6

Day 427: Get Thee Behind Me Divorce Grief

Tomorrow is my brother’s birthday.

Tomorrow is also exactly one year since my husband left our former marital home to pursue his affair with Mylien, a married Vietnamese mother of two, whose husband was living in Italy and who my husband met on an online dating website for singles.

Even before I found out about his four months affair, Mylien had allegedly broken up with him four times, because she didn’t like him remaining married, whilst married herself.

After I found out, she allegedly told him that if he left me, she would leave her husband. When I asked why she doesn’t leave her husband first, my ex said because they have two children.

Our marriage was easily dispensable to my ex because we didn’t have children. He conveniently forgot to tell her about his sperm issues and erectile dysfunction which resulted in 8 painful IVF, 2 miscarriages, my undergoing countless gruelling experimental treatment in our unsuccessful quest to have children.

My 11 year marriage and 14.5 years relationship ended with an email sent by my husband from a business trip in Singapore, informing me he wasn’t coming home.

Mylien remains (happily?) married to her husband.

I call my ex, my husband because a year after he left our former home and nearly a year after he rushed to file for divorce, one working day after his lawyer (same divorce law firm as his mistress Mylien’s sister Quyen) sent me an email, on our 11th wedding anniversary, informing me he wanted a divorce, celebrating with an expensive meal with Mylien the day after he filed for divorce, having secretly moved to a place 5 minutes from her home in Weybridge, as he sought to forge ahead with a new life where unbeknown to her husband, my ex was holidaying with his mistress and her children, as my life descended into chaos, untold grief and darkness, we remain married.

I do not know when the court case to settle our finances will end. The second court hearing, the FDR, which was meant to happen this April has been postponed as my ex failed to return a court mandated document. The hearing might be rescheduled for June, July or whenever the court has availabilities.

If this case doesn’t settle during that second hearing, it might drag on until a final trial at the end of the year or even early next year, when my husband and I cease to have any control over the settlement of our financial affairs and will surrender all power to a judge to settle our affairs as he deems fit. Given that the same judge would also decide whether we can appeal against his decision, it is an extremely foolish place to be and only 10% of divorcing spouses are stupid enough to go to a final trial. I am resigned that I might be one of those 10% through no fault of mine.

I have tried to settle amicably outside of court in mediation which my ex ended. I also made a settlement offer which he rejected and refused to make a counter offer.

I am resigned that the nightmare and uncertainties I continue to live in, ends when it ends.

A year after my husband left our former home, I wish I was writing a reflective post that celebrates the countless personal achievements that I have had in the past one year of being on my own and to celebrate the person that I am becoming.

Perhaps I could write about how having been driven around by men in the last 22 years, a year ago when my husband left, I had only driven 2 or 3 very short times in the previous three years and couldn’t even confidently drive 5 minutes to the supermarket.

And yet last week, and the week before that, I was this woman driving on the motorway.

No, as much as I would like to pat myself on the back, reflect on my year and say well done, I have had a tough few days and I have other things on my mind.

I am overwhelmed by grief and sadness that have resurfaced from nowhere. I had been doing so well lately…

It’s been a few days where my emotions have been all over the place. Where every little thing makes me cry. Where I wonder whether my life would ever be as carefree as it used to be, happy, smiley, secure, certain, where I felt like I had someone in my life who would stay with me forever, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, through tears and laughters, where there seemed to be a purpose, a life plan, security.

As I write this, with uncontrollable tears, I’m forcing myself to look at the bigger picture.

Yes, divorce sucks lemon and I’m not going to make lemonade as I really shouldn’t be having sugar. However, there is no situation in life that stays the same. This period of uncertainty will someday pass. The feeling that I am adrift, no one to call my own, alone, will pass.

I tell myself to make a list.

Lists make everything seem clearer. I like to have a plan. It’s good to have a plan. I have to make my lists of ways to change things that I have control over, improve things, tick off my list and keep going.

I miss my old life. 

OK, I’ve said it but I also know that my old life is a fiction. There is nothing to miss when it didn’t exist.

That old life was all a lie.

That smiling face, the conman’s smile, the infectious laughter, the daily I love yous, the daily phone calls, the hand holdings, they were all lies.

You don’t miss something that never really existed.

You don’t miss something that never was.

You don’t miss an illusion.

I shouldn’t miss my old life because there is nothing to miss. 

And therefore, I tell myself that life is what you make of it. There is no old life to think of, there is just the now.

