I watched on the news today an update of the story about the alledged domestic violence attack by rap star Chris Brown on girlfriend Rihanna. The story focussed on the fact that Police are investigating how photographs of her terrible injuries were leaked to the press, meanwhile only ‘considering’ whether charges should be brought against him. 

Oh yeah, put every resource you have into finding that leak man. That’s the important thing, right! I mean, we can think on about whether to charge the perpetrator – afterall – he’s only 19 and he has apologised and it was only domestic violence against someone renowned for being feisty (she probably asked for it – yeah, like we all do, right!). But to have a Police officer who would leak confidential images to the press – well that’s unforgivable. Oh, and apparently (in a statement released by his people) Mr Brown says he is seeking the ‘counsel of his paster, his mother and friends’. Good for him! I’m sure that will work just fine, right up until the next feisty, independent female disagrees with him!!!!!

Another story grabbed my interest: Woman Saved by Hair Weave. Apparently, a woman was shot at by her ex boyfriend whose friend declared he was still in love with her after she dumped him follow just eight months relationship. The bullet became lodged in her hair weave, which apparently saved her life. Whilst I am really, really pleased this woman did not become yet another statistic of exes murdered by psychotic perpetrators of abuse – which she came within a millimetre of being – I am livid that – yet again – the story has been trivialised by the media!!!!!!!!!!!!! This kind of irresponsible reporting is making a mockery of what is a very grave and serious issue. I am not amazed by the attributes of a hair weave! I am shocked by the fact that this woman was shot, in the head and almost killed, by a man she had been dating for only eight months! Surely, that is the story – come on people!

HOW LONG IS THIS GOING TO GO ON?

HOW MANY WOMAN HAVE TO DIE BEFORE SOMEONE DOES SOMETHING TO CHANGE THE VERY FABRIC OF SOCIETY SO THAT THIS STOPS HAPPENING? No one dare talk about this. There is no open forum for discussion about this in public places. 

Jees! Here in the UK, convicted drink drivers are treated with complete vilification – rightly so – but men who murder their ‘disobedient’ wives or partners – well………………..that’s different and it would seem 50% of the world’s population find it ‘understandable’, possibly even acceptable (although they’d never do it, right!). 

There’s an interesting video clip on Mountcope’s site: sole survivor of triple murder talks about domestic violence. A woman whose parents were shot and killed by her ex partner, who also shot her (she wasn’t killed but lost an eye!!!!!) and then later killed himself, talks about how she realised early on in their 20-year relationship that he had had such a hard life that she thought that if she just loved him enough she could make it okay. She stayed with him all those years because they had kids and she had no money of her own and she felt she had to look after the kids. Someone has commented that at the beginning of the coverage the news report states that she talks for the first time about the ‘mistakes she made’ clearly suggesting that the abuse was her fault. She feels that the fact that she stayed with him all those years was her ‘mistake’. 

This is all wrong! The emphasis is all wrong! It is not we women who are at fault for being murdered, assaulted, abused, raped or generally attacked – it is the people who are doing the attacking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Society needs to change and fast. Here are my thought on the messages we need to communicate: 

1) Men – you are not entitled, just because you are a man, to your own way. 2) You are not the superior sex. 3) Men and women are equal – and complementary – not opposites. Women should not have to be ‘more like men’ to succeed in business and men should not have to be ‘more like women’ to succeed in relationships. 4) When a woman says “No” she means NO. 5) Women do not have to submit to their husband’s authority – despite what various religious cultures and the Amish community would have us believe. 6) Women are entitled to express our views and opinions – even if they differ from men’s, particularly their husband’s. 7) Men – if you are having a bad day at the office or you are feeling bad about something, it is not your woman’s fault or the kids, or the dog – so don’t take it out on them. You are not entitled to marital relations just because she is your wife. You do not have ‘conjugal rights’ that is just a stupid law, laid down by an out-dated patriarchal society. 9) It is not a woman’s fault if a man gets turned on looking at her – it is his problem. It is not her duty to ‘relieve’ him of that either (or any other woman’s who may happen to be around). It is his duty to ‘deal with it’ – go read the bible (or whatever religious tome happens to be your preference) for 20 minutes that should do the trick! 10) If a woman chooses to wear a Burka because she feels comfortable being covered up (I can understand that – I have my own version – it’s called a big, baggy fleece jumper!) that’s one thing, but being forced to wear one because it’s man’s way of asserting control over her – NO! My fear is that whilst we have that level of conscious thinking in the world, we are always going to have women being attacked, assaulted, raped and murdered by men. That’s my view anyway. Oh, and BTW, you think this is going to go away – think about this: a search of BBC news on domestic violence found 879 recent stories.

