Update stuff

Still homeless, nearly skint, still only just able to get online at a friend's, probably going to be spending Christmas in a women's refuge, possibly able to send my parents a card if I'm really lucky and can afford a stamp as well as a card, no address for people to send me anything, not even a card and starting to run out of optimism..

I read his blog. He's bemoaning the fact that Christmas will be shit. Yeah right. All his wages from doing all the overtime an extra shifts, his family looking after him, his mum cooking, him able to buy himself and other people Christmas presents...

Sorry, but I can't find any sympathy. I didn't pack a dictionary.

Well off the planet...

Well, I’ve been off for a little while again, although this time I have a very good reason. I’m not living at my old address now. I moved out on the 7th and I’m now somewhere else entirely with no net connection. I’m writing this sat in the house I’m currently occupying and will post it when I get the chance.

This is going to take some time to tell, so please bear with me. I will be as fair as possible, and completely honest in what I’m going to write. I’m not looking for sympathy or pity. I just want to tell my side of the story. I know himself has been posting bits and pieces in his blog, and I’ve read some of them. I wasn’t impressed with what he’s been telling the world about my leaving. This is my chance to tell my side, and give the real reasons that he’s already aware of and has been since the day I left.

To tell the whole story I have to go back a few years. Himself and I met seven years ago in July. I can tell you the date too, but it’s not important to the story. We met and he was everything I wanted and needed. He was caring, gentle, attentive, great to be with and a wonderful lover who wanted to spend time with me. I wanted to be with him, but we lived a fair distance apart. Three weeks after we met, he asked me to marry him. It was done over the phone and I wouldn’t answer till he was with me. I accepted anyway. We started thinking about getting married, but decided to wait till we had somewhere to live before we did. It was the June of 2001 that we got the keys to the house that was our home and my home from that point till the 7th of this month.

I can’t tell you exactly where it all went wrong. I know that after the honeymoon, things started “settling”, or rather slipping into obscurity. He started spending more time on his computer. Admittedly I was spending time on mine at that point, but I was off work ill, and it was something to keep me occupied. My time was spent talking to people all over the globe and playing an online Roleplay game called Mafia. His time was spent talking to women, and one in particular, who he would spend hours talking to, telling her to do all sorts of things to herself in some sort of sexual gratification way. I’m not sure what he was getting out of it, but I got copies of all the conversations and read them. He told her he loved her, that I knew all about it and that he wanted to be with her anyway. I got suspicious about the conversations because he kept covering the message windows or getting irritable if I looked over my shoulder at his computer screen, so I checked up on him after a few weeks of the same behaviour. I found a message and she spoke to me. She apologised, because she thought I knew all about it and forwarded me all the messages. They’re all on my computer still, but that’s currently not where I am.

My mate M came over to comfort me and help me work out what I wanted to do. I decided it was just a hiccup caused by me being ill etc, so I decided I wanted to let it slide after talking to him, to put it behind us, but I didn’t forget it. He’d lied to me, lied to her and basically done whatever he pleased and sod me and my feelings.

Communication wasn’t great really from then on. I was suspicious of what he was getting up to on his computers, but he changed passwords and things so I couldn’t find anything else out.

He’s not good at talking about his feelings or about the relationship we had. We drifted apart mostly because every time I made an effort to get close, I got pushed away. I’ve been getting ignored for the most part for some time now.

I couldn’t tell you the first time things went really bad. I know it was probably down to frustration on my part about something, probably being ignored, because that’s what most of the arguments stemmed from. I’d try to tell him that I was tired of being ignored. His response that he was too tired, too busy, too whatever, just in from work, just going to work, in the middle of something… I would say that most of the time he was just too busy with his computer, his films, books, anything that wasn’t me basically. He didn’t care enough to want to find out what was wrong and perhaps talk it over to try to find some sort of solution. After days of non-communication, whatever it was bugging me would boil over and I basically would start an argument, just to get some sort of reaction from him. It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t want an argument. I just wanted him to realise that there was a problem. His reaction to me being stressed about a situation would be to shout over whatever I was saying, not listening, so I’d try to get him to listen by being louder. It didn’t work.

Anyway, it started out just as arguments, harsh words on both sides. Afterwards it would go back to the way it had been before with him living his own life almost as a single person, making me feel like an inconvenience. I started going off to visit friends to have at least some kind of life, which he seemed to be fine with, unless you read his recent blog entries. He seems less that impressed with it now.

The arguments escalated. They started getting out of control. I would get annoyed and start chucking things around, mostly clothes, cushions, bedding: all soft things, nothing breakable, nothing harmful. He started getting pushy, shoving me around, grabbing my arms and dragging me wherever. He threatened to push me downstairs once.

It was scary to be honest, but unfortunately it didn’t stop my frustrations with the relationship. It just took a little more each time for me to need to have my say, to ignore his “too tired” excuses and try to get across to him that I wasn’t happy. Each time it took less and less to trigger his aggressiveness.