And the now, is what I make of it.

I will scribble in my notebook, make plans and make things happen. 

I will ride this current wave of grief and sadness, and it will surely pass.

It has all gone wrong on the diet front. I had a few bad days some weeks ago, following some divorce upset and  I have struggled ever since to recover.

I am going to take a couple of weeks off Cambridge, recharge and I will get back to it in the middle of May and finally give myself the big kick up the arse I need to make sure nothing else ever comes between me and this diet.

I will not stop until I reach goal.

In the meantime, get thee behind me sucky divorce grief.

 

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4

Day 229: Week 33 Weigh-In – I Have Not Conquered My Demons

This blog is warts and all, so here goes some warts.

In some of my posts, I have boasted about no longer being that girl who descend on crap food when the shit hits the fan.

I am very sorry to announce that I still haven’t conquered those demons.

OK, I have to give myself some credit for having lost as much weight as I have throughout the sudden and devastating end of my marriage but the psychology of obesity is a lot more complicated than that.

This week has been tough emotionally.

I have been down and there is that feeling of worthlessness.

I won’t pretend that I feel worthless all the time, I see myself as a survivor and I keep fighting.

But the truth is that when you have been basically tossed aside like complete and utter garbage, with no second thoughts, no care at all in the world, by someone who pledged in a church in front of all your friends and family to always love and honour you, the psychological damage does not go away that easily.

If this person during over 14 devoted years, would constantly tell me that he would love me forever, I was his world, he would save my life before his, if this person could treat me as utterly shite as he has and never look back, what chances have I got of anyone else ever thinking that I am worth a second glance?

Am I destined to live alone for the rest of my life with no one ever thinking I am worth taking a punt on?

I’m not pretending that these thoughts play in my mind all the time, they don’t; I love and value myself more than that.

But that’s where I am right now.

This morning, I meant to start the day being 100% on my diet. Instead, I had a late breakfast/brunch of utter crap: a packet of nuts, a packet of crisps and two cans of diet coke, whilst moping around with tears running from my eyes and feeling sorry for myself. I enjoyed the nuts but if I’m honest, I didn’t enjoy the crisps, but I still ate them, and I still finished the packet, all 150g of it.

The day is still very much ahead of me. I may still stuff my face with more crap. I do not know. I cannot promise that I won’t. I may even spend the rest of the day feeling sorry for myself. I do not know. I may continue to tear up as I am doing writing this post, I do not know. I may have a healthy dinner or I may not. I do not know.

One thing that I am certain of though, is that come tomorrow morning, I will be firmly back on that horse.

Come tomorrow, I will be firmly back to my diet and I will back on it 100%.

I will also humbly accept that I am only a work in progress.

I will humbly accept that I have not conquered the demons of depression.

I have not conquered the self destructive habit that means that when I am depressed, I crave foods that will only encourage the cycle of depression; food that destroy and do not help me thrive.

I will humbly accept that I have not conquered the vicious cycle of obesity.

I will not regret today’s fall off the wagon. I will consign it to what it is; a blip. Nothing more, nothing less. I shall not give it more attention than it deserves nor shall I spend the rest of the week regretting it.

I may try and learn from it.

Write in my diary how the crap food did not improve my depressed mood; but that’s nothing new. I knew that it wouldn’t and yet I did it.

But you know what, what’s done is done and now I need to move on.

The same attitude that I have tried to ascribe to the devastation of the end of my marriage. What’s done is done and now I need to move on.

Week Thirty Three’s Verdict: today’s weight 90.1 kg, week’s weight loss 1 kg (2.2 pounds); total weight loss; 34.3 kg; 75.5 pounds; 5 stones 5 pounds

5

100% on the Cambridge Diet for 100 Days – Shame the Rest of my Life Have Imploded…

The heading is a giveaway. Today is Day 100. This diet has probably saved my life.

Things have gone drastically wrong in my life and with my mental health. The continued betrayals, insensitivities, constant provocations and lack of sleep reached a tipping point over the long weekend and flipped a switch. It’s all been downright scary but I have been under extraordinary stress since 24th February. There is only so much the human body can take and I’ve reached the end of my endurance.

I spent most of the long weekend crying my eyes out. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted.

I expect that there will be life after divorce but I will need to be alive and with my physical and mental health intact to have any sort of quality of life, so I need to concentrate on sorting myself out.

