We Were Supposed to Be in This Fucked-Up Life Together

When I look back at the end of my marriage, there's one person woven through almost every part of it.

My friend.

She knew everything.

And I mean everything.

The arguments with my husband.

The drinking.

The Xbox.

The loneliness.

Valentine's Day.

Me leaving.

The temporary flat.

The breakdown with my oldest daughter.

The arguments over the holiday.

The things I was being told my sister had said.

The messages from my family.

The voice notes.

The screenshots.

If somebody sent me something that upset me?

Chances are, I sent it straight to her.

I trusted her completely.

And I think that's important to say now, before we get any further into this part of the story.

Because it's very easy to look backwards knowing what I know now and rewrite everything.

To convince yourself you always knew something wasn't right.

That there were signs.

That your gut was telling you.

Mine wasn't.

At that point?

She was my friend.

One of the people I trusted most.

The woman I believed was firmly in my corner while my marriage and family seemed to be falling apart around me.

And eventually?

She was also the person encouraging me to meet the man who would become the Nightmare.

But neither of us called him that then.

Back then?

He was supposed to be fun.

She Knew What My Marriage Was Like

My friend hadn't appeared at the very end of my marriage.

She'd been there watching it unravel.

She knew how lonely I'd become.

She knew my husband and I could spend our evenings sitting in separate rooms.

Him drinking and playing the Xbox.

Me sitting on my own.

She knew I'd started picking up overtime because sometimes being at work was better than sitting alone in my own house.

She knew about those ridiculous twenty-minute windows when I'd be getting ready to leave for work just as my husband was coming home.

Twenty minutes.

Sometimes that was all the time we had together.

And instead of:

How was your day?

How are you?

I'll miss you.

it could be twenty minutes of him moaning about somebody or something, rolling a joint and turning the Xbox on.

Then I'd leave for work.

That was our marriage.

Two people living in the same house but increasingly living completely separate lives.

My friend knew all of that.

And she had plenty to say about it.

At one point she sent me a post that said:

“Men don't say ‘let's break up.’ They just mistreat you, become inconsistent, wait for you to leave, and then blame you for walking away.”

Then she added:

“Even my phone backs me.”

And I laughed.

Because that's what we did.

We laughed about the shit things because sometimes the alternative was crying.

My Near-50-Year-Old Teenager

Then came Valentine's Day.

We'd made plans.

My husband wasn't going to drink.

We were going to go for dinner.

Maybe the cinema.

Spend some actual time together.

I'd finished work, we'd gone for breakfast and then I went to sleep.

When I woke up?

I heard the Xbox.

Then I heard something else.

A sound I knew immediately.

The bottle screwing closed.

He'd started drinking.

Knowing we'd made plans.

Knowing how I felt about his drinking.

And I was furious.

I messaged my friend.

She was basically telling me:

Fuck him.

Why should I sit there?

Why shouldn't I go out?

Why shouldn't I enjoy myself?

So I went to hers.

And when we were talking about my husband's behaviour around that time, she said:

“you mean you're not ok with the teenage boy behaviour from your near 50 year old husband?”

That's where she stood.

Or at least that's where I believed she stood.

She thought his behaviour was ridiculous.

She'd told me I deserved better.

She'd asked why I was still there.

And when I finally left?

She was one of the people cheering me on.

“Proud of You”

Leaving wasn't simple.

It never had been.

My husband and I had years together.

Children.

A home.

A marriage.

A whole fucking life.

But this time I started properly looking at somewhere of my own.

And my friend was delighted for me.

She messaged:

“Fuck me you're really changing your life babe 💕 proud of you”

Then:

“I'm happy for you honey. Your life is going to be so much happier and less stressful ❤️”

When I showed her the little house?

“I'm so happy for you! That wee house looks lovely 🥰”

She talked about helping me.

Getting things.

Sorting the house.

Starting again.

She wasn't telling me to go home and work things out with my husband.

She wasn't telling me I'd made a mistake.

She was telling me I'd finally done something good for myself.

At one point she said:

“You need to walk away from everything that's isn't serving you. Don't hold candles for men who aren't worthy of you”

And when my husband continued arguing with me after I'd left?

“You've left him. Ignore him you've made it clear it's over you're trying to get a house. Don't allow him to continue the same behaviours”

Those messages matter now.

Because I want people to understand exactly what I believed at the time.

My friend wanted me away from my husband.

At least, that's what every conversation between us led me to believe.

Then She Told Me to Have Some Fun

I'd been miserable for years.

I'd felt ignored.

Unwanted.

Lonely.

Dead inside.