I lied to people about what was going on. I covered up what went on in that house. I laughed things off with other people. I thought it was my fault, that each time it was something I did or said that made him violent. I’ve since realised that there was no need for it, that if he’d been willing to talk, wanting to understand, interested in what was upsetting me and how it could be fixed, that the arguments and violence would never have happened. If we had been in a marriage rather than an estrangement, things would have been different. I tried to make it a marriage. I did little things for him, wanted to care for him, to have him let me do things for him, make nice meals, cups of tea, breakfast in bed, bring him clean clothes when he got up, make sure he never wanted for anything, cook him meals to take to work for his night shift dinners, nice meals he could just heat up, so I knew he was eating properly. I got nothing in return. Nothing.

I lost the motivation to do things. When you hardly get a kind word or thanks for the effort you put in, you stop wanting to make that effort. What’s the point? When he did manage to do things for me, I was pleasantly surprised, and made sure he knew I was grateful. After months of getting no thanks or gratitude for the things I was doing for him, I decided that I would do the same. No thanks for things done, no comment about washing done, nothing. He didn’t understand that I was doing it to show him how it was for me. I tried to explain, but he didn’t get it.

He’s seeming to say these days that I abandoned him and went off doing my own thing. Frankly, yes I did, because I was tired of sitting downstairs doing whatever either watching TV, reading, listening to music… He would come home from work, walk in the front door, go upstairs, switch on his computer, go to the loo, go back to his computer and that was him for the night. In the mornings, he would get up, switch on his computer, go to the loo, go on his computer, go to work, and the whole thing would be repeated when he got home again. I used to ask if he minded me going to M’s for the weekend. He always replied that it was fine and just to let him know by text when I was on my way home. If he really had a problem with it, he should really have said something at the time, but that’s not how he seems to work. It’s fine until it suits him to complain about it.

I can’t tell you times or dates of the things that happened other than two incidents, one in June 2006 when I wrote in my blog that I’d fallen into the sofa. I didn’t. I had “help” with my severe whiplash that was originally suspected to be a fractured neck, and for which I got x-rayed 7 times. He started the lie. It took him over three quarters of an hour to call for an ambulance after an argument turned very nasty indeed and I was thrown around like a rag doll, bending the clothes airer by being thrown into it before being dragged up from that by the arm and thrown across the living room to land head first in the sofa, right against one of the wooden uprights in the back. I was in agony and couldn’t move, still getting yelled at until he realised just how much pain I was in. He made me move from where I was, face down on the sofa, kneeling on the carpet, afraid to move because when I had tried, the pain was almost unbearable. He got me moved so I was sitting on the edge of the sofa eventually. I was trying so hard not to move my neck at all, afraid of what damage had been done and what more damage moving might cause.

Three quarters of an hour later he finally called for an ambulance. He told them I had fallen over. I didn’t ask him to tell them that. When they arrived, he told them the same lie. What was I supposed to do? He was there telling them how it had happened, how my balance was bad and I’d taken a tumble into the sofa. Could I have told the truth? I don’t know. I wanted to protect him, because doing that meant I was safe too. If I lied, then it meant he didn’t get arrested. If he didn’t get arrested, he didn’t lose his job. If he didn’t lose his job, I still had somewhere to live. If I didn’t tell on him and went along with what he said, it meant he couldn’t get angry at me for telling the truth.

I loved him that much, cared for him that much that I lied to protect him. I still can’t bring myself to hate him, despite the fact that I have had to stop lying and start telling people the truth about my life at home with him.

I have a crime number from when the police were called out to the house in January of this year. The letter with the crime number came with a leaflet on domestic abuse and violence. They were called after another argument got out of hand and he was following me around the house as I was trying to get away from him, to put distance between us and he was still grabbing me and pushing me around, using the fact that he is bigger and stronger than me to make sure I knew what he was capable of.

I know what he is capable of. I know it very well. I ended up getting picked up by M after one incident, and she was appalled by the hand-print bruises I had from kidneys to knees on both sides of my back. He’s had his hands round my neck, pinning me on my back on the bed, crushing my throat and stopping me from breathing almost to the point where I would have passed out. When he finally let go, I was almost sick, but I was being dragged by the collar of my t-shirt to the point where the neckline ripped. I still have the t-shirt, as I couldn’t throw it away. It was a present from my sister. Another time, to get away from him I went into the spare room and sat behind the door to try and stop him opening it, but he just forced his way in by barging the door, squashing me between the door and the wall, bruising my arms and hips. He broke the whole catch out of the door frame on the bathroom door because I’d locked myself in there to try to get away from him. I don’t remember when each thing happened. I do know I wanted to phone the police once or twice and got the phone grabbed out of my hand so forcefully that it hurt my fingers. After things like that happened, I didn’t think I would ever be able to get enough time alone to make any calls, so stopped trying.