Lots of thing have happened in the last few days. The constant stream of unending betrayals and insensitivities have become completely unbearable and much more than I can cope with.

I’ve accepted that I needed help to cope with it all. That admission is hopefully the first step.

I’ve been told by someone who knows best that continuing to record my days on this blog will help me with the healing process. I don’t know how it will help but I will do whatever it takes to get my health back on track.

In the meantime, I’ve been put on some medication to help things along.

I don’t believe in filling my body with chemicals but I must do whatever helps me cope better with this impossible time. Here is hoping that these happy little pills and sleeping pills will do the trick from tonight…If they don’t work, they’ll be reviewed on Thursday.

Joy o Joy.

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8

Day 95 – No Knight in Shining Armour

I am still keeping to my diet 100%.

Even though I don’t feel like eating, I force myself to eat regularly and to drink 4 litres of water daily. Tomorrow is official weigh-in day. Fingers crossed that I will have some good news to share…

I’ve had a couple of readers email to say that they can no longer access my blog. Apparently, Sky switched off porn access from their broadband unless you opt out. Bloody nanny state. Oh they haven’t decided that my blog has pornographic content, they have decided to restrict access for “suicidal and self harm contents”. Say what??? O2 in their wisdom have decided to classify my blog as over 18, requesting credit card as proof of age.

Sadly, the solutions are to change your broadband setting, include the blog as an allowed site or on 02, show the proof of age.

annoying fucker

If you’ve managed to fight the nannies to read any of this, well done, power to the people, and thank you for your support. And thank you to every single one of you who visit this blog.

thank you

One day, this blog will go back to obsessing about food, weight loss, fashion, music, travel, food, restaurants and all the things I love.

One day, far far far far far away in the future, I may even make some of you blush when I describe crushing on some cute guy or having mind-blowing sex. Sky can then block me for pornographic content. Fuckers.

I’m sorry but today is not that day…

This morning, I woke up and I sat there in the dark and had a very long cry. My crying was interrupted by a phone call by my sister; I can’t explain how amazing my mum and sisters have been to me.

The lack of sleep isn’t helping; sleeping pills aren’t helping but hopefully, a change in medication today will do the trick. I also have a psychiatry appointment in early June and I’m hoping I can hang on until then. The clinic will see me if I need to see someone earlier which gives me hope help is nearby.

I suspect that I will be getting therapy for years to come to recover from the trauma of the last couple of months.

I wasn’t crying because I am some sort of victim, woe me, poor me, isn’t my life utterly shite. I guess the stark reality of my situation hits me daily.

There is only so much that I can share on this blog. I am a strong person but this has totally floored me. Every day, I find out new things that hurt me.

This morning, I felt extremely vulnerable because I have basically allowed a serpent who I should never have trusted with anything, let alone, with every aspect of my life to share my bed.

This man knows every intimate detail of my life. He knows all my secrets. As an accountant and a banker, he knows all my income and expenditure, even more than I do. This morning, I couldn’t even find my cheque books as I don’t know where he’s kept them.

He knows where the bodies are buried. I don’t know who he is. I can’t trust him to do the right thing.

This morning, it finally dawned on me that in all the time my husband was pretending to be working on our marriage, while secretly carrying on with the mistress he had sworn on his mother’s life he had broken up with, he was merely buying time to prepare himself for divorce. Time to acquire the Deeds to the house we own jointly. To acquire every detail of my finances. Time to plan his life, secretly find a flat and prepare himself for what he seems to do best, which is fucking with my life.

It has dawned on me that the events that occurred on 18th April, the last day I saw him, were engineered by him and his mistress to draw an end to our marriage and his pretences.

Who is this man? Who is this serpent? How can I still be discovering things this man has done to hurt me? What on earth have I done to him to deserve the bad treatment?

I have decided that I will not tell any friends about the end of my marriage until I get my shit sufficiently together. This week, one of my closest friends who knew something was wrong as I had bailed Facebook and wasn’t keeping in touch managed to unknowingly upset me when I finally told him after he threatened to contact my husband to find out what was wrong with me. He means well.

Even though I only told him the briefest details of recent events, his reaction was that of huge shock. He kept saying none of this makes any sense because he knows both of us and knows how very much in love and utterly devoted we were. This is classic midlife crisis. He’s seen it happen all the time. He insisted he uses us as an exemplary marriage when he counsels other couples. It doesn’t make sense. He went on and on putting me on the defensive when I know that I had tried my best to save my marriage. I was willing to try marriage counselling but my husband wouldn’t.

