He was special, he played guitar while I bathed, we went to acoustic cafes. church performances, spiritual places, he bought me a miniature tea set, we toured the top left hand corner of Spain, it was different, he was different, he could perform psychic healing, he could channel spirits, he had possibly spoken to Mary Magdalene, I should have begun to wonder. 
His divorce was an acrimonious one, after much involvement with CAFCAS he was allowed routine and overnight contact with his daughter. He let me read his divorce papers, she hated him, she manipulated him, they were both twisted.
It was fine for a while, then he decided to come off his anti depressants, possibly too quickly.
I can’t say I really noticed the change, but we started to have pointless conversations about why he was right to find happiness in being unhappy, I was unreasonable to think everyone wanted to be happy. I was unreasonable to want him to stop snoring, his sleep was important, I shouldn’t disturb him. When he deliberately started a conversation with strangers at breakfast in a B&B , he didn’t do it because I had said I hate talking in the morning. It was my fault for raising things he didn’t want to talk about, I deserved ‘boring, boring, boring!’ I was a drama queen, I was ranting, he was tired, I was unreasonable to want to talk, why should he carry my bags, that was just a way of me imposing my controlling nature upon him. And that’s just what I started to believe, although it doesn’t sound subtle, it seemed that way when I was right in the middle of it I couldn’t tell sane from deranged.
Then I could. An argument on the A470 was the end.
His divorce was an acrimonious one, after much involvement with CAFCAS he was allowed routine and overnight contact with his daughter. He let me read his divorce papers, she hated him, she manipulated him, they were both twisted.
It was fine for a while, then he decided to come off his anti depressants, possibly too quickly.
I can’t say I really noticed the change, but we started to have pointless conversations about why he was right to find happiness in being unhappy, I was unreasonable to think everyone wanted to be happy. I was unreasonable to want him to stop snoring, his sleep was important, I shouldn’t disturb him. When he deliberately started a conversation with strangers at breakfast in a B&B , he didn’t do it because I had said I hate talking in the morning. It was my fault for raising things he didn’t want to talk about, I deserved ‘boring, boring, boring!’ I was a drama queen, I was ranting, he was tired, I was unreasonable to want to talk, why should he carry my bags, that was just a way of me imposing my controlling nature upon him. And that’s just what I started to believe, although it doesn’t sound subtle, it seemed that way when I was right in the middle of it I couldn’t tell sane from deranged.
Then I could. An argument on the A470 was the end.
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