 

Sleeping with the Enemy

I went through a box I found in storage today. It was full of old scrap books, cassette tapes and videos (for you young ones, they were what we played films on before DVDs ;0)). One of the videos was the film Sleeping with the Enemy staring Julia Roberts. I remember buying it shortly after I went to see it at the cinema – years ago! It was long before I met and married my abuser. Domestic violence to me back then was mostly fictional, it didn’t exist outside of films, certainly didn’t exist in my life (least not to that extent), and it would most certainly never happen to me. Ha! At the time, I thought the film was excellent, definitely one of Roberts’s finest. Being a distant phenomenon, I could deal with the subject matter, unpleasant though it was. But today, holding that tape in my hand, I vowed I would never watch it again. Each kick, each thump, each accusation would be a twist of the knife in me.

 

Shake hands on it

I arrived in court, nice and early.  Too early. “Go up the road to Cafe Loco,” said the woman on security, “and get yourself a decent coffee. That stuff upstairs is awful.” she added in a whisper. 

From my table by the window, I glanced across the street from the coffee shop and noticed a familiar car – Mr P’s. My heart sank. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t turn up. Thought he might send his brief like last time (because he’s far too important to attend himself). Anyway, I tried to keep breathing, deep, relaxing inhalations and think of something else. There were no papers or magazines, I played with my cellphone instead (anything to keep my mind distracted).

When the time came, I collected my things, paid for the coffee, exchanged good-humour with the waiter and left for the courthouse, vowing to maintain an attitude of self-assurance. Before I’d left the house earlier, I thought carefully about what to wear; nothing he had bought me – or was the style of outfit he used to favour. I chose a pair of smart, tailored, rustic-coloured slacks (part of and expensive suit I bought myself for work), a pale green sweater, leopard-print silk scarf and tan-coloured Windsmoor coat (which I also paid for myself). He used to go on about how much he had bought me whilst we were together, like it was a justified reason for me to surrender to the physical and emotional beatings. He had indeed bought me clothes and liked me to dress in a particular way I never felt comfortable with. I used to think he made me look like his mother – all buttoned up and uniform. Not the way I naturally dress, which is casual and contemporary). 

Having been ushered through courthouse security and finding my way to reception, I noticed him sitting at a table next to a woman of about 30-ish, whom I took to be his brief. Dressed somberly (as they do) in black suit, she busily took notes as he leaned in, talking in a whisper but making strong emphatic hand gestures as if to ram home his point. 

She looked up in my direction, briefly. I smiled. She smiled back. I smiled at him too but he looked away. I noticed his red face, which is how I remember him a great deal of the time. He complained constantly of being too hot, was always having to stop and take off a layer of clothing or unbutton his collar or take a cold drink, almost like he was on the point of boiling over much of the time. It used to frighten me, make me clam up or try to appease him (which invariably triggered instant abuse), but today, in a courthouse surrounded by lawyers, police officers and security guards, I really didn’t care. In fact, I was glad because it meant he was feeling uncomfortable.

Having given my name to the court administrator, affirmed I was indeed representing myself, I made sure I sat away from them over the other side of the room. 

The woman next to Mr P got up and walked over, introduced herself and sat down beside me. I vowed to be pleasant and display a confident exterior (more for his benefit that hers). She explained that she was indeed representing Mr P and that they were proposing we use the court pledge system instead of pushing for a full-blown case, which would be costly and time consuming. “Mr P totally refutes your claim against him and is prepared to defend himself emphatically should it go to court.” she stated. Making a promise to court, whereupon we both agree the terms and boundaries by which we are to adhere, results in ‘contempt of court’ if the terms are broken by either party, rather than a crime (which is the case when someone breaches a court order). I felt she was being straight with me. She didn’t come across as intimidating or aggressive like some lawyers and I could see the merits in a solution not requiring a return to court. I agreed in principle with the proposal – as long as I was happy with the terms. She assured me she would compile something there and then that covered the points I had outlined. If I wasn’t happy with it, she said, she would ask the judge to hear my concerns first. Okay, I can’t lose I thought and off she went back to Mr P to draft the wording. 

