Breach

Once again, he’s been looking through my things. My bedside drawers. My Writing folder on my laptop. The Personal folder in my Outlook. My diaries even, who knows?

My sense of horror is palpable. Of all the conventions he breaks in our relationship, I feel this is the worst. The invasion of my privacy by a person whose constant mantras are “give me space”, “leave me alone”, feels like an outrage.

I would never do this. Never look in his wallet, never open his post, never snoop through his drawers or his laptop or his phone. Surely everyone is allowed their personal space?

Oddly, I feel it may be the straw that finally breaks this camel’s back. The lack of respect for me as a private individual who would be allowed my own things is I suppose just a confirmation of the way he treats me in other ways. Like a child, like a chattel.

Is it, I wonder, possible to live with someone who cannot afford me even that basic degree of courtesy? Is it, I wonder, possible to live in a house where I may not feel at home? I would rather be on my own.

I discovered this at the weekend and I’ve been mulling it over the last couple of days. I don’t want to jump to a hasty conclusion. But I don’t think I want to be with a man who would not take any of the things I offered, but would steal my private thoughts without asking.

I am the closest I have ever been to leaving. Just to work out what to do about the girls.