And my friend kept telling me the same thing.

I needed to live.

Have some fun.

Why shouldn't I go on a date?

Why shouldn't I enjoy some attention?

Why shouldn't I do something just for me for once?

I wasn't looking for another serious relationship.

For fuck's sake, I'd barely got myself out of the marriage.

I didn't need another husband.

I needed to remember what it felt like to be a woman rather than somebody's wife, mum, employee, taxi driver, cleaner, emotional punchbag and general fixer of everybody else's shit.

Then a man added me on Snapchat.

I didn't know him.

Not really.

He was just a man showing me attention.

And my friend encouraged me.

Go meet him.

Have some fun.

Enjoy yourself.

Live a little.

She didn't introduce us.

But when the opportunity appeared?

She encouraged me to take it.

And I did.

I thought I was going on a date.

Maybe having a bit of harmless fun.

Something to remind me I was still alive.

I had absolutely no idea that the man I was being encouraged to meet would eventually become the man I've called the Nightmare throughout this blog.

If I'd known?

Obviously I wouldn't have fucking gone.

But that's the thing about nightmares.

They don't normally introduce themselves as one.

Meanwhile, My Family Was Falling Apart

While this new man was beginning to enter my life, everything with my family was getting worse.

Especially my relationship with my oldest daughter.

There were arguments.

Messages.

Accusations.

Things being said that hurt.

And every time something happened?

I sent it to my friend.

She didn't hear about these things months later after I'd had time to calm down.

She watched them happen in real time.

On Mother's Day, I received a huge message from my oldest daughter.

It was brutal to read.

There were accusations about me neglecting my family.

About what I was doing to her dad.

About other men.

About embarrassing her.

About the effect my behaviour was having on everybody else.

And I was devastated.

So I sent it to my friend.

Her response wasn't:

She's hurting too.

It wasn't:

Give her some time.

It wasn't:

Maybe don't answer while you're angry.

She said:

“She's got a weirdly short memory.... She's forgotten you sorting things while she was at hospital?”

She reminded me about things I'd done for my daughter.

About me calling in sick when she'd had a fit even though I could have lost my job.

Then:

“judgemental little bitch how did that come out of you????”

And at another point?

She said my oldest daughter was:

“fucked in the head.”

That's my daughter we're talking about.

My first baby.

And looking back now, I wish I'd been in a place emotionally where I'd stopped that immediately.

But I wasn't.

I was angry too.

I was hurt.

I felt judged.

I felt like nobody was listening to my side.

So when somebody told me I was right to be angry?

I grabbed onto it.

When I started answering back, my friend encouraged me:

“Quite fucking right. Take no shit”

And in that moment?

It felt like support.

Then My Sister Was Apparently Against Me Too

It wasn't only my daughter.

At one point my husband told me my sister was angry with me too.

Again?

Straight to my friend.

Her response:

“Why wouldn't your sister say to you? I don't understand the women in your family I'm baffled”

And I think this is where something was happening that I couldn't see at the time.

The people in my life were slowly ending up in two groups.

People who understood me.

And people who apparently didn't.

My husband didn't.

My oldest daughter didn't.

My sister apparently didn't.

Other family members seemed to be angry with me.

And standing on the other side?

My friend.

Telling me I wasn't crazy.

Telling me I deserved better.

Telling me not to take anybody's shit.

Telling me to ignore them.

Telling me to walk away from anything that wasn't serving me.

When you feel as though everybody else is turning against you?

The person saying I'm on your side becomes incredibly important.

And Then There Was the Holiday

The holiday had been booked before everything completely fell apart.

My husband and I had originally agreed we'd still go.

We'd use the holiday as time together.

Then, if we both still felt the marriage was finished afterwards, we'd separate amicably.

No war.

No destroying each other.

Just accept it hadn't worked.

Then my friend booked to come too, with her children.

And then everything changed.

Valentine's Day happened.

I left.

My relationship with my oldest daughter deteriorated.

And suddenly the holiday became another battleground.

My daughter told me she and the children weren't going anywhere with me.

There were arguments about cancelling.

Money.

Who owed what.

There were even threats about screenshots being put on Facebook.

And, naturally?

I sent the messages to my friend.

Her reaction was:

“What the actual fuck who the fuck does she think she is? You owe her nothing if she cancels then she loses out like everyone else”

Again, she was firmly on my side.

Except there was a complication.

My friend's own holiday booking apparently couldn't simply be changed.

Which meant we somehow reached this completely bizarre situation where I had left my husband...

my friend had spent months telling me what an arsehole he was...

she'd encouraged me to leave...

celebrated me getting my own place...

encouraged me to meet somebody else...

and yet she was potentially still going to end up going on holiday with my family and my husband.