There were many times that things happened. Sometimes it was just arguments, but most times ended up with him lashing out at me. If I threw something like a towel at him in frustration, I would get ten times worse back with his hands. I never left, because I had nowhere to go. My friends that knew little bits of what was going on said I should leave him, but if I did that, where would I go? What would I do? Everything I had was tied to that house, and I don’t have the money to go looking for somewhere to live.

Now for another part of the story…

All of the above had been going on anyway, but sexually, there was very little going on either. No communication, no sex, just frustrations while he sat with his e-mail downloading pictures of women in little or no clothing in all sorts of situations. I did ask how he thought it made me feel when he did that and wouldn’t even look at me, even stood naked by his elbow.

In April of this year I was over with M for the weekend. A text conversation started up between himself and me, and it got quite deep in places. I asked M to transcribe it as it took up almost all of my message space. It’s on my other computer. The conversation is basically saying that things aren’t working, that there’s the possibility that a separation would be beneficial, and then something I didn’t really expect. He told me that because his sex drive was virtually nil, I could get that side of things from someone else, or multiple someones if I wanted to. My immediate thought was that it wasn’t what I wanted, that the person I wanted to be with like that was himself and not other people. I didn’t want other people, I wanted my husband, and I needed him to want me. It upset me that he felt that he could share me like that.

We had sex twice this year. Once was in April and once in June. He blames the fact that I have had menstrual problems, but to be honest, had he asked, I wasn’t bleeding that much sometimes. It seemed like it was yet another excuse not to do anything, because if you want it, you want it, and if there’s an issue with blood, then there’s always a shower…

I’ve been considering what he said about other people for a while. I thought about it carefully. I considered what he was saying when it was offered, working out why he would suddenly tell me it was OK for me to sleep with other men. I considered looking, but wasn’t sure I wanted to, so didn’t really do much about it. I chatted to plenty of people on the net through a website that would have catered for the no-strings sex had I wanted it. There were plenty of offers, but I didn’t take any of them. I still wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted. I’m not into sleeping around, so I wasn’t sure about just going out and having sex with people just to fill that need. What I wanted was a husband who cared and showed it, but I wasn’t going to get that. I knew that already, so I didn’t do anything about it. The website I chatted on caters for the swinging scene, and I didn’t think that fitted with what I was looking for: I wanted some sort of friendship and at the very least the appearance of romance with just one person, not multiple partners on a very casual basis with no emotions or feelings behind the sex.

The whole idea revolved around wanting to keep the marriage together by giving me the sexual gratification I was lacking. That’s basically what he offered. I was eventually happy to go along with it, because, at the end of the day, if I could remove a frustration it meant that there may well be less arguments and less chance of the past repeating itself. Call me stupid if you like, but when things were quiet, at the end of the day I had a home, the probability of work after my op in December, and life could go on as normal.

I went away to visit my friend A for a week in October. Her chap picked me up and took me over to hers. He’s a nice bloke and we got on well. Another friend turned up on the Monday…

I’ll rewind the timeline again here: In about May or June I was over at M’s and we popped over to a military vehicle show to see my mate A and her latest acquisitions of a horsebox and snow track. It was absolutely tipping down, so we didn’t hang around too long outside and went into the horsebox for a cuppa and a chat. The chap who had worked on the snow track to get it running for shows was there with his family, but I really didn’t notice him too much, as I was busy gossiping with A about things and catching up, because I hadn’t seen her since Beltring last year.

At Beltring, the chap, who shall now be known as Bear, was there again with his armoured landrover, and he was over seeing A quite often, as A’s daughter was part of his camp over in quiet camping and he was over helping with the snow track as there were bits and pieces needing done. As normal, I was hugging people, and Bear just became part of the circle of people that got hugged. To start with, I don’t think he really knew what to do with a small person who kept grabbing him for hugs. He got the idea in the end after watching me hug loads of other people. His problem was that he knew himself was around somewhere, and just found it a bit awkward or possibly disrespectful to be hugging someone else’s wife.

I will point out here that Bear is not what would typically be known as my “type” when it comes to men. I usually go for the tall, good looking, slim, fit… You know, the typical ideal of what a bloke should look like. I’ve never been into “squidgy” blokes, and Bear is squidgy. Bear is also only a few inches taller than me and a bit on the fluffy side. It’s funny really, but meeting Bear has made me realise that what’s portrayed as the “ideal” isn’t what the reality is. The media hypes the chiselled looks, firm physique, toned, tanned and muscly men, when in reality, it’s a short, fat, balding, fluffy squidgy Bear that has made me feel the happiest and most comfortable.

Bear was the other friend who was over at A’s when I went over. We’d swapped a mail or two in between, just being silly and flirting a bit. I didn’t really mean very much by it because, like I said, not my type.