Even though I was determined to maintain the ’swan thing’ and keep a calm, serean exterior, inside my heart was pounding. I was starting to shake from the adrenalin and my stomach was in knots. A woman opposite offered her paper, I gratefully accepted (something else to keep my mind busy). Although my eyes were scanning the blocks of Times New Roman line-by-line, my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t help but think about how surreal it all was. There was my husband, sitting not ten metres away and yet the chasm between us could have spanned the solar system. It seemed odd somehow. How did we get this broken? I desperately wanted to be able to talk to him, to say come on, let’s patch things up and stay friends at least. When all this is done we can go out to lunch. We haven’t done that in ages. But I knew how dangerous that would be with a character like him because, in his world, he would hear something different than was being said. He would interpret it as an admission of my guilt, an apology for being so wrong and a desperate plea to be reconciled with him. Nothing could be further from my mind. My life is sooooo good without him in it and I wont do anything to damage that. But we are, for the time being, still married and still entangled professionally (although not working together). There are still matrimonial and professional issues that need to be sorted out. To NOT be in communication at all (except through solicitors) seems obstructive rather than facilitating. What his solicitor was proposing made sense…….until she brought me the draft: 

Point 1) “I, TW, give an undertaking to the court promising not to use or threaten violence against Mr P and not to instruct, encourage or in any way suggest that any other person should do so.” 

Point 2) “Not to intimidate, harass or pester Mr P and not to instruct, encourage or in any way suggest that any other person should do so.“ 

Point 3) “Not to contact or attempt to contact Mr P by any means other than letter or email. Any communication to be limited to the separation of the parties’ joint business, joint matrimonial interests and other non-social communication relevant to the separation.“

An alarm sounded in my head. I felt myself being manipulated all over again. What had started out as my application against him had been turned on me, just like when we were together, each complaint about an episode of abuse would be hurled back as a steel bar of blame – well you hit me too! And here it was again. He had managed to twist the process, deflecting the missile right back at me and hijack my application. If I didn’t know him better I would have congratulated him on his creativity. 

“I cannot agree to this.” I turned to his brief who was watching me nervously. “This is making me admit to something I have not done and promising never to do it again and I cannot do that as I haven’t done any of those things in the first place.” She then showed me his piece of paper, which contained exactly the same wording except where it said “Mr P” was my name. “You see,” she said, “it’s the same for both of you. But if you are really not happy then I will ensure the judge lets you air your concerns.” Damn right, I thought, as she toddled back to her seat. 

An hour went by before we were called in, during which time the courthouse burst into a flurry of activity. A woman ran out of one of the court rooms swearing and screaming MURDERER! FUCKING MURDERER! SHOULD BE LOCKED UP AND INSTEAD HE GETS A FUCKING SUSPENDED SENTENCE! Everyone looked up. No one said anything. My initial thought was to condemn her as an  imbecile, loud, aggressive and rude. Then I turned and caught a glimpse of her face, pale and drawn. I could see underneath her rage lurked a sorrowful heart weighted down by loss and with no relief from justice today. A few minutes later a young woman, dressed in jeans, smock top and voluminous scarf like a yoke around her neck, came and stood by the window and started talking on a mobile phone. I deduced she was a journalist and was speaking to her editor, caught snippets of conversation but no detail only single words and bits of sentence like “rape“, “gun“, “blood“, “but he said he didn’t rape her” and “that was why he had the gun“.  My mind flashed back to an incident when my husband had grabbed a walking stick from the hall stand, raised it above his head and screamed “DON’T DEFY ME YOU FUCKING BITCH – I’LL KILL YOU”. On that occasion, I’d managed to run upstairs and lock myself in the  bathroom until he left the house but it became his weapon of choice from then on. I identified with this woman’s injustice, remembering how I’d gone to my brother-in-law’s house after a particularly violent incident and showed him the bruises his brother had inflicted on me. Rather than responding with shock and disbelief and promising to ‘talk to him about his unacceptable behaviour’, he just stood there, wordless. I could feel a drawbridge being lifted between us. He could not get me out of his house quick enough. I heard nothing from any family member for days – not even my sister-in-law with whom I regularly communicated by email and phone. All communication stopped – just like that. My husband attended a family conference, at which I hoped they would tell him to get his act together and that his behaviour was totally unacceptable. Instead, from that day forward, I was the one ostracized. 

