I’m Not Getting Married Today

Is one of lines from the Sondheim musical Company. Set in New York, in what I believe is known as the Upper East Side. Where the idle rich occupied wonderful apartments. This song is a belter because the singer has to sing at breakneck speed with perfect diction and breathing as a bride to be is having a moment just before heading to the altar. It encapsulated the same oral gymnastics that the soprano Diana Damrua displayed in The Queen of The Night Aria from Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute. As both a classically trained musician in one of my former lives as well as a lover of musicals it was a special moment. 

I haven’t mentioned this before but you remember the video blog I posted on Monday 16 May 2022 (insert link to blog after it is posted) my feeling that something was happening?

Well you won’t believe what that something was?  Actually you probably can from this preamble. You’ve heard me speak of my “well beloved” and how excited I was to become engaged on Christmas Eve 2020. How we planned to marry in the Spring?  The date I started planning for was 14 May 2022. As it turned out COVID backlogs at the registry office in our city meant we would never have been able to marry on that date after all it would most likely be Autumn (Fall) at the earliest to have the bans prepared and other bureaucratic hoops.

We also had a difficult discussion where the “well beloved” informed me (as he did before we moved in together) that his business is now relocating to London and he felt that he would have to have an apartment nearby to be on top of things as the company of which he is a co-founder was expanding. Much to his surprise I agreed with him. I told him that it sounded like a wise move on his part. In quite a turbulent and challenging three years of being together, we had lived two of them in lockdown. We didn’t kill one another.  We didn’t upset the neighbours too much with my dancing in my living room in my pants. There had been no loud knock at some ungodly hour with the police at our door. My view of that was that it was a result. A positive result. A testament to the strength of our relationship. He had a different view. However in his defence he was having some very challenging times facing up to the fact that he was suffering from some as yet undiagnosed mental health issue. So his view was coloured by that. 

We had moved in together to save our relationship. We were now going to live in different cities to save our relationship. I pointed out that I understood that the pressures of his work would mean that it wouldn’t be every weekend but as often as our new lives would allow. Plus the commute would be on the train as I would be back in Manchester. Only just over two hours away. No more stress from the nightmare traffic on Fridays on the M6.  He would be working hard and we’d video call and text everyday and keep the spark going. 

He gave the impression that I had been successful in persuading him of the benefits and that this was all very grown up stuff we now going to have to get used to coping with. 

So we made plans for removers and all the myriad of arrangements of packing all our stuff and dividing it between us. Finding temp accommodation for me. A new apartment for him. We did it though.  I was sitting in the apartment alone the next night missing him like crazy and out of nowhere I had a feeling that not everything was as I was led to believe. I had no evidence. Nothing to base it on but my gut. I don’t know about you but for me I have learned this about my gut. When it comes to an argument between my gut and my head. Gut has a great track record (85-95%) of being proven right. I have been and will continue to monitor this going forward and watch for signs of deterioration. Until then I’m going with a gut. 

It was a nagging doubt that my “well beloved” was being economical with the truth. No matter how hard I tried to lift myself out of that dark place. Music, reading, speaking with my mum and close friends, food, alcohol or watching movies. None of it made it a difference. The thought I Imagined as a limpet clinging to some part of my brain that may require brute force from a super powered hose to remove. 

So I grasped the nettle and weedled it out of the “well beloved” and what I heard and they way it was delivered was nasty, cruel, and hurtful. 

“I fucking hate you gut.”  I screamed at the empty flat and called my Mother. 

Even though we were about 200 miles away and this is not the first time my heart had been broken I could feel her arms wrap around me. Hold me close and let me sob. Then she got me to stand up and roar. Roar as loudly and long as I could. Roar, like my life depended on it. As I roared I felt the pain and the hurt shift within me. Rising up from my gut expelled into what was once our home. 

Will this be forever I don’t know. I know how difficult it is to battle depression and anxiety and other things. He has chosen to do so alone. Just like everyone else who has ever had to go through such things he might make it, he might not. But that is no excuse for the way that he treated me. I felt the best thing for me to do was to get the rest of my things together and get away from there as quickly as possible. The thought of spending any more time there made me feel nauseous. 

In one week I had booked a van hire, storage space and AirBnB until the end of the month when I could get back into my home I rented when we moved in. Then night after night and packed a couple of more boxes. Until there was a mound of nearly thirty packing boxes. Doing all of that kept me busy and knackered me out so that I would collapse into bed and actually sleep through the night. My mother checked up on me and also helped me with the costs. Also in that time I had a zoom job interview. The feedback from the recruiting agency was “I smashed it and I had the job.  That was a huge relief. Once again because of the choices I had made for me things were happening and I wasn’t a stupid mess sitting in a corner having my own personal pity party. Nor was I raging with anger or hurt as I was too busy. There would be time for men to mourn the loss later. Now there was work to be done. 

Over a period of two days that weekend travelling Lord alone knows how many miles up and down the M6. A 75 sq m storage space was filled with all my stuff. I took the van back loaded up the last few bits and bobs. Drafted an email to the “not so well beloved” to explain my actions. Left the keys on the counter. With an envelope with others that I would send the next day to him and said farewell. 

It had served it purpose. It was our fortress from the ravages of COVID.  It was a haven where my career as a writer began and where my manuscript was written. Where I had gotten engaged and where he had had a lot of fun and laughter inbetween the depression and darkness. Of course it means that I will no longer enjoy the luxury of being a writer full time I will be like the thousands and thousands of others who only do it part time. Quite how and what shape that is going to take. I think I’ll get a better view of that once the dust settles. This is a set back. One I didn’t foresee. I’m a writer now and that hasn’t changed. It just means my plan to get published in the Summer/ Autumn of this year won’t be realised. 

I have not been idle on the writing front.  I have two short stories that I work on when I need a break from editing my memoir. First draft stuff which keeps my juices flowing. I’ve written a radio play and several songs for an idea of a possible musical based on my memoir. As well as my website and my weekly blog. 

So there you go. You’re all up to date now. I bit of different blog this time. I hope you can understand and appreciate why. Maybe it has been triggering for some of you. If so believe me when I say it wasn’t intentional. 

I’m reminded of a line from a film that featured the multi-talented singer songwriter Dolly Parton. The film was Straight Talk with James Woods in 1992. She played the part of a radiotherapist whose character uttered this one liner “Honey sometimes you just gotta grab your bowling bowl and get the hell away from your man.”  

For anyone who may be reading this and facing similar difficulties. Maybe that’s a path you will have to travel. If so take strength from the fact that others have done it. It won’t be easy and it will probably break your heart.. Take it from one who has had their heart broken more times than I care to remember. Time and the support of those who love you can help it heal again. It’ll have scars and be a bit battered but at least they don’t show on the outside and you don’t have to have plastic surgery. 

As always until next time. Remember self love is not selfish love it is in fact selfless love. Give yourself a L’Oreal moment this week. Why?  Because you’re worth it.  Love and peace to you all. 

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