than I was. I didn't want to see their faces, I reminded me of that old life, the old life I wish would have washed from my memories with one of the blows to the head.
Four months later it is better, much better than before. Not quite okay. I've spent hours curled up on my friends bed as he hugged me until I ran out of tears, as I talked or cried. I've had days where memories will flash and I will lose my mind in the back of a bus, or in the washroom at a bar. I've had moments where I smile more than I think I could. Finally I am starting to feel whole. I have begun to mend friendships neglected and give back to the people who have helped me. Though I know I am a while away from perfect, I am out of the storm a little more each day.
It is easy to be scared.
It is easy to lose focus or to focus on the wrong things. To let your priorities fall through the cracks that have appeared. Four months after my world ruptured this is what I am facing. I am facing the challenge of rediscovering my life as it now exists. I am facing my old friends, many of who don't know the whole story. I am slowly looping people back into my world, sharing what I have been through, explaining not making excuses for my absence.
For the first little while my life was a party, I drank and I hid and I tried to forget that my old life had existed at all. I worked until the office was dark, sometimes I would sit there and stare out the window dreading the thought of again going to sleep on my mother's couch.
Drinking wore off, the hangovers mixed with the sleep deprivation and long hours began to wear on me. Slowly I became more and more depressed. I felt fifteen, I felt lost, I felt broken and empty and alone.
I would alternate the friends I would talk to on bad days so they would think I was doing better than I was. I didn't want to see their faces, I reminded me of that old life, the old life I wish would have washed from my memories with one of the blows to the head.
Four months later it is better, much better than before. Not quite okay. I've spent hours curled up on my friends bed as he hugged me until I ran out of tears, as I talked or cried. I've had days where memories will flash and I will lose my mind in the back of a bus, or in the washroom at a bar. I've had moments where I smile more than I think I could. Finally I am starting to feel whole. I have begun to mend friendships neglected and give back to the people who have helped me. Though I know I am a while away from perfect, I am out of the storm a little more each day.
Tuesday 16 April 2013
Before I Knew
Do you ever think about those moments you are sure saved your life?
It was May of 2005, I was a year into my Television Broadcasting education. Something I had hoped to do since I was a child. All I wanted ever was to create things, to help make something bigger than myself. I wasn't bright, I wasn't exceptional, I didn't excel physically or academically, but God was I creative. And no matter what shit I got from others about not being adequate, I knew wholeheartedly that I could be something.
But at 19 you forget where your priorities lie. You often forget your dreams. At 19 you’re not sure about your life or your path, but you are always sure about the boy. So after a fight with your mother you drop out of your almost completed program, work full time at a burger place and move in with your boyfriends white trash family while you stop speaking to yours.
I remember walking the boyfriend's golden retriever one afternoon after I had completed my 4 hour shift at a $300 a week job when I spotted my mother and little brother riding their bikes. I tried to plan an escape route I couldn't. There I was face to face with my family, the family I had left.
It was an awkward and angry conversation, one to this day I try not to think about. When it does cross my mind I know that this encounter was what pushed me out of a path I would never have escaped, a path and a life that I later saw approaching.
I might not have been a smart teenager, but at least I did this before the beatings began. At least I was able to get out of his family's home, reconcile with mine and enrol in another program, complete my education. I got a job and made a life outside of him. I sometimes think about this. What if I hadn't? What if I was not educated or didn't have a job outside of that $300 a week burger place, what if I didn't talk to my family now. I wouldn't be out.
I am fortunate in so many things, not only did I get a second chance, I had the means to support myself, I had no children, minimal shared property and a family to go home to. I have great people in my life.
I know this isn't the case for everyone, some days I don't feel right writing this blog about a situation that could have been so much worse, that is so much worse for so many other people. People without means to leave or with families to think about. I know as much as my situation sucked, there is worse.
Friday 12 April 2013
Nightmares
I woke up last night with my heart pounding like a war drum.
This has become a frequent occurrence lately and I can't seem to make it stop.
It's never the same dream but it is the same enactment, he is dragging me across the room by my hair, I am screaming for help hoping the neighbours hear. Almost three years I lived in that condo, probably dozens of nights that you could hear my screams echoing through the halls, never once did anyone call the police, check to make sure I was okay. Not even that night, a night I remember calling out, "help me please", someone.
