There is no turning back on saying this. Marriage was white slavery.
Marriage to him has been misery.
Not even friends, at this point.
I didn’t want to get married — he pressed for it.
I never should have married him. He has made my life hell.
It’s over now, because I am going — he has taken all the things I loved and I’m going to stay alive.
There are other houses, other trees and other places.
I’m sick of not having decent Christmases, and not having a studio, and not being able to do anything because he didn’t want to.
I’m sick of what he inflicted on me.
I don’t care about him anymore.
Once day you wake up to the reality of the lie you have lived and you say: “I’m not going to let you kill my spirit.”
“I’m not going to let you get away with it.”
“You are out of my life forever.”
“You are not going to crush one more inch of me.”
“I am not trapped here.”
“You are not going to hurt me ever again.”
The day comes when you say goodbye.
I was much younger the last time I said that in my second relationship.
My home, my boat, my MGA, my Jeep, my pine, my garden, even the wedding presents.
He erased all of it as if it never happened.
For 31 years he erased me.
31 years of giving to somebody else and never receiving anything in return.
I married so far beneath me it’s not even possible to comprehend.
Adios you bastard.