Not too long ago, my life was far from rosy. I remember feeling like being caught in an impressionistic painting: when you looked too close, the whole thing appeared to be quite messy and didn’t make sense at all.
With all the crap in my childhood and the way my parents were living, I thought it was only destiny that my marriage shouldn’t last. And that it would be either accepting promiscuity or a life on my own. I chose the latter.
When friends asked me about a year after our split how I was, I said ‘ok’. I had bored myself silly with my whinging about how sad I was and that I still hadn’t regained solid ground under my feet. I plunged head first into work, parties and meaningless affairs.
There was a lot of bruising, but at least I felt alive. Cutting myself would have had the same effect.
After another two years I was exhausted. I packed up and waved London goodbye to retire to Switzerland. It was then when I met Big M.
Today I am ridiculously happy with my life, my husband and my daughter. I am grinning a lot, and I know that some people say I am an annoying spoiled brat, especially when I am ‘bragging’ about my happiness. I have heard that before.
As history teaches us: there is no such thing as forever. Loved ones become ill, lovers fall out of love or even die. It has all happened before and I am not ignorant enough to assume it won’t possibly happen to me.
I am trying to make the most of it while it lasts.
Here’s to you, Big M: I love you. You are the love of my life.