He’s the one that left. I tried my best to save my marriage following discovery of the affair but I can’t force someone to stay married to me when he doesn’t want to.

This morning, it has also dawned on me that there is no man or friend who will rescue me from my current woes and make things better.

There is no knight in shining armour galloping gallantly to try and save me from the craptastic time I’m having right now.

Every one has got their own shit to deal with and will not be leaving theirs to try and make this transition easier for me.

Depending on a man for the last 14 years hasn’t done me much good.

I will have to do this by myself. I will have to save myself

save yourself

Right now, if I want to wake up every day and sit there for hours and hours and cry my eyes out, then so be it. I shall cry until I have no tears.

If I need to have that long postponed mental breakdown, end up in a hospital for the summer, then so be it.

One thing is clear though, I will have to tap into all that is within me to dig myself out of this utter hell and move on with my life as best as I can.

But one day, some day, it will happen, that day isn’t today and that is OK too.

todays pain

5

Day 93: A Mother’s Love

My husband and I spent nine months re-building every aspect of the home where we lived for 11 years. This massive project was only finally signed off this January. Showing friends and family round this beautiful home was his pride and joy. He had perfected his tour guide. Even the week before I had discovered his affair, he was excitedly showing some friends round, lapping up all the compliments and when he did the tours alone, he would excitedly report the compliments received back to me.

In the weeks he tortured me with his affair, he would taunt me by saying several times: “It’s only a house.”

It’s not only a house, it is my home or at least it used to be my much loved, much happy home.

Divorce-house

I had managed every single aspect of this build. I had designed every aspect of the build; bathrooms, bedrooms, wardrobes, bookshelves, etc.

I had meticulously and lovingly sourced and chosen every single new purchase in the house, from bathroom tiles to vintage chaise longue in the bathrooms, cushions, sofas, paintings, absolutely everything.

I had worked with the builders from hell who nearly broke me because the supposedly trusted company we very meticulously chose after interviewing over 12 builders, ended up being dodgy cowboys of unimaginable proportion, with a fancy name. Every thing that could possibly go wrong went wrong, plus more.

It was a physically and mentally draining project. I was completely exhausted. I did all that for absolutely nothing.

It was an intense labour of love because I was building a beautiful home for my husband and I to live happily for a long time. I often said to him and my family that we were creating space to allow us to fill this house with kids. I always believed that the plans we had for next year would finally end 11 years of childlessness.

While I was busy managing an impossible project and builders from hell, my husband was busy chatting with countless women online and having an affair with a married Vietnamese mother of two whose name rhymes with silly and wrong. How appropriate.

We had so many plans for this place. We have music in almost every space and talked about wonderful parties we would host; in my pre-separation days, I was legendary for hosting fantastic parties. In one of our post adultery chats, I suggested having a big party in August for his birthday/house warming. He replied, let’s have two parties, one when the weather got warmer and one for his birthday.

Being alone in this house, which is filled with 11 years of memories, was never the life plan.

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This evening, I found myself saying out loud to myself, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck as the shock hits me like it does on a daily basis that my marriage is over.

As I am stunned by the shock and it all hurts anew, my phone started ringing. It was my mum wanting to say goodnight before going to sleep.

She couldn’t have timed that call better.

This week, my mother who is my heroine sent me two messages. I thought I had managed to fake the fact that I was upset when I spoke to her. She lives abroad and asked whether I wanted her to drop everything (including my 5 year old nephew in her care) to come and look after me for some time.

Her second message said:

“I have a compelling need to send you this message. You were crying when we were talking earlier this evening. Don’t bottle up your tears. Anytime you feel like crying, put on some music to drown the noise, then have a good, loud wail for at least 5 minutes. IT HELPS a lot.

Gradually, your heart will feel lighter. Gradually, the burden will lift. Supported by prayers, the darkness will clear sooner than you think. I am haunted 24/7 imagining what you are going through, alone in a beautiful house that should be giving you joy and marital contentment.

I feel your pain. I understand your pain. I have been there. [X} is worse than dead. He is a living dead. The man you loved is worse than dead! I still pray for him.

You are not a loser & will NEVER be. First class honours, Distinction, 50 Women to watch- all in extremely difficult circumstances!

Our Redeemer liveth! [X] is too insignificant to pull down what God has established. Call me anytime you feel low & tell me when I can call you.