At 11:45am, we were called in to court number 5, today presided over by Judge Forster (made up name) – a woman! (my lucky day. Number 13 has always been lucky for me). Sagacious though she was, Judge Forster was welcomingly open, unofficious and non-judgemental – surprisingly. She listened, explained and didn’t once advise. She heard my concerns and assured me that this was not an admission of guilt for something I have not done, merely a process by which the court system tries to proffer a speedy and inexpensive solution. “But,” she emphasided “If you are feeling compromised by it and are not happy, I am in no way going to force you into it so you can be assured of that.” She explained it to me in a way that made it palatable. She said to look at this way: you have already sent out a very strong message to Mr P that any sort of unreasonable behaviour is unacceptable and will be responded to in the strongest terms possible. The promise is just a way to clearly communicate where the boundaries are. Put like that, I was happy to sign. 

So, my husband has now promised to the court that he will not do any of those things to me. I have promised the same. That promise is in place for 12 months, which hopefully will give us enough time to sort out the divorce. More than that, at least now he has witnessed my true strength and maturity, seen how I can hold my own – on my own – without him squashing me into a meek, weak, lost and overwrought soul and that I WILL take all necessary steps to protect myself and my interests. I still wish, though, it had not come to this. But that’s abusers for you; they thrive on driving close to the edge. 

He will be at his parents house now, showing them the form (a copy of what was agreed) and saying: “So, she can’t harass me anymore. She admitted it, there and then and the judge said I should apply for an order myself given what I’ve had to put up with but you know what, I can’t be bothered. And they will be saying “Well done son. You did great today. Poor you having to deal with all this from her.”

Sometimes I wish I was a fly.

 

More snow

This morning, a friend told me a friend of hers had told her that she saw my mother-in-law at an art class they both regularly attend yesterday. My M-I-L declared: “Well, you might as well all know. [Name of her son]’s marriage is over. He is very busy setting up a new business but there are lots of problems.” (From now on, let’s call him Mr P).

Firstly, I am really angry at how she refers to it as being ‘his’ marriage, not ‘our marriage’, which it was or is but ‘his’! She said something similar to someone a while ago “Have you heard about what has happened to Mr P! she declared then. Not Mr P and TW! So, now I know I am right – that I never really figured in their lives. I was merely a convenience. I’ve always thought so but they protested – we’ve tried our best to love you, to welcome you into our family. Welcome me into their family! Jees! Break me in more like, like you do with horses, break their spirit so they die a little and then you can ride them! 

The next thing that really pisses me off is that, apparently, the marriage is only just over because he has decided it is. Now, on the one hand I am pleased it’s over but on the other I EFFING LEFT YOU LAST YEAR! OUR EFFING MARRIAGE WAS OVER THEN BECAUSE I SAID SO BECAUSE I TOOK A STAND AND SAID I WAS NOT WILLING TO LIVE WITH YOUR ABUSE ANY LONGER – YOU EFFING PRICK!

And then (would you Adam-and-Eve-it), as soon as I put the phone down to my friend I had this really deep sense of sorrow – like, so that’s it then, it really is over. I know all the reasons why I feel like that but it still doesn’t make it any less surprising that after spending the last four years in complete and utter hell, that I feel sad that it’s over. I guess there was a tiny part of me that was hoping against hope that a miracle would happen and he would find it in him to change. 

At the same time, I feel a deep sense of relief because even though I have no doubt he will turn nasty as hell when it comes to the divorce, it’s like the chain is broken. He no longer has that leash on me, the one that kept me tied to him emotionally because I knew he wanted me back, was expecting me to come back. That has gone now and it means I can move on – we can both move on. Can’t wait! 

I am in court tomorrow – wish me luck! I had to apply for (and got) a restraining order (they’re called mon-molestation orders over here, same thing though) because he was harassing and pestering me via email, text and phone (even turned up at the house with a casserole of home made soup would you believe. I’d asked him in no uncertain terms to LEAVE ME ALONE less than an hour earlier. He asked me what the arrangements were for Christmas, what time I wanted him to come over on Christmas day and what I wanted him to bring for the dinner!!!!!!!! (to anyone reading this who is not aware of domestic abuse or the background of abuse in my marriage will be thinking – wow, he sounds like a really decent guy, bringing home made soup and offering to cook Christmas dinner but let me tell you, that’s the means to the end – the end result being to get me back in the fold so that he can carry on abusing me). Anyway, I am in court so that he can present his side of the story. I have no doubt it will go in my favour but never-the-less, I am not looking forward to it especially if he is going to be there! I doubt he will be, he’ll probably send some lame, half-briefed solicitor – and the half brief he does have will be a load of lies and falsehoods. Poor guy (the solicitor) having to defend him! Yikes!

