Before I met the man of my dreams, the man I now call my husband, I was dating a Scottish lad called Stuart. He was handsome, good body, pleasant attitude but man, very high maintenance, and spoilt. Yet, something kept me with him for five and half years.
We split up because he was an asshole who, when I asked about us moving in together, his response was “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment!” Yes, after five and a half years of being together he wasn’t ready for the commitment of living together. How much more time did he need?
So I ended it. And I have to say the second it was over I never felt so much relief. I’m assuming he did to because he didn’t once try to reconcile anything. He did call me six weeks later but it was to ask for money. Funnily enough he was decided to total up how much I’d cost him in one year. Wasn’t that a lovely thing to do? I never did the reverse but I kinda wish I had.
Anyway, following the split I decided to do whatever I wanted without having the burden of him hanging over me, so I went out.
It was 29 days later when I met Brad and that was one of only two days I’d been sober. Twenty-seven of twenty-nine nights between splitting with Stuart and meeting Brad, I’d been drunk.
I don’t think it was because I was consoling myself but genuinely because I no longer had to think about anyone else other than me. I didn’t have to think about where I was going to live in the next few months, how much I needed to save so I could drive to Edinburgh, which I’d been doing every two weeks. I didn’t have to plan anything! It was so freeing.
Now, twenty years after the split, I’ve never been happier!
They say that your school years are the happiest days of your life but for me they weren’t. They were horrible. I hated every minute of school.
No, the happiest days of my life have been the last twenty years with Brad.