Sometimes I hear or read about how someone doesn't understand how women could let it get so bad that they lose their lives. How you could continue to love someone or stay even through fear. Now I understand. I understand what it is like to be afraid, to comply to live, even if it is barely living at all.
A few weeks before I left for good I got smacked around for not being affectionate after returning a trip with my girlfriends. I couldn't, it was that trip when I decided I would leave, that I was unhappy. At the end of the night I sat on the floor, scared, convinced that I needed to go, not knowing what people would say or how my family would react, I didn't want to tell them he had done these things to me, would they even believe me?
As I sat there, my lip bled and my arm throbbed from being bent in an unnatural direction. He approached me, my stomach turned. He told me that I would not see my friends, I would leave work promptly at 6pm when he would retrieve me, I would come home with him and that was my life. I was his, his wife and his wife did what she was told.
After that I wasn't sure what to do, I felt like I was living in a dream-world. My actions had no weight, I could try my hardest, do my best at work, be spectacular. But it didn't matter. In the end two things would happen; I would be his wife, have children I didn't want and take care of him in a little house in the country between beatings, or I would die.
Whether it is being dragged across the floor, or his hands around my throat, or his knee on my chest. The nightmares don't end. My therapist says they will subside, in time. Like my concious mind, my subconscious is working it out, making sense, trying to understand.
This has become a frequent occurrence lately and I can't seem to make it stop.
It's never the same dream but it is the same enactment, he is dragging me across the room by my hair, I am screaming for help hoping the neighbours hear. Almost three years I lived in that condo, probably dozens of nights that you could hear my screams echoing through the halls, never once did anyone call the police, check to make sure I was okay. Not even that night, a night I remember calling out, "help me please", someone.
Sometimes I hear or read about how someone doesn't understand how women could let it get so bad that they lose their lives. How you could continue to love someone or stay even through fear. Now I understand. I understand what it is like to be afraid, to comply to live, even if it is barely living at all.
A few weeks before I left for good I got smacked around for not being affectionate after returning a trip with my girlfriends. I couldn't, it was that trip when I decided I would leave, that I was unhappy. At the end of the night I sat on the floor, scared, convinced that I needed to go, not knowing what people would say or how my family would react, I didn't want to tell them he had done these things to me, would they even believe me?
As I sat there, my lip bled and my arm throbbed from being bent in an unnatural direction. He approached me, my stomach turned. He told me that I would not see my friends, I would leave work promptly at 6pm when he would retrieve me, I would come home with him and that was my life. I was his, his wife and his wife did what she was told.
After that I wasn't sure what to do, I felt like I was living in a dream-world. My actions had no weight, I could try my hardest, do my best at work, be spectacular. But it didn't matter. In the end two things would happen; I would be his wife, have children I didn't want and take care of him in a little house in the country between beatings, or I would die.
Whether it is being dragged across the floor, or his hands around my throat, or his knee on my chest. The nightmares don't end. My therapist says they will subside, in time. Like my concious mind, my subconscious is working it out, making sense, trying to understand.
Thursday 11 April 2013
Home Sweet Homeless
Do you remember when you moved out, when you packed all your things, found an apartment and maybe half a dozen room mates and started on your big girl life.
Perhaps you remember moving in with your partner or spouse, or your goldfish and aunt Rita's hand me down furniture.
I remember packing up my bedroom, spending $1000 in one go at the local walmart and moving into a small suburban one bedroom, 400 sq feet including closet space condo with my boyfriend. I was 23.
It had been effortless, finding the place was easy, he wanted to stay out of the city. We had enough income to support most modest existences in the burbs and I wanted in suite laundry. Done.
Well, Here I am again. Living with Mom and Dad, and 2 younger than myself siblings. Somewhere I thought I would never be again.
For the last few weeks I have been tirelessly calling building after building, spending every waking moment post 5pm searching for that place. A new home. One that doesn't make me feel like I will die, or get buried by cockroaches fear factor style.
3 years after my my very first apartment. I make more money, I don't have to consider anyone's preferences other than my own. Still, somehow I find myself 1000 times more overwhelmed that the cumulative total of condo hunting, wedding planning and Christmas Eve shopping.
Then it hit me, when it always does. I was lying in my bedroom, listening to my father snore through the walls like he was trying to keep wild animals at bay, when I realized. My life is never going to be like it was. I will never have the things I had. It is a trade off. A trade of for my safety, for my happiness, for a fresh start at life. Sure, It can't be the same, but it will be better.
