I was born in January – first month of year, first month of winter. I remember reading somewhere that people born in winter are less happy and more depressed. In my case it is true. I always thought that having a boring life is the worst thing that can happen to a person. I always try to be everywhere, read everything, absorb life, and use what life has to offer. “Thirsty soul is easily manipulated”.
I was sitting in the room with social workers filling the questionnaires about experienced violence… violence from the person I spent 10 years together, the love of my life, the father of our 2 wonderful boys. How did this happen? The woman reads through my answers – physical violence was not so strongly expressed, its more psychological that is worrying…. Police are also investigating. It has been months and nothing happens. Feeling desperate… Everyone in the room is telling how strong I am, I have plans about my future, I function as a person and mother, other women in my situation are completely lost, need support and help with daily chores.
I live in a place called emergency shelter, my kids as well. I own apartment in the most expensive part of the city, but I am afraid to go there.
In the summer 2007 my relationship started with S. At that time, I was in love with interior designer who paid no attention to me and S was still my friend’s boyfriend. I was heart broken, tired of unsuccessful relationships, eating disorders and never-ending parties. He kept coming back in my life, started showing affection to me. I told him my story, but he didn’t run away. S was 9 years older than me, self confident, calm, he seemed so decided about his career and future. He was an artist, he saw the world differently, did things differently than me. He introduced me to the world I didn’t know existed. I think he truly wanted to fix me and my life and I wanted to be fixed. I fell in love. I betrayed my friend and I have not forgiven myself until now. It’s so hard to give forgiveness to yourself…
Neither my sister nor my parents liked him. I did not talk with my sister for a year. I lost many friends, was feeling guilty, tried to hide from the whole world. My depression got worse and at the same time I was so fed up with never ending useless therapies. I loved him so much, but was so unhappy. It all felt wrong and too complicated. I was afraid to lose his love, be lonely. I just wanted to be loved. He moved in to my place after half a year. It was my idea. He was renting his apartment and living with his parents. I thought that living conditions were horrible and wanted to help him and show what “normal” life is. Of course, later I realized that our perceptions of “normal” were completely different. He liked to live an anarchist, punk way of life. Cleanness and tidiness has always been very important to me. It was a huge clash, but I kept thinking that it’s just dirty dishes, it’s just clothes laying around, there are so many more important things in life. At the same time, I saw him being mean and aggressive to other people and that scared me. Everyone had to like him, his family, and his projects. He started working at home: writing, doing art, that meant no income or very little income. I tried to support him, I knew all his projects and I really liked them. We were arguing a lot… mostly about cooking, cleaning, dirty dishes, just some small unimportant things. He meant the whole world to me and I always thought that we just need to sit down and talk through all the things, it felt like we shared the same existential values and wanted the same things. I always wanted to have kids, he was afraid he was too old to have kids.
Our arguments were intense, I was taking everything too deep in my heart, every time my world was falling apart, was thinking about suicide from time to time, was kicking him out from my apartment. I was surprised he never left. I think he thought it was my “disease” and he would help me by staying with me. However, he thought I should stop seeing therapist and take medication. Maybe it was easier and more convenient for him to stay than move out. I guess it was my problems and fears that kept me with him and stopped me from making the right decision.
Our relationship was like a rollercoaster, addiction. I couldn’t spend a day without him. It was either very bad or very good; or maybe it was me who saw the world only black and white. Everything has to be intense in my life.
In 2008, I started working in communication sector, I liked my job and wanted to stay in that field. My plan was to take masters’ course while being on maternity leave and afterwards get a much better job. Sounds perfect, but not very realistic. In the summer 2008, I got pregnant and lost my job. Life is full of irony.
My friend asked me what was the purpose of my writing, what do I want to tell? I don’t think there is one. I keep asking myself why I am writing all this. I am one of the million other abused, divorced women, my life story is not exceptional or different. I do not want to be felt sorry for, pitied or criticized. Neither am I trying to advise, or teach, or provide answers. So please, do not expect to find any resolutions or conclusions in my posts. There is no happy ending to my story so far.
I look at my writing as a form of confession, search for relief and calmness. Probably there are more exciting stories and lives to be told or written about and I truly believe that every life story deserves to be told or written.