I’m sorry I’ve not been about for some time folks, but due to circumstances way beyond my control I’ve not been at my best I’m afraid. Hell… who am I trying to kid here! I’ve been going through my own private hell. See, what I’d not mentioned yet and will go into more detail as mine and Jesse’s story unfurls is exactly what happened to me on my last trip out to see my man. I promise I will fill in these gaps, but for now I’m here in England, my love there in the USA. Now some would argue I knew this before I fell in love with him, that distance would be a problem. All we both know is the heart wants what it wants, and it will go where it will. I had no choice with falling in love with Jess. It just kind of grew and blossomed. But here we are oceans apart. Might as well be the moon for all we know. I also know despite seeing him via video chat 24/7 it’s not the same as being there with him. We chat, we sleep, eat, breathe together, but I can’t hold him in my arms, I can’t kiss him, even just sit next to him and rest my head on his shoulder while watching TV.

The last two months have been a living hell for us both. Both of us feel the loss of the others company desperately. Gradually over the weeks it’s crept up on me and my already tired nerves are shattered. See, way back I had fought Agoraphobia, anxiety, PTSD to get myself over to Jess in the first place. Now my nerves are back, letting themselves be felt… in fact, screaming at me. It’s this evil separation that I just can’t withstand. Seeing Jess, yet not being physically there, it’s eating away slowly at my soul. I am barely functioning… just existing in some kind cruel paradox of limbo where you can see and hear the one you love, be near his world but behind glass. I knew about love, folks… well, knew of its existence. What I didn’t know was how it is to fall this deeply. See, no one warns you. No one could. Jess is part of me now. He is my heart, my every breath. When I’m not by his side, yes, life goes on, but not for me. I find myself struggling to eat. If I do it’s rubbish food. Sleeping has always been hit or miss, now I lay watching Jess sleep for hours, longing to be at his side where I would feel safe from the demons that lay waste in my head each night. Jess calms those just by his mere presence. Although he’s there, I’m needing his arms around me.

Daily now I find myself slipping further into the despair. That has no name I can think of; breakdown, shutdown, meltdown, depression… to mention some things even to compare it with. I’d say it’s a desert I wander in longing to find the oasis that is Jess. Seriously, I can’t even explain this physical pain that is so so real, it’s my constant companion, like some savage huge red-eyed giant, clawed beast that’s following me, waiting for me to fall so it can attack. I can no longer think straight. I’ve shut myself away in a small room, closed myself away from those who I need so badly to help me through this. None of them can reach me., It’s like I live in this cage not of my own making and, although warm hands reach my way, sweetest love in their hearts, I can’t see them. All I see is this misery that twists in my mind and heart. I don’t mean to not let them in, but this world of constant pain makes this decision for me. I’m just so exhausted, yet rest avoids me. I’ve a constant hunger that gnaws at my gut but not for food.

Each day I hurtle further into this black world and, I confess, I’m scared I’m never coming back. The only thing that holds me is this cord attached to my phone… and to Jess. The times I can’t reach him or he needs to hang up, I shake, I can’t breathe. I pace like a wild animal captured. My head thinks of a thousand things to torment me with; my own private bully beats me mercilessly. It tells me untruths worse than any person could think of. I try so hard to talk myself down, use the tools I’ve found worked for me before, but this frantic panic will not let me listen.

I cry each night alone in the dark. It’s not me feeling sorry for myself, it’s just this endless pain. Where will it end? To be very honest, I fear I don’t know. I do know each night I pray that my God gives me a way, a path that leads to Jess or show me what’s required of me. I know Jess feels his own pain. I sit some days watching him sitting head in his hands. He says daily “I wish you were here to hold“. That tears into my heart because, folks, if I could have a year with this man I’d give up forever right here, right now. I vow this! Anything to be with him. For my loved ones I’m deeply sorry I neglect you. I hate it, but this place I wander in doesn’t give me the choice. To the most wonderful man in the world, keep me anchored, honey, because I fear without your love I swear I’d wander off into the darkness and not find my way back.

This, folks, is why I’ve not written until now. Those in their own private hells I sympathize with wholeheartedly. I hope you can find that path back soon. And to my daughter, thank you for not judging me. But I know our closeness of the past allows you to reach in and see where I’m at… and see this living hell. I glimpse you on my darkest paths, Beck, and know you’re there. You and Jess find me often and shed a little light when I’m lost and alone… bring me back to you. Stay near, my loves, for I need you both more than I ever have. Sorry this isn’t a happy post, folks, but those of you who have loved know its pain well. Love to you all xx

More later…

Our days soon found their own routine. We would wake late after nights of watching TV curled up on the sofa. Cumzi, by now, had made his way from the back of the sofa where he would normally spend his nights to being tangled up in my legs among my fleece blanket. I loved this as it meant he had excepted me as part of his family. I cuddled up to his dad, he cuddled up to me.