So, I suppose I should get back to Google street viewing neighbourhoods where I have never been and debating beside Jr. 1 and 1 bedroom or Low rise and Highrise apartments.
Wish Me Luck.
Wednesday 10 April 2013
The Little Things
Three short posts in and the love and support I have received from complete strangers has been overwhelming. Thank-you
Sometimes, when I cannot handle my world any more I write things down. I suppose that is how this Blog began, a way from me to sort out my thoughts and feelings in a concise manner. Maybe sometimes through ramblings...
Yesterday I wrote someone who means more to me than anything in the world a letter. A letter about little things.
When you feel like your life is in a spiral, it is easy to lose yourself in negative feelings, in self deprecating thoughts. It is easy to feed into the bad vibes, continuing the spiral.
I learned something a while back, that you cannot do this. There is no way to be totally happy when you are in a tough situation, but you need reprieve.
The Little Things
Focusing on the little things help me find happiness when it wasn't a constant in my life. I used to chase these moments. I would race outside leaving skid marks to stand in the middle of the courtyard while fluffy white snowflakes kissed my nose. I would wear new clothes when I couldn't shed my old skin, I would paint my nails pink on grey days.
I hoped that one day these things would no longer be important, I wished that one day they would fade into the backdrop and make way for that perfect effortless happiness I had so desperately wanted.
Then Something Happened
I realized that it has been a long time since I had searched for one of these moments. But even in that moment, I was happy.
I am Happy
Like 1000 little happy moments had layered on top of one another.
Sure there are crappy days where I fall apart, I know there will be more, I know there will be tougher days and longer nights but somehow from the core of Kate, my entire being, I am Happy and that is something I always hoped for but never expected.
Tuesday 9 April 2013
The Outcome + Sevenly this Week!
The last time I saw my Husband he was sitting on the corner of the sectional. I looked over my shoulder at him and my heart broke, I knew it was over, I knew I was out, and I was scared.
It was 12 hours earlier that he began the last chapter of our relationship. I wasn't right, I had come home at 3am after a night out with my co-workers, I had been away for the weekend and for a week prior to that had been staying with my Mom, I don't know why I went back to my condo that night. I am stubborn, I was intoxicated and figured it was my apartment too.
This was a dumb decision. Maybe the worst I have ever made.
I wanted to get away, to dance and laugh and smile, to feel like the weight of the world wasn't on me, for just a couple of hours.
Still, I was Married. I was suppose to be at home with my husband, never mind that I am 26.
I knew it was coming when I walked through the door. He was lying on the couch, waiting.
As I quietly entered my apartment and walked past him on the way to the bedroom my chest hurt. I was scared, I knew this wouldn't be the beatings I had grown used to.
I heard him shout from the doorway, insisting that I give him my cellphone so he could filter through the texts. It was dead, as it turned on I could hear the notifications alerting me of incoming messages. Just friends, informing me that they had found their way home.
Stubbornly I declined. He had taken everything. 2 weeks earlier he told me that I was going to be picked up at 6pm every day from the office, I wasn't to see my friends or go out. I was his wife and would play by his rules.
Dumb, I should have given him the Phone.
Then the iPhone, decked out in a heavy duty Otterbox slammed into my kneecap, splitting it open.
I remember that pain like it was 5 minutes ago. When I run my finger across the scar I relive that moment, I relive that moment a lot.
I regret a lot of mistakes I made that day, I have spent countless hours pawing through the memories like data. Understanding what I could have changed to alter the outcome. I've made myself crazy with wonder and guilt and anger.
It has been a struggle but I am learning to understand that I made choices that resulted in actions, I helped craft this story. The outcome is I am ALIVE and maybe a bit broken, but broken is okay.
Before I close this post I want to share something with you. If you have heard of Sevenly they are a great company that makes lovely T's and donates $7 from each of them to a charity of the week. This week the Organization is NEXT DOOR who provides support for Women and Children who are in or have survived situations of domestic violence. Buy a shirt, support this great organization.
http://www.sevenly.org/
http://www.nextdoor.org/
It was 12 hours earlier that he began the last chapter of our relationship. I wasn't right, I had come home at 3am after a night out with my co-workers, I had been away for the weekend and for a week prior to that had been staying with my Mom, I don't know why I went back to my condo that night. I am stubborn, I was intoxicated and figured it was my apartment too.