We sat and chatted at A’s. A lot of chatting about this and that. I felt really comfortable with him, and felt comfortable discussing what had been said in April to see what he thought of the situation. His basic response was that he’d done the same thing for ten years, saving his marriage to someone who was a bit like my husband in the way she mostly ignores Bear. That other relationship ended badly, with the woman involved telling Bear that he had to leave his wife and kids to be with her. He refused and that basically ended the affair, leaving him still trying to make the marriage work without having someone there to care for who would care back, someone to talk to that had some kind of interests outside of soap operas on telly or one particular fiction writer. Bear is tactile. S isn’t. Bear likes good, home-cooked food. S does stuff out of packets and tins. Bear has a high sex-drive. S doesn’t and would prefer to go to bed and watch telly or read a book. Even if there is sex, S apparently isn’t very demonstrative of enjoyment, lying there and taking everything he does with very little expression of pleasure. Bear is the same as me: gets a lot of the enjoyment in sex out of the pleasure that we give to the other person and being able to see that enjoyment.

Sex with himself basically came to him rolling over from lying facing away from me, lying on his back, pulling me into his side, expecting me to play with him, then get on top and do whatever until he’d had his fun. It used to be better. I couldn’t tell you when things changed, but they did, and it’s been the way I just described for a while. Bear described sex with S as pretty much her getting her fun without seeming to enjoy it over much.

Bear was looking for someone to be with, to talk to, to spend time with, someone to care for who would care back, someone to fill the gap in his life that would mean he could stay married to S. He doesn’t want to split up with her. He cares for her, and he cares for his kids. He does love her, which is why he wants to stay, but to stay without having the added comfort of someone who cares back would leave him in the position I was in: frustrated and wondering if it would be possible to leave.

I thought about leaving a couple of years ago. I didn’t. Bear’s thought about leaving, but doesn’t because he still cares a lot, he loves his kids and he can keep his family and home by having a second relationship.

We spoke a lot and realised that we both wanted the same thing: to keep the marriages together by having other people to fill in the gaps. We spoke about it a bit more, discussed how it could work with the distances involved, whether the arrangement would be an exclusive one, in other words just our marriages and each other without anyone else being involved. Once I was happy that it would be exclusive and what I needed to keep my marriage together without being a danger to it, I spoke to himself by text and asked whether a relationship with Bear would be acceptable. Himself was fine with it from what I could tell around comments about DVD purchases and queries about urban slang. I kept his responses to the texts I sent and transcribed them onto my other computer. Unfortunately I purged my sent messages so I didn’t have all my comments there. What Bear and I have is more of a comfortable friendship than any kind of affair outside of a marriage though. We talk, we hug, we hold hands, snuggle up on the sofa and just enjoy each other’s company. He’d prefer to be known as “’Ard as nails” or “Butch and Manly”, but I know he’s a kind, caring individual who is happy just to spend time talking, or just not talking and being close. He’s not afraid of his emotions, and openly showed them when talking about certain parts of his life. Himself just wanted to be the rough, tough, man’s man, someone who doesn’t show emotions, and who ultimately ends up being an emotional void, a loveless individual who comes across as uncaring, unfeeling and unkind. I wish that he had learned a long time ago that real men are not afraid to have emotions. Perhaps things might have been different if that had been the case.

Bear was over at the house a couple of times. They met. Himself just spoke about work and trains. There was no comment about the arrangement, no warnings about being careful or sensible about things, no making sure that I was ok and safe. Just trains, work, more work, trains…

I asked after Bear had left whether himself was OK about Bear being there. His response was that he was fine about it. I asked again another time after Bear and I were talking online and Bear said he was concerned that he was treading on toes by being in the house when himself was there. Himself said again that he didn’t have a problem with it. If there had been a problem, something should have been said on either or both of those occasions.

Bear and I had been talking and he got me to admit what had happened in the past with the arguments and violence. He got me to realise that I wasn’t safe in that house and I started making plans to leave, possibly by Easter. By then I could get enough money together to put a deposit on a place to live, I could have all my bits and pieces organised and it might even give me a chance to talk to himself and let things come to a natural conclusion in a mutually amicable way, both sides accepting that the relationship was at an end. I had time to work on it, time to get the house sorted out, time to work on how to speak to himself, to do the decent thing. Bear sat and spoke to me at length, playing both sides, making me look at things from himself’s point of view as well as my own. It was nice to have someone to bounce things off, someone who was fair and impartial. M has a tendency to be completely on my side, and so does A, so it was good to have the different viewpoint to keep everything in perspective and be allowed to make my own decisions rather than be told what I should be doing. It was good to know as well that whatever conclusions I reached, Bear was happy to help and support me.

My decision to sort things out and make a break of it basically necessitated the house being cleaned, tidied, finished off in places with bits and pieces and generally sorting out what was what. I told my sister H what I was planning, and while she didn’t agree with the initial secrecy, she was happy to help me with the housework frenzy that was going to happen. To be honest, the house was a tip. I’d lost the drive to do anything because I just wasn’t motivated. I was being ignored, so I passed that on by ignoring the mess I ended up living in.

