Free

I'm beginning to think, yes, I can do this, it can work.

I know it's easier to think that way when I'm away here, in a quiet apartment, by myself, not actually in the house eye to eye, nose to nose.  But the sense of freedom I'm feeling is unfamiliar after so long. It must feel like this to come out of jail after a long sentence.

• I don't have to keep checking in all the time by text to explain where I am, who I'm with, what I'm doing
• I don't have to gain permission to make commitments at weekends
• I don't have to keep endlessly texting so he can triangulate against my original plans
• I don't have to keep explaining, justifying reassuring
• When he starts bullying or shouting or arguing, I can just ignore it

In fact, I can just go about my life like a normal person, and not feel like I'm under some sort of Stasi observation programme. I just hadn't realised how much this was weighing me down. No wonder I was depressed and crushed.

You might wonder why I was allowing that sort of regime to prevail in the first place  -  it's a good question. I'm not sure there's an easy answer other than my desire to make things nice, keep everyone happy, make him happy.

He is the most dissatisfied person I have ever met: I finally realise nothing can please him. And it's a relief, to realise this, and be able to stop thinking there was just that tiny little thing, that bit more that I could do, that might be the bit that made the difference.

He can please himself now.

And if he's going to cherry-pick the bits of our life he fancies, well so am I.