I’d met up a few times by now with Jess’s cousin, Pam. She welcomed me from the beginning, think she realized just how much I loved her cousin who she’s always been close to. We went out one day for a drive around the older parts of town. The houses were so pretty. It was a lovely time of year, the trees all in the autumnal gowns, bedecked in beautiful scarlet, orange, yellows, gold and a little green left… brown leaves piled on lawns to be cleared or left in bags by the side of the road. The sky was a beautiful clear blue and the sun shone warming the afternoon. It didn’t feel like October at all. We had a late lunch while out and chatted like old friends. There was absolutely no awkwardness, no pauses. That was mainly because I can talk for England, folks. But in Pam I found a wonderful companion… very warm and a joy to be with.

I didn’t panic at not being with Jess which is a compliment to how Pam is, as I’d not been out of Jess’s sight since I’d arrived. I found it hard being in a different country without the security of him at my side. He didn’t seem to mind this though, in fact, I’d say he welcomed it. I digress again… Pam took me home. After we found it, that is. Jess had let loose on American roads two woman who had no sense of direction. Even the phone SatNav seemed to sound puzzled. But Pam was a trooper and found the way without to much ado. I swear when she told me that she didn’t know the way back, I’d had visions of us driving around till dusk and then calling one very bemused Jess asking him where we were. But that would have been okay. I’d enjoyed my traveling companion’s company. (I think she was glad we didn’t get too lost though as she told Jess later “I thought Tess was so quiet. She soon came out of her shell. Boy can she talk! LOL Poor Pam.

Jess by now had also taken me out to meet his daughter and her lovely family. I’d been extremely nervous at meeting them all. What would they make of this strange British fiance of their dad’s. I need not have worried though. They were, again, very welcoming over a lovely dinner in an Italian restaurant. No one I had met in Jess’s family had not, so far, welcomed me with open arms. I never felt left out at all.

Firm plans were made for my first ever Thanksgiving. We were going to meet up with all Jess’s children and grandchildren for breakfast, then onto Pam’s and aunt Jean’s for the Thanksgiving dinner. I really looked forward to meeting everyone but confess I was a little nervous. (As it turned out I need not have been. They are all warm, lovely people. Totally amazing.) I will tell you all about my Thanksgiving dinner later. These folks made it something I will never forget for the rest of my life. That evening we sat full of the most wonderful food. No one leaves Aunt Jean’s hungry. LOL We sat like a couple of stuffed turkeys dozing on the sofa, Cumzi at my side as always.

We eventually woke up in the early hours. Jess looked at me. “You hungry?” ‘Course I was. I’m a foodie. I can always eat. He suggested the delightful Denny’s for (get this…) dinner. (Take into account it’s 3am now.) Hey. Why the hell not? It’s chilly out, but I love the fact I’ve met someone else who doesn’t mind getting up in the night and driving. I love nothing more than this. It’s kind of like bucking the trend. Every normal person, I believe, is dreaming of doing things like this. And here we are laughing like kids at the Comedy Channel on the radio and going out for yet another Thanksgiving dinner. LOL We had it all… roast turkey, stuffing, creamy mash, broccoli, creamed corn… all ,smothered in thick gravy. This served with garlic bread and steaming coffee. I ate the lot. It’s on this very night we discovered our usual, LOL, our usual being something we would have regular after that night: a dessert of beautiful tart apple topped with a sugary sweet crunchy topping. This served piping hot and topped with vanilla ice cream. It was heaven and once tried always asked for. LOL We left an hour later, hand-in-hand, full to the brim, to go back home to bed. This we were to repeat many times during the weeks I was there.

To be continued…

This isn’t the sweet story of myself and Jess, this is the story of Treez. She’s still me but the me that came before the incredible meeting of a wonderful man who would change my whole life.