H was due over on the Monday and Bear offered to help. H’s car decided that it would be a good thing to die over the weekend, so it was just me and Bear. Because H was going to come over a fortnight later and was going to stay for a week, I decided it might be a good idea to start with the spare room, which is the one with the futon in as well as the computers. That would at least mean H had somewhere to sleep that wasn’t the sofa in the living room.

During the day, himself rang. I told him that we were tidying and that I had even thrown the empty cigarette paper packs off his desk in the bin. He started throwing a fit that his things had been thrown in the bin, and I ended up hanging up the phone, because he just wasn’t getting the fact that it was just rubbish that had been thrown, not anything that could even slightly be conceivably not be rubbish. Empty cigarette paper boxes and wrappers are rubbish. Paper with numbers, names or anything written or printed on are not rubbish. I can tell the difference.

I could also tell that empty diet coke bottles should go in the bin, as should old pizza boxes, including mouldy contents and dip pots, garlic bread and all sorts of other things including empty dessert pots that had just ended up on the floor, kicked under the computer desks or under the futon. Not just one or two, but four dustbin bags full, even with boxes and bottles flattened. It all went out, things got put away in spaces, stuff got moved so there was floor. Nothing that was not rubbish was thrown out. Anything important or that looked like it could be important for something, no matter how insignificant, got kept and put somewhere. If it looked like his, it went somewhere near his computer. Printed papers went on his printer. His desk only had the rubbish removed and nothing else was touched or rummaged through, just obvious rubbish thrown out.

He got home. I was downstairs with Bear just talking about what else needed tidied, going over what had been done, having a cup of tea and just chilling out. Himself came in and went upstairs. I went up to put away some clean washing. Next thing I knew, he was ranting about his stuff being moved. When I say ranting, I really mean it. He was going totally nuts because stuff had been thrown out. I couldn’t go on with what I was doing and went downstairs in a bit of a state. Bear went to explain that the only things that had gone were the rubbish and what had been done, where stuff had been moved to and so on, but himself wasn’t listening. As far as he was concerned, all his stuff had been thrown in the bin.

Bear isn’t a small chap, and neither is he a coward, having been in the military and facing worse situations in his life, but even he felt intimidated by the force of himself’s anger. I was afraid that something would kick off. I was scared that himself would go for Bear. I know what himself is capable of, and I didn’t like the way things were going. I was sat on the sofa trying to be as small as possible in a corner, shaking and in tears. I knew Bear planned to go home that evening, and I dreaded being on my own in the house with himself the way he’d gone off about his “stuff”. Bear came down and saw what state I was in and decided there was no way he was going to leave me after what he had witnessed. Himself eventually went to bed after doing whatever he had to do on his computer, not another word said from him. Bear calmed me and spoke to me, reassuring me that while he was there, nothing was going to happen to me.

We spent the night talking. By 4am I had made the decision that there was no way I could stay in that house, in that environment, being chastised for the state of the house and then having that reaction when I threw rubbish in the bin. By 4 I knew I had to leave, but I also knew I couldn’t say anything to himself, because I didn’t know what the reaction would be. Bear decided it would be best if he wasn’t there when himself got up, so he reluctantly left me and just went to sit in his car till himself had gone to work. I wasn’t happy about being in the house on my own with himself, and Bear told me to have a blank text ready to send if anything happened. If Bear got a blank text, he would be straight in, knowing that there was a situation that I couldn’t cope with on my own.

I heard himself’s alarm go off at half four as I sat downstairs on the sofa, still curled up in a ball, phone in hand with the blank text just needing the send button hit. By 5, himself still wasn’t out of bed. At ten past 5 I steeled myself and went upstairs, stuck my head round the bedroom door and said it was ten past five and time to get up. I got the reply that he knew and was getting up and I went back downstairs. Himself did whatever, got up, dressed, and then he came downstairs and went straight out without another word or even me seeing him. I sent bear a text about 15 minutes later saying himself had gone so Bear knew it was OK to come back. By the time he let himself back in, I was upstairs emptying my linen out the airing cupboard. I took sheets that came from R’s after he had died, duvet sets that I had bought, pillowcases that had come with the sheets, towels I had bought or brought with me when I came to that house, teatowels, table linen and anything else that was mine. By that point I was working on pure adrenaline. I knew I had a time limit, and I was determined not to be there by the time himself got home.

By six I was still running on adrenaline, packing things out my wardrobe. Bear made me stop and go phone my sister to talk to her and see what she thought. I told her what had happened after apologising for waking her at that ungodly hour, and asked her what she thought. Her response was to offer to come and help me pack. She also offered to speak to the parents about what had happened, which I gratefully accepted. It was hard enough telling her without having to tell my daddy what was going on.