Goodnight, my love & may God’s peace be with you.”

My heart goes out to everyone who has lost their mother because nothing compares to a mother’s love.

Although my mum doesn’t even know this blog exists, I just want to say I love you mummy, much more than I can ever express.

mother's love

2

Day 90 – Notice to Quit

I woke up this morning and I didn’t want to get out of bed.

I stayed in that darkness until I was forced to get up, wash and dress for the Ocado delivery. I guess it’s a good thing that I am still vain enough to want to wash and dress before opening the door to the grocery delivery driver.

The sun is shining and the birds are singing. I want to shut off the sound of the bloody chirpy birds. For someone who has several nature and birds songs recordings, this is bad. This is very bad.

I am down. I am very down.

I don’t know how long this is supposed to take before it gets better.

I don’t know how I am supposed to get on with the rest of my life, however long that life might be.

I don’t know how I am supposed to forget all plans, all thoughts, all memories, all hopes for a future that is not to be, when I am surrounded by countless reminders of the emptiness that I feel.

I don’t know how I am supposed to get over the fact that someone I trusted implicitly with my life and all that is/was in it, could just bail so very easily, when I had stayed steadfast to him in 14 years through all sorts of challenges countless others would have long bailed.

I don’t know how someone could commit three months notice to his job but couldn’t even give me two days when he had agreed marriage counselling for the umpteenth time and had promised to give it at least four weeks, time I said he should also use answering the countless questions that I had about household things he handled. After making that promise on a Saturday 11th April, we would have a lovely Sunday, great lunch near the sea and walking on the beach holding hands. On Monday, 13th April, he would choose to leave his marital home to “think”. He would come back Tuesday 14th declaring undying love. He would spend that Monday night, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights with his married mistress whilst pretending to be working on our marriage and giving us both some space.

No handover. No notice to quit. Instead, he bails. He just bails. To “start afresh” and “forge a new path.” No discussions. Door closed. Emotions shut off. Nothing. Nothingness. Nada.

His nine year job would get three months’ notice to quit, three months of careful handover, three months of detailed notes, three months of making sure that whoever takes over is thoroughly briefed for a smooth transition.

His 11 years marriage and 14 years relationship, doesn’t even get two days handover.

Nothing. Nothingness. Nada.

Rationally, I know that I can’t feel this shit and devastated forever. Emotionally, I don’t know that I am strong enough to cope until it starts to get better.

Emotions

This morning, I had a brief thought that some roast lamb and sweet potatoes, my weekend treat in my pre-Cambridge days, might cheer my life up. I thought taking myself to Mayfair, to my favourite restaurant Hakkasan Mayfair, to enjoy some dim sum and gorgeous food, might be just what I need to perk me up.

But I won’t do either of those things.

I’m no longer that girl that relies on food to cheer herself up.

A little movement on the scales this morning, but nothing earth-shattering. I will give Step 2 until Monday before deciding whether to increase my calorific intake from 810 to 1000 on Step 3.

4

Day 84 – I’ve Never Known Pain Like This…:-(

This is a weight loss blog but real life happens and through all the hell, I am staying 100% on my diet.

I have chosen to be completely honest in this blog. Every time I post, I will post whatever is on my mind. One day, in some years, however my life has panned out, I will look back at this diary as a true account of my darkest and bleakest days.

I won’t fake it by writing anything I’m not feeling.

I won’t pretend to be OK.

I am not OK.

I am devastated, traumatised, still in deep shock, crushed, sad, depressed, confused.

I have never felt pain like this which is not only emotional but also manifests physically.

I have been abandoned by the man I loved and trusted implicitly with my life.

sometimes you fall down

Last night, I had a lovely chat with my sister who lives in the US and who has been an amazing source of support. What she doesn’t know is that at 1 am, I was still sitting on the sofa I had sourced after careful measurements by my husband and I, to map out a perfect room, and I sat there and cried out loud like a baby.

I thought I was done crying but there I was, alone, crying inconsolably.

My marriage has ended in the most unimaginably painful and cruel way. I haven’t seen my husband since 18th April and for 10 of those days, he was abroad on business. Six days ago, he sent me an email to inform me that he wasn’t coming back home from his business trip and that our marriage was over.

Yes, dumped by email.