This was a dumb decision. Maybe the worst I have ever made.
I wanted to get away, to dance and laugh and smile, to feel like the weight of the world wasn't on me, for just a couple of hours.
Still, I was Married. I was suppose to be at home with my husband, never mind that I am 26.
I knew it was coming when I walked through the door. He was lying on the couch, waiting.
As I quietly entered my apartment and walked past him on the way to the bedroom my chest hurt. I was scared, I knew this wouldn't be the beatings I had grown used to.
I heard him shout from the doorway, insisting that I give him my cellphone so he could filter through the texts. It was dead, as it turned on I could hear the notifications alerting me of incoming messages. Just friends, informing me that they had found their way home.
Stubbornly I declined. He had taken everything. 2 weeks earlier he told me that I was going to be picked up at 6pm every day from the office, I wasn't to see my friends or go out. I was his wife and would play by his rules.
Dumb, I should have given him the Phone.
Then the iPhone, decked out in a heavy duty Otterbox slammed into my kneecap, splitting it open.
I remember that pain like it was 5 minutes ago. When I run my finger across the scar I relive that moment, I relive that moment a lot.
I regret a lot of mistakes I made that day, I have spent countless hours pawing through the memories like data. Understanding what I could have changed to alter the outcome. I've made myself crazy with wonder and guilt and anger.
It has been a struggle but I am learning to understand that I made choices that resulted in actions, I helped craft this story. The outcome is I am ALIVE and maybe a bit broken, but broken is okay.
Before I close this post I want to share something with you. If you have heard of Sevenly they are a great company that makes lovely T's and donates $7 from each of them to a charity of the week. This week the Organization is NEXT DOOR who provides support for Women and Children who are in or have survived situations of domestic violence. Buy a shirt, support this great organization.
http://www.sevenly.org/
http://www.nextdoor.org/
Tuesday 2 April 2013
My Constant
The hardest days are the familiar days. The days where you remember what you were doing a year ago. The days where you know what you would have been doing if your life was still the way it had been months ago.
Today is one of those days.
I know that now I am stronger, I am safe and I am happy. I don't worry about what will happen if I come home late or don't want to clean the house. I don't worry that disagreements could turn into bruises. But still it is difficult to get away from the happy moments, the moments the Husband and I shared that were good, that were what marriage was suppose to be. It is difficult to forget how good he was when I was sad, when things in my life got too hard to handle. Sometimes, missing those things overshadow everything else.
I find it is important to focus on what I have now rather than what I could have had, or what I did have. It is times like this when I focus on the gifts the universe has given me. My Friends.
I have always been a believer the the universe; or whatever higher power attracts you will never give you anything you cannot handle and when the going gets tough it gives you the tools and the people that you need to get through.
I might have been handed a tough go for a bit but I have been blessed with the most amazing friends in the world. I small group of people who all through their own methodology keep me sane, help me find perspective, tell me the truth when it sucks, hold my hand and pick my sorry and sometimes inebriated ass off the floor.
Some of these people are new, some have been around since the only English they knew was Boy Band lyrics, others have slipped out of my life and fell right back in when we needed each other the most. Each of them are best at a different part of me and though our lives have grown with the times and we have all seen our moments in and out of the sun; something about these people keep me going.
So Thank-You to my Besties, who remind me no matter where I could have been I am here and without what I have been through I would not have them, I would not have ever known unconditional love, total acceptance and continuous support, not to mention the times we laugh until we almost pee.
Today is one of those days.
I know that now I am stronger, I am safe and I am happy. I don't worry about what will happen if I come home late or don't want to clean the house. I don't worry that disagreements could turn into bruises. But still it is difficult to get away from the happy moments, the moments the Husband and I shared that were good, that were what marriage was suppose to be. It is difficult to forget how good he was when I was sad, when things in my life got too hard to handle. Sometimes, missing those things overshadow everything else.
I find it is important to focus on what I have now rather than what I could have had, or what I did have. It is times like this when I focus on the gifts the universe has given me. My Friends.
I have always been a believer the the universe; or whatever higher power attracts you will never give you anything you cannot handle and when the going gets tough it gives you the tools and the people that you need to get through.