I grew up with an overbearing mother. Okay… some would say abusive. I just did what I could to get through and please her. I can always remember from early age being called stupid, thick, an idiot, ugly and many other names. I once overheard a conversation in my mum’s living room with her sisters (my aunts) and her about having me put away in a “special” home. I was about five, no older, I think, and that stayed with me all these years. I felt rejected, dejected, broken like some toy thrown by the wayside, no longer played with as it wasn’t perfect like the others. See, I was born with HMS, or Hyper Mobility Syndrome. This meant I had issues with my joints, pain, bowel problems, bladder issues and, most devastating, learning difficulties. Okay, I was only half second behind my siblings, but it caused my mum and family to single me out as deficient, not quite right in the head, a cause of mirth, teasing. But I managed to live through this thanks to the love I had from my father.

When I was sixteen I had a trauma no child should go through, let alone just survive. I’m not going into details because neither you nor I need them to get the picture, but it left me very scarred. In fact, scarred for life, I’d say. I never shared it with my family, didn’t think they would care or they would lay the blame on me, which later down the years was proven true. I can remember that night standing scrubbing myself raw at the bathroom sink in the dark so as not to waken anyone, washing my mouth out with carbolic soap as mum never bought us tooth brushes or tooth paste. I shivered all alone, scared, confused. I really went into myself for months… no one to ask about what had happened to me.

Some time after this I fell pregnant with my amazing daughter. She was the result of a friendship I had with a guy who tried to help with my trauma and months of turning in on myself. I’d had to hide my pregnancy right till days before. My mum had said she would make any of her girls have an abortion if she found one of us pregnant. I hid my precious bump under baggy clothes, again terrified of what my mum would do if it was discovered. I’d had some of her beatings in the past so I was scared for both mine and my baby’s life. Outside the house I talked endlessly to my child, running my hand over my small lump. It had to come out inevitably as it did after a doctor’s visit. I was dragged to the hospital. I can’t remember much about it… it went by in a blur. I do remember being stripped naked and laying on a table, shivering, not from cold, but from being touched, prodded, poked like a piece of meat. My old trauma chose then to call with a vengeance. I just shut down. This wasn’t happening to me, this was someone else in my place. I’d gone from my head. It’s all I could do to cope.

Becky was born two days later. I was very ill during her birth, cut from one end to the other as I was too tiny to give birth without forceps. I also faded in and out as it turned out I was really sick with blood poisoning. I eventually went home with my baby. I was told they would decide later what was best for her. THEY would, not ME!!!!.

Life was hell. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house at all. If I was, it was to go to the shop for mother. She timed me to the second. Let’s skip ahead 18 months and mum had a heart attack. She was very ill but survived it. I took over running the house as well as having a young daughter to care for. Around this time dad allowed me to go out occasionally while mum was in hospital. Guess he felt sorry for me in a way. I met a man via what was a new trend back then: CB radio. I loved mine. It allowed me to talk to people while I was locked in my home. This man showed me attention, seemed lovely, didn’t mind I had a daughter. We seemed to get along okay. Then I did a stupid thing. I fell pregnant with another child. My mother called me every kind of whore she could lay her mind to. I didn’t disabuse her of this as I believed her words, but now I know all I wanted really was to be loved, accepted, wanted… I needed to find someone to help me escape the so called ‘family’ home. I think he saw that.

We moved into a small two-bedroom apartment after our son was born. From then on my life again became controlled. This wasn’t the love and freedom I so badly longed for and needed. Again I was ridiculed, told I was useless, couldn’t cook, couldn’t do anything right. I was fat, ugly. I believed this as I’d heard it all my life. I waited on him hand and foot because that’s how I was raised. Mum taught us girls that men were god’s to be obeyed, worshiped. He worked, but I raised our children. His words: “I hate kids.” I cleaned, cooked, made him coffee. Everything, anything for his comfort. I even bathed him for God’s sake! I had little freedom and if I put makeup on I was told ‘Why are you doing that? It makes no difference. You’re still ugly.’ I had hair down to my bottom. I wasn’t allowed to have it cut or I was told that I would be locked out.

Things grew steadily worse over the years. Between him and my mum I was bullied until I honestly thought I deserved my lot. I guess I just did the best I could to survive. If I got ill I was screamed at. If his dinner wasn’t ready or the house cleaned I was screamed at. At thirty-seven I developed a huge tumor in my stomach. The pain, folks, was like nothing on earth. I was vomiting daily, living on the occasional bite of food as I couldn’t keep down anything else. Painkillers were my best friends. They took the edge away… some, but not all, of the agony I suffered daily. Getting out of bed was hell. I hurt everywhere. I was in agony… but there he stood, hands on hips: “Where’s my dinner?” screaming in my face as I did my best not to pass out. I’d give in, crawl out of bed and make his food… clean up and crawl back. I had lost a lot of weight. I cried with pain in my bed each night, yet, still, he selfishly wouldn’t allow me to sleep when I could. If I did not give in he threatened to not feed my children. If I still refused, well… don’t ask.

