For three years, I had clung to the scraps of his affection. For three whole years, I had refused to say “I love you” because he had never said it to me. This man over whom I obsessed, this man with whose reluctance I fashioned a long-term relationship which included co-habitation and the slow erosion of my self-esteem.
It wasn’t that he was a bad person. It was simply that he wasn’t a good person for me.
When I finally left him, of course, of course, he was suddenly and actively invested in a relationship with me. But of course, of course, it was too little, too late. Emotionally, I was already gone.
Not long after that, I met Brendon, and the feeling of being pursued was exhilarating. The feeling of being adored and respected and wanted, the kindness, was almost too much to take.
Something blossomed in me that summer of 1999. At the dawn of the new millennium, I fell in love with the man who would be the father of my children. We had such an outrageous good time in those first few months and the soundtrack that plays in my head when I think of that time is predominantly Moby’s album, Play. It was huge. Everywhere.
This one was always my favourite.
Being with Bren opened up my life. New music, new people, new adventures. I discovered that I was a good person and worthy of love. I discovered myself.