I’m 24 now, and the events of the past two years are something I would not care to repeat ever again. I met a man in London, and so desperate was I to “LIVE!” and have an exciting life that I overlooked some glaring faults that he had and married him. At the time I pictured myself living a very glamorous existence, perhaps picking up in a few years and moving to Paris. In my naivete I failed to see the person I had pledged my life to, see him for what he truly was and not what I wanted him to be. For it was not him that I wanted to marry, but a life that I wanted to have, as abstract and absurd as it seems today.
The ensuing year and a half was hellish, absolutely the worst experience I have ever been through. He ended up being a very abusive person, and to this day I cannot determine why he chose to marry me, if he was aware of how terribly he treated me, and why he did it. If I chose to write even half of the events that occurred, you would probably not believe me, but I made choices and did things that will take years to get over and forgive myself for. I sacrificed my health, my sanity, my family and friends, all in the pursuit of this “dream” that ended up costing me a great deal.
I sit here now, away from the situation, regrouping, moving on with my life, and yet for some reason when I smelled something that reminded me of London, the city I fell in love with (for I now see it was never the man), a wave of sadness overcame me. Sadness for the choices I made, for the position I am now in, and for the dream I once had that will never come true.