By now I was also suffering from PTSD, agoraphobia, anxiety attacks and hadn’t left my house in ten years. In fact, I couldn’t even touch my door without anxiety. One day when the pain grew extreme, I decided to go to the hospital. Those that knew me well knew now I was in pain. I’d never gone anywhere in all those years. I had issues at the hospital but it was discovered I had this huge 7lb tumor mixed up within my womb, tubes, bowels… it was a mess… and I had to have a hysterectomy. Thank goodness… before I’d had our youngest son but still I’d wanted more children. I longed for a big family. But I was alive, so that was something, I guess.

Things eased a little at home, well… for about a year anyway. My health problems increased. I had cataracts so bad at one point I couldn’t see for months, but I was at least going out some. Never by myself though… wasn’t confident enough to cope. Next when I was forty came breast cancer. This should have told me how low I had sunk by then as, like many illnesses before, I got through my operation. Dreaded chemo, radio therapy but, by now, I think I’d truly died inside. I knew I was alive somehow but I was numb… like most of me had died on the operating table and I was just waiting for the rest of me to catch up. It’s so hard to describe, really, but I think I just got through the days in some kind of limbo. I’d suffered much abuse, although my ex would swear on a Bible I didn’t. I think the man actually lived in contempt of me. If anything in his day went wrong it was me that he took it out on. I was belittled in front of friends, lied to about numerous affairs, lied about constantly to anyone who would listen. He delighted in making sure people thought me the lowest of the low. He played his ‘woe is me‘ part to perfection. Ladies loved it. Like most bullies, to the outside world he could be charming… a happily married family man. Most could never believe his propensity for abuse, his serial affairs, his physical violence, his penchant for forcing me to bed by withholding food from the children I love, his spending all our money for himself leaving me to face the bailiffs who came to collect… spending our money needed to feed the kids to buy things for his train set and fish for his aquariums. If they could see his true colours they would not be so sympathetic about the situation he has brought upon himself and wouldn’t do his bidding by branded me a scarlet woman… shouting the most vile vitriol at me when I walked the streets of our small town of Market Rasen.

Toward the end of our time together his berating, belittling and abusiveness grew. I will explain that another day, but when I met Jess I went from a woman so dead inside I swear I was in God’s waiting room to a woman who was shocked back into life by one man’s faith, gentleness, love and endless patience. Without him I’d still be dead-eyed and lifeless. His love kick-started my heart and I knew then I’d found the love I’d waited for all my life for the first time.

Well grab the beverage of your choice, some chocolate cake, popcorn, crisps… Then we’ll begin.

Anyway where did I leave off?… After we had left our small bubble of love and tranquility of the hotel room, we went back to where Jess lives. There I fell in love all over again. I met Tecumseh, or Cumzi to his buddies (Jesse’s dog). Now he was still a little upset from losing his mum (Tracy), so I never pushed the issue, just sat on the floor till he came to me, which he did, within minutes. He’s a beautiful little dog, very affectionate and, of course, how could i resist. I found I was a little nervy to begin with. The first few days I had to adjust to the house that was to be my new home of three months. Jesse took me out for dinner that night at the Red Lobster. We sat holding hands. I looked into Jesse’s dark brown eyes and fell even more in love with every passing moment in his company. I’ve never laughed so much in my lifetime. After the months of going through hell, here I was happy. First time I had heard myself really laugh I didn’t even recognise the sound of my own laughter at first. I’d forgotten about laughter after months of courts, solicitors, locking doors and avoiding my ex. I was with this gorgeous man holding hands, staring into his soft eyes. Could this really be me? Was I in some cruel dream that would be snatched away any minute?

But, no… it was really happening to little old me. We enjoyed days eating out, just being in each others company, getting to know each other. I introduced Jesse to tea drinking. Seemed only fair after he got me hooked on Tim Horton’s coffee. I’m so so in love with Tim Horton’s after thirty years as a stanch tea drinker. LOL One night while he worked in his office, I sat watching Game of Thrones on a TV he has there. He had never seen it or shown any inclination there of. Jess looked up occasionally. We didn’t go out every night and on one occasion he sat and actually watched an episode with me. We cuddled up on the sofa, Cumzi curled up on the back watching us with amusement, wondering why we licked faces so much. ‘Was I that grubby?’