 

Making tracks

I was reminded again, today, of all the heartache I still feel when I think about what has been lost, what I have lost, what I’ve had to give up, leave behind to get out of this relationship. It only hurts when I am reminded or when I think about it. Most of the time it stays buried and I don’t feel it but it’s there. It is like a bereavement, when you try your hardest not to think about the fact that you’re never going to see that person again, never going to hold them, touch them. I’m not missing him as much as the ‘things’ I’ve left behind, the shattered dreams, the hopes, the friends we made as a couple, going to our favourite coffee bar on a Saturday morning (it’s not the same on my own, besides which they always ask where is he). 

 

There is another thing too. Selfish as it may seem, I want to know that he is suffering too, that he is not doing well and that his life is down the pan. I don’t want to know that he is doing okay. I want him to suffer. That is not like me. But I can understand that it’s a normal reaction from both parties when couples split acrimoniously as we have. It still doesn’t stop me feeling it though. I don’t like being vengeful. I am not naturally so (perhaps I am. Perhaps it’s human nature). I obviously have a long way to go working on forgiveness. Hey, but I have made a start.

 

Another Snowy Picture

I am healing, I know I am. Life feels so different than it did a year ago. I feel much stronger, lighter, healthier, in charge of myself and my life and building something of a future. There is still an undercurrent of doubt, guilt, fear. I still find myself picking at the skin around my fingers whilst I’m watching TV and realise that I am not really watching TV, I’m in my head reliving the abuse – what he said, what he did, what his father said, what his mother said, what his brother wrote in the emails. I still fear he may do something. I can’t imagine what, but then again I couldn’t imagine that he could do all the things he has done! I catch myself distracted by these thoughts and I shake myself and get up and move around or go and do something but it’s always there, like a Gremlin. It gets me in the car sometimes. When I am driving, suddenly I’ll realise I’ve done five miles on auto-pilot whilst this Gremlin has been bitching at me. It’s like I’m carrying him around with me. Sometimes it scares me that it’s so close but at least now it is only a Gremlin. Until recently, those thoughts felt very real, like it was my fault, like it was my unwillingness to submit that was the problem. So, that shows progress that I can see it like that – and one day, perhaps, I will be able to silence that damn Gremlin for good. I can see the possibility. At the moment it’s a dream of some future time when I am so over this that I wonder how it ever happened. But the realisation that I can get there, I can achieve it is very real. I can feel it and I know I will. 

I am not doing it alone. That may be possible but I reckon it is quicker to do it with help and guidance from others. I am taking action, everyday, to turn my life around. I took control of my business and brought it back in line with what I had been moving towards all those years ago. I read loads of books on domestic abuse. I wrote this blog and shared my story and in so doing found loads of like-minded, supportive and totally beautiful women out there. I listened to what my body and heart were telling me. I started to excersice more, get out in the fresh air more, changed my diet (read Fat Around the Middle – brilliant), I cut right down on alcohol and caffiene and cut out sugar. I’m shrinking again (I put on 3 stones over the 3 years of my marriage – I have lost 1.5 so far!). I have been using Inner Talk CDs on Forgiving and Letting Go and Soaring Self-esteem.

I am also learning how to say “NO” and be calmly assertive and not tolerate poor treatment from others. The phone hardly ever rings now and I guess it’s because people have got it that I wont be ‘used’ (I used to get a lot of calls from ‘friends’ whenever they wanted something: would I like to come to an event because they haven’t sold enough tickets; can I sell some raffle tickets for them; can I babysit Saturday?! I want people to call just because they wanna talk to me and I guess that will happen in time. My counsellor came up with a great expression to describe where I am right now. He calls it my fertile void!). But I am also learning that it is okay to get it wrong sometimes and to accept that I am not perfect and neither is anyone else. I don’t feel I have anything to apologise for anymore, which I used to feel a lot when I was with my husband. I am learning to reach out and take up someone’s offer of friendship as well as opening up myself and offering it too. I am not yet ready to start dating but unlike a few months ago at least now I can see it as a possibility.