On March 17th my husband ignored my protests and insisted that he would meet his married mistress face to face to allegedly end their affair. They had dinner in a posh bar. He would return home around 1 or 2 am from meeting his mistress, expecting me to be there. I chose to spend the night at the Shangri-La hotel at the Shard, paid with his card. Even in that heartbreak, I blogged about staying 100 % on my diet.

I would later find out that 10 days later on 27th March, he would send his mistress a £70 bouquet of flowers in a week I call “I’m sorry, my love week” because he had spent that week apologising endlessly for his affair, the pain and hurt he had caused me, making plans for our future, talking about how our marriage would be better, how much he loved me, holding my hand and constantly stroking my face.

On 1st April, he would send his mistress expensive Easter chocolates, a couple of days after booking a holiday to Milan to allegedly work on our marriage.

After four months, his mistress got a face to face end even though they quickly resumed their affair, the 6th time they had broken and resumed their affair after only a week or two.

After 14 years of loving this man unconditionally, making life-changing sacrifices that even 1% of women would not make, he chose to send me the coldest email to inform me that our marriage was over.

love is a blind whore

Following his email, he would register with Royal Mail to immediately redirect his mails without the courtesy of informing me or allowing me to change countless utilities and other home accounts currently in his name. I would find out this week that my husband could not even face me to collect the piles of letters he has here from a letter from Royal Mail addressed to the “Occupier

I have done absolutely nothing wrong to this man to deserve the cruel treatment.

I have asked him several times if there is anything that I have done to deserve the despicable way he has treated me. I would feel better if I had done something to deserve even 1 % of the cruelty.

This was the nicest, gentlest, kindest man I ever knew. I often told people if there is a heaven, this man would go straight in as he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I would often describe him as someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly he would pick flies and set them down in the garden when I would be like kill the bastards.

And now, I (the person who has done absolutely nothing but supported and loved him for 14 years), I am the one that he has chosen to dump 45 years of wickedness and cruelty on.

How on earth could someone who for 14 years treated me like a princess, who would look at me with so much love in his eyes, who would constantly tell me I was his world and he couldn’t imagine his life without me, we would constantly tell each other that our certainty was that we would be with each other forever. His countless cards including his 2015 Valentines’ day with handwritten notes about loving me now and always.

2015-03-27 13.35.29

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Last night, I looked at about 70 photos and videos I had forwarded him in April to remind him of our lives which were full of fun and laughter. Looking at those pictures it occurred to me that the times he was fiddling on his phone and smiling at me, including a holiday in Oman in December, he could have been emailing his mistress or other women.

How could this man be smiling at me while actively (not passively) trawling dating websites for wife number two and engaging in an intense affair with a married woman he believes he will live happily ever after with even though he had only known her for two minutes and had never even met her two children?

If these two scumbags end up setting up home, I’m assuming the same way she wined, dined and fucked him in her marital home, she will be fucking the next guy in their home if he’s away on business?

How could this man who pledged to love and protect me lie, deceive, betray and hurt me the way he has done? Why has he behaved like a monstrous scumbag since I found out about his affair?

How could he show zero appreciation, zero loyalty, zero consideration, zero thoughts, zero regards, zero decency, to me after I had spent every day since I was 27 years old loving him?

Every single day, including this morning, the shock hits me all over again.

I am crying as I write this.

I am still not sleeping well. Yesterday, I took some sleeping pills but it wasn’t a brilliant night. Last week, I had taken the sleeping pills with my sister sitting in my bed, nursing me like I was a baby until the drugs knocked me out. Perhaps her love and concern were the reasons those pills worked better a week ago.

I would be the first to tell myself to get over the end of my marriage. Get on with it and I am doing my best to do so but it is impossible to explain to anyone who didn’t know this man and I just how much of a shock all of this had been.

In 14 years, he never told me, not even once, that there was anything about our lives or marriage he wasn’t happy about.

I know grief. I have lost people close to me including losing my father when he was in his early 40s. My childhood had ended after his death when I was 9, watching my beautiful mum who was only 35 deal with her crippling grief.

This feeling is worse. I do not mean to demean my mother’s or anyone’s grief but I am only stating my opinion and perhaps another time I will expand on those thoughts.

I have abandonment issues which stem from my dad dying and years of therapy have not cured these issues.

Men leave. They leave or they die.

My marriage was my security blanket. It was the only constant and certainty I was sure of in my life but here we are.

I am right to have abandonment issue. Men leave. I have been abandoned by the man I loved and trusted implicitly with my life.