I continued packing my clothes after the call, Bear helping by opening bags and packing a few essentials into a couple of suitcases, the remainder of my things just being shoved into bin bags. I knew I could only take what I could carry because of the swiftness of the decision, but I didn’t want to leave anything precious to me behind, just in case I couldn’t get them back. H offered to store those bits and pieces for me, Bear could take my suitcases and some other bits, and the remainder of the stuff got put in the garage. I made sure the things I took included cutlery from my Nana’s that I was given after she passed away, a couple of bowls I bought when I was at my sister’s once, a couple of my wooden utensils and one sharp knife I’d bought last year. I took the bear essentials of tea, coffee, sugar and a couple of mugs that I’d bought over the years and one that had also come from Nana’s. I only took stuff that was mine, although I knew I couldn’t take everything of mine. There’s still stuff in the house that I brought into the home or bought while there which I hope to one day be able to get back.

Himself phoned while I was packing. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to tell him what I was doing because I didn’t want him coming home and stopping me. I had made my mind up, and didn’t want him changing it, making me stay in a situation that I was scared of, or taking it out on my sister or Bear for helping me, or perhaps because he might think they railroaded me into doing what I did.

I walked away with three suitcases, one with my jewellery and some other valuables in and the other two just basic clothing that I’d need, two pairs of trainers, a holdall with a duvet, pillows and sheets in and the basics from the kitchen. My sister took the paintings from my mum and aunt, the clock that had belonged to my great aunt, the war medals that belonged to my great uncle and a few other things that I couldn’t store in the garage. I brought my laptop with me. My computer went to my sister’s. My parents sent me some money to buy food with via my sister, because other than that money, all I had left was about twenty pounds left over from the last of my wages paid at the end of September. I walked out that house with virtually nothing after virtually no planning.

Call me stupid if you like, but I’d stripped the bed of my eiderdown, my sheets, my pillows, my quilt. I remade the bed with his sheet, his duvet, his pillow. I made sure that it was made so he didn’t have to worry about making the bed after coming in from a long day at work.

I am currently living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere. It’s not a permanent thing, because it belongs to a couple of friends who have not long been divorced themselves and the house is going to be sold soon. When I arrived there was no heating, but I managed to get the fire going the day after I got here. It’s a wood burner, and I had to borrow a saw to cut up dead wood and old pallets to burn. I had to use some of my food money to buy coal as well to keep the fire going overnight. I’m trying to get a place to live, my own place, somewhere that will be my house, somewhere I can live, somewhere I can have my own life, look for a job, and basically start rebuilding my life again, learning to survive on my own, to trust people again and to stop lying to everyone about what has happened in my past.

I wanted to write all this down, so people know what really happened. Himself is busy telling people I ran off with another man or that he doesn’t know why I went. (Text edited out per request) I sent him a text before I even left the house. I sent the following to him at half past five:

“I’m really sorry, but we can’t go on with the way things are. Last night scared me because of the past. I’ve thought about this for the last two years and last night finally made me realise that while I still care for you I can’t live like this in constant worry about whether the past will repeat itself. I have moved as much of my things as I can and have left yours. I have taken nothing that’s not mine although I haven’t taken everything of mine. I hope we can work this out amicably as I don’t want to fall out with you and I would like to be able to sort the rest of our things together without any animosity. Can you please look after the cats and we can sort out what is happening with them when I have a more permanent place to live. Hope you understand but I have a feeling this might be a mutual feeling.”

It took till quarter to nine for him to send the reply “Thank you for the text. Couldn’t say anything at lunch then? And having the person you want to sleep with staying over while I was working made me feel good. Also having them going through my stuff was a wonderful idea of yours. Let me know how long till you pick the stuff left up. I’ll be putting it all in the old sewing room.”

That’s his reaction to me leaving. That’s his reaction to me telling him I can’t live scared of him. That’s all he could say about anything.

The following is the complete transcript of the conversation as it continued.

ME 20:51 What was I supposed to say? I was trying not to make things worse. You never seemed to be bothered by him being here since you said nothing other than work stuff. You scare me. It’s simple. I didn’t want confrontation over the phone. I did the majority of the packing with my sister anyway and none of your stuff was touched if it could be left. It’s nothing to do with (Bear) You made my mind up for me when I started wondering if you would do more damage to me.

HIMSELF 20.55 I was being very tired bloke getting told by him that he had sorted out my desk and stuff for me. Also you were quite comfy downstairs so I kept shut as I didn’t want to offend anyone. Was going to talk about it tonight, but seems you’ve jumped the gun.

ME 21:09 I wasn’t comfy at all. I was terrified of you hurting me again because of the nasty tone of your voice. Please respect my things. I didn’t do any damage to yours or move them unless I had to. I even made the bed up for you because I knew you would be tired. I was concerned about you and you never seemed to bother about anything of mine or anything I do. You don’t talk. I’m just expected to know what you’re thinking and I don’t.

08.11.2007

HIMSELF 00:32 Don’t forget you have the injection next week and a hospital appointment next month.

HIMSELF 10:58 Where are the garage keys? I can’t seem to find them. Also where exactly is yesterday’s mail. BTW (Bear) got some mail here.

