Two years ago today, I left my husband.
I woke up early, already had my bags packed, woke him up, and told him I was going to stay with a friend. I was technically on holiday, but I went in to work and did stock take because I just wanted something to do.
I don’t regret my decision at all. I never have.
I decided to spend my day doing whatever the fuck I wanted to do, so I sat in bed and watched the end of Breaking Bad.
I considered going out and buying a bottle of champagne or something, but remembered I had a load of special beers over in the garage.
So I had my first beer since I went off work sick at the end of January. It was a bottle of ‘Yellow Belly’, which is an imperial peanut biscuit stout – one of my favourites.
But it was metallic.
It had obviously aged too long.
I didn’t enjoy it.
After Breaking Bad I watched ‘El Camino’, which is a sequel film to the series, and I didn’t know it existed up until then.
I generally really enjoyed my day.
I didn’t feel sad, I felt liberated.
I really do enjoy being alone.
But that’s the sad part, I guess.
I made an exception for my ex.
I didn’t want to be with anyone, I wanted to be with him.
That’s what still makes me sad.