Without me.

Even writing that now makes me think:

What the actual fuck?

But at the time?

There was so much happening that nothing seemed to stay at the front of my mind for very long.

And the new man in my life was starting to take up more and more space.

Apparently There Was Another Version of Me

Meanwhile, I kept hearing stories about myself.

Things I'd supposedly done.

Things I'd supposedly said.

Things my children had apparently said about me.

It honestly felt like there was another version of me travelling around having a completely separate life.

And she was fucking busy.

At one point I spent around forty-five minutes on the phone to my husband while he told me what everyone was apparently saying.

My youngest son had supposedly told somebody that another woman had been more of a mum to him than I had.

There were things supposedly coming from my daughters.

There was even a story that I'd said I was going to work one night but had actually spent hours sitting in a car park.

I hadn't.

But how exactly do you prove you didn't do something that never happened?

My youngest daughter FaceTimed me at one point and I asked her directly whether she'd told her dad she wasn't speaking to me.

No.

She'd said we weren't speaking as much.

Except we'd actually spoken every day.

Yet somehow, by the time the information came back to me?

The story had changed.

That's what seemed to happen constantly.

A sentence would leave somebody's mouth and arrive back to me wearing a completely different fucking outfit.

And every time something new happened?

I went back to the same person.

My friend.

“Fuck Them”

I wanted to know what everyone was being told.

I wanted to know what was being said about me.

I wanted to defend myself.

Explain myself.

Fix it.

My friend told me:

“Nah. Fucking let them. You owe no one anything.”

When I was raging?

“Deep breath and don't let the bastards get you down! That's what they fucking want.”

When I was upset about what people were apparently saying?

The message was essentially:

Fuck them.

Let them talk.

They'll come back.

And maybe there was some truth in that.

But it's very easy to say let them talk when the people you're frightened of losing aren't your children.

Because that's what I felt was happening.

I'd left my husband.

But somehow that was becoming:

She left her family.

Those weren't the same thing.

Not to me.

But I couldn't seem to stop the two things becoming tangled together.

Then I Started Having Fun

Somewhere amongst all that chaos?

I started having moments where I was actually happy.

The man I'd met was becoming more involved in my life.

The Nightmare.

Except, again, he wasn't the Nightmare yet.

Not to me.

At that point he was making me laugh.

Giving me attention.

Making me feel wanted.

I was going away.

Making plans.

Thinking about the gym.

Trying to look after myself.

My friend encouraged that too.

“Focus on the plans, gym, eating healthy, days out ❤️”

So I did.

One day she asked when the fuck I was coming home because I'd been away for days.

I replied:

“NEVER!!!!!!”

She laughed.

Then she said:

“Hope you're happy x”

And I was.

I told her:

“Yeah I'm really happy. Mums birthday today and I've not cried once.”

That was massive for me.

Mum's birthday could destroy me.

Grief didn't give a shit how many years had passed.

Certain dates still had the ability to knock the legs from underneath me.

But that day?

I hadn't cried.

My friend replied:

“That's good. I'm glad [he] is helping you through everything.”

The man she was talking about?

The Nightmare.

The man she'd encouraged me to meet.

And at that point, none of us knew what he would eventually become.

“You Disappeared”

As I spent more time with him, I wasn't messaging my friend as much.

There wasn't a big decision behind it.

We hadn't fallen out.

I hadn't deliberately cut her off.

She had her children.

Her life.

I had everything happening with mine.

And I was also spending more time away.

Then one day I joked with her that I couldn't even check she was safe on one of her dodgy dates anymore.

I expected a joke back.

Instead?

She said:

“You disappeared (my name).”

She told me I hadn't been checking in.

That she'd been messaging while I'd disappeared away again.

Then came:

“I feel abandoned.”

And immediately?

I felt guilty.

Because I hadn't meant to abandon her.

So I did what I'd spent most of my life doing whenever somebody told me I'd hurt them.

I explained.

Apologised.

Reassured.

I told her I thought she'd been busy with the kids.

I'd been navigating my own shit storm.

I didn't want to bombard her with everything.

I hadn't meant to disappear.

Then she sent me a message that, looking back, seems to sum up our friendship at that point better than anything else could.

“We Are Supposed to Be in This Fucked-Up Life Together”

She said:

“I needed you 😭 we are supposed to be in this fucked up life together xxxx”

And my response?

Immediate.

“We are defo in this fucked up life together, if you need me you phone me I'm still here no matter what.”

