Happy memories of my first marriage
I’m rubbish with dates. Always have been, always will be. Births, deaths, marriages: the dates always have something in common. I rarely remember them. Yet 30th April is a date I always remember because on that date in 1990 my life changed forever.
I was married to somebody that I used to know and that marriage was dying amid a welter of mental torture and physical abuse. I was the recipient, just in case you were wondering. I left the home that I owned, outright with no mortgage, never to return and of course as is the way with these things I lost the house, too. Given my long history with mental issues, you might have thought something like this would break me, but it didn’t. Actually, it was the making of me.
I left a broken relationship and stepped straight into one that has succeeded in the test of time. My partner and soulmate – Mrs Eclectic Blue II, not the first model – and I scrimped and saved for a while, brought up two incredibly bright and successful children and now we are living in the autumn of our lives, probably closer to winter in my case – happier than we have ever been.
I do not recommend going through a disastrous marriage and then losing one’s house, which would now be worth somewhere in the region of £300,000, maybe more, as a starting point for a new relationship but it certainly proved one thing to me: being happy is far more important than being rich, or even well-off, which we have never been financially. Our happiness has come from something far deeper.
I last saw somebody that I used to know 36 years ago today. I had been planning to leave her for weeks and the day was set. In the morning, I watched as she left the house, walked along the road, caught the bus to Bristol Temple Meads where she caught her train to work, in South Wales. Then, the plan kicked into action. My friends arrived at my house and removed as many of my personal belongings as possible and moved them, along with me, to my mum and stepdad’s house in Portishead.
That evening, I received phone calls from somebody that I used to know and her mother, who was fuming at the way I had treated her daughter. Two days later, my new partner and I went to Twerton Park in Bath to see Bristol Rovers beat Bristol City 3-0 to gain promotion to what is now the Championship. From thereon, I started to rebuild my life with my life partner. I can’t say I never looked back, but I rarely did. 30th April is now the only day I look back at.
Nowadays, I feel no anger to my ex. I am not sure I ever did. I hated what she did to me but even then, I tried to be kind in the way I thought about her. She must have had issues. No one could be that cruel unless they had issues. I hope, sincerely, that she is happy now. I don’t have the time for bitterness.
Would I ever speak to her again? Yeah, why not? It’s not going to happen, of course, but I would, just to find out what was really going on, what all the mental torture was about, why one night she attacked me when I lay in bed, leaving me bloodied, beaten and semi-conscious. Yet, maybe it’s best to leave it. Half a lifetime ago and it’s long gone.
Much has happened since then. Almost all my older relatives are dead, as are many of my friends from the day. I know, too, that my time is running out and I need to make the best of it while I can.
I know I am a hugely flawed and damaged person but I have done my best to build a better life. I couldn’t have done more than my best. I don’t think I deserved what happened, but it doesn’t matter now. If somebody that I used to know still feels any guilt at what she did, it’s time to let go. That’s what I did and I have no regrets.
