Although I can't remember the year that I got married, I do remember the date. Today is my wedding anniversary and a day I when am truly grateful for the fact that we are no longer together. I have no idea where she is these days apart from that she moved back to Southend once I had escaped the prison that was my life. A lot is written and spoken about it being the husband that is the villain of the piece but something that is seldom raised is the occasions when the husband is the victim. Whenever I start to feel stressed out about how much work I have to do I simply remember that I am at least fortunate enough to be allowed to pursue my career at all. It makes me shudder when I remember all the times she sabotaged my efforts and ambitions by belittling me and grinding me down. If I hadn't escaped when I did then nothing would have changed, this blog wouldn't even exist because I would have nothing to write about apart from how I came home from work and sat bored out of my brains watching television, got turned down for sexual intercourse, dreamed about leaving the house and never coming back, went to bed and did it all again the next day. My to-do list might make me upset and frustrated at times, but there's nothing more upsetting or frustrating than having no outlet for creativity because you just get get mocked for daring to have an ambition. I might not be at the very top of my game but I am an experienced broadcaster, published writer, and have a successful podcast, none of which I would have if I was still living with someone who drained every last drop of life out of me.
To be honest I didn't give it a thought until teatime when I suddenly remembered the date. While I don't know where she is or what she is doing these days (she could be dead for all I know, not that I would wish that on even her), a small part of me has a curious desire to meet her and be able to tell her what I have achieved since I left her. Just because I managed to escape I still have flashbacks to those days and in my periods of depression I am often taken back there as depression was the state I spent the vast majority of my time in. I don't know if I was attempting suicide when I jumped off a bridge into the River Ouse one night when I was returning home from taking Emily home, or if it was just a way to prevent myself from having to go 'home' and back to that life.
Thankfully I didn't die that night, in fact I wasn't in the water for long before someone pulled me out. I remember a feeling a warmth for some reason as I plunged into the water, and for a brief moment I laughed inside about how I had held my nose to jump in. Perhaps I am still in a coma and am having a Sam Tyler style dream but a really unambitious one in which I achieve a low level radio celebrity and people don't actually talk at gigs but those are the voices of the medical staff standing round my bed while I dream that people give a flying fuck what I think about crisps.
No podcast this week.
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May housekeeping
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