ME 11:06 (Bear’s) mail is from Jive. Yesterday’s mail is in the black bag with the rest of the mail. I have the garage keys. Will get them back to you when I can.

HIMSELF 11:08 Which black bag? There are a few here.

ME 11:09 The one behind the front door full of letters.

HIMSELF 11:11 The one you overfilled and split when I tried to pick it up. Nice to know it goes in the bin when I’m waiting for something.

ME 12:22 It was in a bag so it wouldn’t be all over the floor. I have done my best to treat your things with respect and I have realised now that your stuff has always meant more to you than I ever have. It hurts a lot knowing that.

HIMSELF12:27 Well I’m working my way through the bag shredding everything that has an address on it. I was only waiting for a letter with the concert tickets in it, remember I asked if you wanted one but you were going to be in Wales. Now I think about all this it seems you’ve planned this for a while as all you’ve taken wouldn’t have fitted in your sister’s car.

ME 12:42 I didn’t plan yesterday in advance. I didn’t want to leave my home but I was scared that you would be violent again. How hard is it for you to accept that you made me leave yesterday with just my clothes and my special bits and pieces? All packed in a hurry, not planned at all.

HIMSELF 12:59 Well that’s your perception of what you thought. Thinking of changing the locks seeing as you’ve walked out. I now don’t want people I don’t know being in the house without me being there now. Not after feeling violated by your friend (Bear). And no I didn’t have violent feelings, just annoyed ones and was going to discuss it when I got home last night. But that’s up to you. You’ve made your bed, you can now sort the mess out. After I finish tidying up I’m going to start decorating and I had planned it from Monday. Was going to talk to you about it but don’t need to now. Well gives my week off more interest now with no worries. I might still be married but can now choose my own colours and not worry.

ME 18:04 It says a lot when you only take an interest in the house and décor as soon as I am gone. You never talked to me about anything over the past months and years so why the sudden decision to talk and decorate? You feel violated? How do you think I felt when the police were round? Or when I got taken to hospital about my neck? Or when I went to (M’s) covered in bruises? I suppose that’s not as important as your stuff. I still have things in that house so will require access to collect them and would appreciate if everything was as it was left so I don’t have to go searching through the house to make sure I clear everything of mine. I need to get myself settled first though so it’s not going to be immediate.

HIMSELF 18:39 I’m not denying you access, just the courtesy that no strangers go inside. Also that I’m present. You have only really left the big things. The kitchen’s about done other than the odd mixer. You’ve cleared the cabinets and you have my sunglasses and a present from your parents. The bed of course and most of the old sewing room. Anything else I find will put in there.

ME 19:07 I still have a lot of stuff in the kitchen as well as books, films, paperwork, sewing things and other bits and pieces. I would like to sort it amicably, but I might need to bring friends to help move things. I won’t be able to do that if you’re banning people from the house.

HIMSELF 19:19 I never said I was banning them. I just want to be there when they are. And seeing the amount of stuff you shifted already I can’t believe you want to come back ever. Also took more than a quick grab of important things. You carefully wrapped all the glass took just about all the towels emptied your clothes into bags and suitcases cleared your computers away and a lot of cutlery, the duvets and pillows and all the bedding. That isn’t a small amount and is very planned. Well I hope you are happy and know what you are doing. Also other than taking my fags out of the car? Is there anything else I should know about? BTW I would suggest you don’t plan on coming over and staying the night here unless it’s in a hotel.

Names have been removed for obvious reasons, and have been replaced in square brackets. Those are the only changes to the content of the text messages. Since those I have heard nothing from him other than what other people have said. He phoned A, H and M looking for a mailing address to forward any letters to. I sent a text telling him to forward any mail to M, that he could get her address from her on MSN and I added that I didn’t want to speak to him while he was perpetuating the lie that he didn’t know why I’d left or that I’d run off with another man. I also e-mailed his friend and told her why I’d left, because I knew he wouldn’t have told her the truth, since she recently got divorced because of domestic violence. I’m not sure if she believed me, but I hope this will assure her that I have told the truth.

I left on the Wednesday. I told the neighbours why I went, although I don’t know if they believed me or not. I went back on the Friday for my doctor’s appointment, after which I went to the police station. I spoke to someone there about what had gone on because I knew I had to go back and pick up the last of my things, all of the black bags and bits in the garage. I told them what had happened, but made sure they understood that I wasn’t pressing charges at that point, it was just to inform them in case anything kicked off when I went to get my things. At the moment I am under the care of the local Women’s Aid, which I was referred to by the National Domestic Violence Helpline. My friend is looking after me by running me wherever to get to appointments with housing or fetching food and fuel. Other than those excursions, I have been mostly sat in knitting and listening to the radio with occasional visits from my friend and her kids, phone calls from my parents and sister to make sure I’m OK, and Bear has driven all the way here a couple of times just to check on me, because phone calls don’t show expressions, just convey words. He’s worried I might end up with depression over everything that’s gone on and wants me to see a doctor, so that’s another thing on my “to do” list.