I might have been handed a tough go for a bit but I have been blessed with the most amazing friends in the world. I small group of people who all through their own methodology keep me sane, help me find perspective, tell me the truth when it sucks, hold my hand and pick my sorry and sometimes inebriated ass off the floor.
Some of these people are new, some have been around since the only English they knew was Boy Band lyrics, others have slipped out of my life and fell right back in when we needed each other the most. Each of them are best at a different part of me and though our lives have grown with the times and we have all seen our moments in and out of the sun; something about these people keep me going.
So Thank-You to my Besties, who remind me no matter where I could have been I am here and without what I have been through I would not have them, I would not have ever known unconditional love, total acceptance and continuous support, not to mention the times we laugh until we almost pee.
Monday 1 April 2013
Where I've Been
I left my Husband at 1:38pm on a Sunday. Sunday November 25th, 2012. We had been married 5 Months, 10 days. In that time I had been beaten up 9 times, in the 10 years we had been together I was hit for 6 of them. Lies poured out of my mouth, l I fell off treadmills, got in car accidents, spilled down stairs, I believe once I got in a bar fight, I can't recall.
But at 1:38pm my best friend Kay and my mother walked into my apartment, put clothes on me, packed my blue duffel bag and put me in Kay’s car, as I sobbed uncontrollably. It was over.
I am not the kind of girl you expect to have been through this. We were not the couple you would have even believed could be capable of having this story.
My husband and I were highschool sweethearts. We found eachother at sixteen and besides one brief breakup in 2009 were never apart. I loved him and he loved me, and that is why no matter how many times I caked on concealer or lied to my co-workers and friends I never left.
I am a smart girl. I've heard it over and over again. Like I said, you would never expect this story.
Like everyone else one of my best friends found out when I came to work with bruises I couldn't hide. He still tells me he doesn't get it, I am a smart girl.
My eye was black, my neck bruised from my Husband's hand grasping it tightly two nights before. I have never felt anything as terrifying as not being able to breathe. Days later I could still feel it, a lump in my throat, the purple finger imprints stained my skin.
I walked like I was recovering from surgery, dozens of black bruises hid below the long sleeved tops I bought at the local Walmart, because that was what was open at 10pm. My knee was swollen from the impact of my iPhone smashing against it; I limped and struggled to get into my pants.
My head throbbed and the world spun, I couldn't tell if it was injury or anxiety but I spent some of Monday throwing up in the company washroom.
I am a smart girl. I've heard it over and over again. Like I said, you would never expect this story.
Like everyone else one of my best friends found out when I came to work with bruises I couldn't hide. He still tells me he doesn't get it, I am a smart girl.
My eye was black, my neck bruised from my Husband's hand grasping it tightly two nights before. I have never felt anything as terrifying as not being able to breathe. Days later I could still feel it, a lump in my throat, the purple finger imprints stained my skin.
I walked like I was recovering from surgery, dozens of black bruises hid below the long sleeved tops I bought at the local Walmart, because that was what was open at 10pm. My knee was swollen from the impact of my iPhone smashing against it; I limped and struggled to get into my pants.
My head throbbed and the world spun, I couldn't tell if it was injury or anxiety but I spent some of Monday throwing up in the company washroom.
I can't remember the day or the month that he first hit me, I remember thinking it was bad, but isolated. I didn't think it would get worse, I didn't think that in six years time the fights would become struggles where I feared for my life, moments where I worried the man I loved, the person I married would take my life.
For six years I didn't tell a soul. Not my best friends, not my family, no one. Sometimes I almost did, sometimes I wondered if it was just time to get it out, hope for help, start again. But I wanted to save my Husband, I wanted him to get better. If I had told anyone, he would become the bad guy, I would become the victim, and no one would be able to help him. Little did I know that I couldn't have helped him.
For six years I didn't tell a soul. Not my best friends, not my family, no one. Sometimes I almost did, sometimes I wondered if it was just time to get it out, hope for help, start again. But I wanted to save my Husband, I wanted him to get better. If I had told anyone, he would become the bad guy, I would become the victim, and no one would be able to help him. Little did I know that I couldn't have helped him.
This blog will encapsulate the story of how I lived 10 years, more than half my life with a man I loved but couldn't help. How healing is harder than surviving and what happens when the world you know collapses and makes way for the person I have always wanted to be.
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