I meant it.

Completely.

Because I don't want to rewrite this friendship and pretend it was fake from beginning to end.

That's too easy.

And it isn't how I experienced it.

I loved my friend.

I believed she loved me.

She'd listened to me.

Supported me.

Defended me.

Encouraged me to leave my husband.

Celebrated me getting my own place.

Told me I deserved better.

Listened while my family relationships fell apart.

Called my daughter names because she thought my daughter was treating me badly.

Questioned my sister.

Told me to ignore my husband.

Encouraged me to meet somebody new.

And then told me she needed me too.

As far as I was concerned?

We were friends.

Proper friends.

“No Matter What”

Those are the words that stand out to me now.

No matter what.

I used those words far too easily.

I've loved people no matter what.

Forgiven people no matter what.

Stayed no matter what.

Tried again no matter what.

Made excuses no matter what.

I thought that was loyalty.

Maybe that's part of why boundaries have always been so difficult for me.

If somebody I loved needed me?

I was there.

If somebody said I'd hurt them?

I wanted to fix it.

If somebody pulled away?

I chased.

If somebody told me they felt abandoned?

I reassured them that I'd never leave.

So when my friend told me she needed me?

Of course I promised:

I'm still here no matter what.

I didn't know that soon enough, I was going to become barely available to anybody.

Including myself.

The Nightmare Was Taking Over

The more involved I became with him?

The smaller my old life became.

At first it didn't look frightening.

It looked like attention.

Affection.

Someone wanting to know where I was because they cared.

Someone wanting to speak to me constantly because they missed me.

Someone wanting me around all the time because apparently I mattered that much.

Then the questions increased.

The FaceTimes.

The checking.

Life360.

The cameras.

The accusations.

The need to prove where I was.

Who I was with.

What I was doing.

Eventually?

The violence.

The baths.

The strangulation.

The fear.

Survival.

And by then?

I wasn't sitting around wondering what my friend was doing.

I wasn't thinking about who my husband was spending time with.

I wasn't keeping track of what was happening in the family I'd left.

I was trying to survive the family I'd accidentally walked into.

My children became further away.

My grandchildren became further away.

My sister.

Dad.

Friends.

Work.

Everything.

The Nightmare took up more and more space until there was barely any room left for anything else.

And while my world was shrinking?

Everybody else's lives continued perfectly well without me.

While I Was Gone

That's probably the strangest part to understand.

When your own life becomes a nightmare, it feels like the entire world must have stopped.

It hasn't.

People still go to work.

Children still grow.

Grandchildren still need babysat.

Birthdays happen.

Family dinners happen.

People fall out.

People make up.

Relationships change.

People become closer.

Life keeps moving.

And while I was disappearing deeper into the Nightmare?

My old life was rearranging itself without me.

My husband was still there.

My children were still there.

My grandchildren were still there.

And my friend?

She was still there too.

The same friend who'd spent months telling me what an arsehole my husband was.

The same friend who'd encouraged me to leave him.

The same friend who'd celebrated me getting my own house.

The same friend who'd told me my life would be happier without him.

The same friend who'd encouraged me to meet the man who became the Nightmare.

The same friend who'd told me:

“We are supposed to be in this fucked up life together.”

And I had absolutely no idea what was happening between the people I'd left behind.

The Screenshot I Read Differently Now

There's one thing my friend sent me back in February.

At the time, it meant nothing.

Just another post shared between friends.

Another little bit of attitude.

Something you send and laugh at before moving onto the next conversation.

It said:

“if you wanna paint me as the villaini'll pose”

At the time?

I didn't think twice about it.

Why would I?

She wasn't the villain in my story.

She was my friend.

The woman I trusted with my marriage.

My children.

My family.

My fears.

My messages.

My secrets.

The woman who'd encouraged me to leave one man and encouraged me to meet another.

I had no reason to think she was anything other than someone who wanted me to be happy.

And while I was trapped with the Nightmare, becoming increasingly disconnected from everybody I'd once loved?

I had absolutely no idea how close my friend and my husband were becoming.

That part came later.

Much later.

And when I finally came out of the Nightmare and started looking at the life I'd left behind?

Some of those old messages began to read very differently.

Because the woman who'd once told me:

“Don't hold candles for men who aren't worthy of you”

had remained very much involved with the man she'd been telling me wasn't worthy of me.

And the woman who'd once joked about being accused of stealing men's women?

Well.

Life has a fucking strange sense of humour.

Because while I was busy surviving one nightmare...

another betrayal had apparently been growing quietly in the background.

Next: While I Was Gone.