Life goes on. I will keep plodding on with things here and hope that I can get my benefits sorted out before the last of my money runs out, and can get a house before this place is sold and has to be vacated. One day I might be able to get back on the net with more frequency and be able to update my blog again. I just wanted to be able to tell my side of things so the people I know and care about who read this know what has happened and why I’ve dropped off the planet again. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything sooner, and I’m sorry this has to be the way you find out about it. Didn’t want to say anything because I was, and still am, scared of what he would do if I told what had happened.

I know some of you may not approve of what has happened, either with the way I’ve hidden what’s happened, or about Bear, but I hope you will at least understand. Bear has been a great comfort to me and understands that I can’t continue what we had in the interim while I am going through all this mess. In the future I hope that things can go back to how they were, when I can allow myself to love and trust again. He’s there for me to talk to whenever I need him though, same as he always has been. We can talk for hours about everything and anything, and that’s what I value about him. I just hope that it will continue and become a great relationship, although I fully understand that it will continue to be an addition to his marriage rather than a replacement. I’ve not run away with Bear. I ran away from himself. All I got from Bear was the confidence to be able to leave a situation that was dangerous and unhealthy.

I miss being able to keep up with those I communicated with through blogs and e-mail. I will miss my friends for a while until I can get my computer back and working and a net connection sorted. Meanwhile I shall write blog entries on my laptop and post them when I can.

Gracey, Sims and Larry, look after yourselves. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.

Love and hugs
Mum
xxx

Dance madness

Well, it was competition night last night... What can I say. I bought the first ticket for the comp a couple of months ago. There was no way I was missing out on that. I've missed the Black and White ball and the Dips and Drops workshop recently because of my health. I was determined that nothing was going to stop me going to the competition, short of being dead.

It wasn't even anything serious. It was a "Dance with a stranger" competition, where you get assigned a random partner and have to dance with them while being judged by the panel. I do Modern Jive, also known as LeRoc or Ciroc. It's excellent excersise, and I have to say, after a couple of weeks off, I ache like mad this morning after dancing Thursday night at class, and then practically full time from eight till eleven last night, then some more inbetween the rounds of the competition.

I was fortunate. I got someone I have danced with before in the first round. I'm OK dancing with him, although some people ain't keen because of his style. I like it though, and it only took a couple of seconds to get back into it. We did the first round, and while the freestyle was going on inbetween that and the quarter finals, one of the judges went past me and paused, saying if I got near the front and smiled, I'd do fine. How much of a confidence booster was that? Anyway, I kinda knew before we got to the next round that I'd got through with my partner. Our number got called, and up we went to join the other 26 couples that made it through out of the 40 that started.

Then they decided that we had to swap partners, so they moved all the girls around. I got C, one of the blokes from the Thursday classes. I don't dance with him often, but I know his style. I thought we did really well, although we lost time on the beat just when a couple of judges were watching. We never got through to the semis. Ah well, there's always next year... It was an excellent night anyway, and a couple of people said that we were robbed in the second round. I'll keep practicing.

So... next plan once I stop aching so much is to start tidying the house. My sister has volunteered (stupidly) to come and help, as has one of my mates who's got to be down this way for something in the evening, so Monday could see things getting a bit busy and a lot tidier. If I'm really lucky, I might get the dining room shifted round more how I want it too.

Himself will be at work while the bulk of the shift around is happening. Lucky him...

Oh and Monday nights is dance class at T, so I'm going to see if sis fancies a go. I really hope she does, because it's a great night out and a good laugh with the girls. One of these days I'll get some pics of me in my dance outfits... I made three skirts for dancing, and I love them... Very flarey. One is black with white inserts, one is embroidered black cotton and the other is red with white polka dots all over it. Love wearing them, especially the polka dots. It's so fifties and I have a neck scarf and purse to match. I think I'm getting sent a pic dad took of me wearing it, so I'll see if I can post it another time.

Ho hum... Only another week to go till my injection then a month till the op. I'm counting, I can tell you. I had to sit out of some of Thursday's class because I decided not to take painkillers before going in case I ended up too dizzy to dance. I ended up too sore instead. Didn't make that mistake last night and made sure I took some with as well, just in case. Hopefully this will see an end to my problems at least, and I've had the offer to go and help decorate my mate Z's old house for it to be sold, so I might take her up on that for a week while I'm all hormonal and menopausal after the injection. Might do me some good, and might keep me out from under himself's feet too. Slapping paint on a wall could be good therapy...

Ah well, got to concentrate on this place in the meantime. De-cluttering is going to take time and strong willpower... That's where sis comes in. She's completely ruthless and it's brilliant. It'll be done in no time.

In the meantime, I have to make a start... First port of call I think will be the kitchen, then the spare room, dining room, living room.... and the list goes on. I can see my wardrobe emptying into cases to go in the loft... It's all good though.

Right... S'pose I best get on... Aches and all...