 

Snowy England in February

So, here in the UK we are mainly closed for business – why? Because we have the worst snows for 18 years and Lord knows we can’t cope with that. See, our infrastructure is so slick there is no margin for the ‘unforeseen’. Under a Labour Government our local councils are tasked with cutting as many costs as possible, first and foremost, before they are allowed to spend money on ensuring they are prepared for every eventuality. What this means is that thousands of schools across dozens of counties are closed and have been for the majority of this week. Parents are having to stay off work to take care of the kids and businesses are suffering because staff either have to stay off to look after the kids or they cannot get in because the roads are closed, there are no trains running or buses. It is costing our economy £billions. I wonder how much the bill would have been for the grit and snow ploughs required to keep the transport system running?! 

 

So, anyway, everyone is off work, the kids are off school (and loving it) and people are grumbling. Some are running out of food, others are having to endure power disruptions – some have even been stuck in their cars all night waiting to be rescued from mounting drifts. I, on the other hand, work from home (now that I am not with my abusive husband) so don’t have the excuse that I cannot go into work. Even so I have found it difficult to muster the enthusiasm this week whilst everyone else is off, there is snow on the ground and kids are outside playing. I have taken the dog for long walks on snow-covered tracks and across the fields (he, of course, loves it!) and life pretty much seems idyllic so why am I, like everyone else, feeling twitchy? 

I think the answer is that, like everyone else, I am finding it hard to just – chill! It seems to me that what the higher forces are urging us to do (by sending us all this snow) is to just sit back for a few days and chill (literally in some cases). To me one of the great scurges of modern life is that everyone is so damn busy – all the time. Like our infamous local councils, we are all so slick with our lives and our time, living right up to the edge so that every little minute is accounted for that we don’t allow ourselves any margin. What kind of mindset is behind that? I think it is to do with living in fear, the fear of losing everything if we don’t maintain tight control of it all. Seem familiar? Does this mean we are all abusers? No, of course not but it means we have bought into that mindset that feeds abuse – the need for power and control over everything and everyone so that life becomes a process and we all take on way too much autonomy. It seems to me a fragile state of affairs that can be whipped into chaos by the slightest unexpected event. 

So, do I think we should all perform some kind of risk assessment, carry a shovel in the boot of the car, and keep a half tonne of grit in the garage – just in case? No, but I do think it’s okay – now and again – to let go of the rat race, accept whatever is going on and chill.

That’s it! I have finally got it! The last four years of my life has come to – nothing! It makes me so sad. 

What brought it home was the fact that, yesterday, I bumped into my husband/abuser in our local supermarket. Not literally, I mean we didn’t run into each other but there he was, at the same time as me, doing his shopping, like me. I know he had seen me too. I could just tell. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me, just walked on by down the same isle like I don’t exist in his world. Like ‘we’ don’t exist in his world and I guess that’s true – we don’t! 

He had to avoid me, he knows that, and I know he knows, and he knows I know he knows (no, that’s way too knowing). A couple of weeks ago I went to court and got an order that means he cannot contact me, pester me, harass me or such. I guess he was obeying the order but I could feel he was fuming having to do so. He hates it that I am laying down the law (literally). So, there we were, in the same supermarket and anyone in there who knows us both would have been baffled as to how and why we could walk straight past each other without so much as an acknowledgement! It felt so strange. Even though I don’t want him in my life anymore, it felt really strange that we cannot – because of his unpredictable controlling behaviour – even say hello to each other and yet ten months ago we were sharing a bed as husband and wife and indeed even now we are still married. He’s still my husband and I am still his wife and yet we pass each other, like strangers, in the Supermarket. 

What made me really sad, whilst driving home, was the realisation that the last four years of my life have been for nothing. I know couples break up for all sorts of reasons – and I have split up with people in the past – but there has always been a sense of having moved on through the experience of being with that person, of having grown apart perhaps, or grown in some other way. But in my case, it feels like I have spent four years trying to build something having got all the materials, tools and plans I needed to do so and now, through no fault of my own, I am having to abandon my plans and all the tools and materials and just walk away – with nothing. So, that’s it!