I am divorcing. Finally. My life changed one year and
a half ago, when I decided to move from my quite house with garden located at periphery
to a small flat in the busy city centre. The move was drastic and it affected
me completely, marking the end of the longest period I ever staid in the same
home from all my life.
My 19th home felt very lonely at the beginning,
being taken away the privilege of filling it with the smile and laughter of my bellowed
child. By my house was quite, embracing me in silence and accepting me as hole,
protecting me from the daily routine of my abusing husband. I could finally rest,
own my thoughts and free my spirit. The size was problematic at the beginning, although
I left behind lots of belongings, the small amount of things I brought with me
was too much for the forty square meters I had to fit now. I decided not to
furniture too much and get rid of the maybe useful belongings. I choose not to invest too much, as anyway
the situation was instable. The flat was not fully mine and my possessive
husband make sure I remember about that, in another of his unstoppable attempts
of getting me back.
You see, that is the trouble with abusers, they never
give up.