After that one episode Jess was hooked. We sat that night eating our way through a large bag of potato chips (crisps), drinking root beer (something else I discovered and adored just by accident, love that stuff folks). But there we sat the whole night and we binge watched Game of Thrones. Before we knew it morning was upon us. We fell into a pattern of Jess working mornings… I’d sit in the office with him, reading, watching TV or drawing… I’d let sketching go by the wayside until then. Jess gave me a sketchpad of his and pencils. My work’s nowhere as beautiful as the work Jess produces but I enjoyed it.

One night while curled up on the sofa Jess disappeared into his office saying “one minute“. I thought ‘okay‘ and sat back watching the rest of the film. Next thing I know he walked in looking slightly nervous, grin on his face. I thought he’s up to something but let it go. He said “I had wanted to wait till a more romantic setting for this but… “. Imagine my surprise as there he was down on one knee before me, in his hand one tiny little ring box open, light from a lamp reflecting on the stone in the prettiest ring. Everything after that was a blur. I remember saying ‘yes‘. Of course I did. I adored this man kneeling down by my legs. He was the culmination of a lifelong dream. His beautiful face shining up at me, my heart filled with endless love and he held me too him. Folks, things like this I’ve read of in romance books. They didn’t happen to such as I, surely. This person who had never known one day of love in her whole life, not a kind word even. My mind was awhirl and I was so in love, nothing else mattered. He was mine and I was his. That was already the case I felt on my part, but damn this man!… he had broken through every barrier I’d put up for much needed protection. I had been in a marriage for thirty five years and here’s the shock, I hadn’t even loved the man I was with. Jess had knocked down my walls and here I sat, this pain in my chest, a real pain as physical as any, but it was my heart expanding to fill with more love. It scared the hell out of me how much I loved him.

That night I sat curled up against my love looking from time to time at and twisting the ring that had sealed the deal, made our contract, binded our love, totalled up our accounts. Jess looked down on me (he’s taller by the way ) and asked ‘did I like my ring’. I smiled. Oh how I loved that ring. It was but a token of our love but it was my most precious thing next to his heart. It could have been a tap washer for all I cared. (No, Jes,s you can’t take it back and trade it in my love). But here nestled perfectly on my third finger this gift from my wonderful man… my love.

Around this time my love informs me he wants us to have photos taken professionally. OMG!!!!!! I hate hate hate my picture taken, but if he insists I’d follow him anywhere. (Often did. Remind me to tell you of this later) So this was settled. I dreaded it but it made my man happy. Who was I to deny him anything! Also around this time I’d broken a tooth right in half. Now another huge phobia of mine was the dentist. I couldn’t even say the word. I had panic attacks if my friends or family went. I’m serious! It all stemmed from hearing my mum scream out while in the dentist’s chair when I was a very young child. She came out, blood dripping from her mouth. I swore then as a three-year-old child I was never going behind one of those white doors where I heard that horrendous drilling sound and my mum screaming from. And I never did either. I had reached my age suffering badly with toothache for weeks, infections… anything rather than go. But Jess went one day. As I said already, I followed him everywhere. Imagine the amazement as I followed him in. Now before, I’d cross the road rather than go near a dentist. Here I sat in the waiting room on a beautiful sunny day, no fear, just holding his hand and laughing. We could have been anywhere. It held no more fear. I held my man’s hand. I was safe. I was shocked when, like a lamb, I followed him in while he lay comfortably on the dentist chair. He seemed happy, relaxed, so I sat in a chair there answering a million questions about England and our traditions. Other dental nurses came in. It seemed I was most entertaining, this strange tea-drinking fiancee from a far off continent… but through his treatment I was fine. Even the drill evoked no more fear. As we left Jess booked another appointment and while there booked one for me. (Oh my!)

I had gone over there with one small hand case… barely enough clothes to wear in a few days. Jess had bought me some beautiful clothes way before I had gone over, so he told me to bring the bare minimum I’d need. This I did but I had to keep doing laundry as I was running out of underwear (knickers). Jess told me one weekend he was taking me to a shop called Victoria’s Secret. Ooooooookay… I hadn’t a clue. As you know already, I’m not girly in the slightest. So we get to this shop, folks, full of the most delicious collection of lace and silky things. I’m holding his hand thinking ‘have you got the right person here?’ As an assistant approached I got nervous, fidgety. She asked could she help. Jess immediately assessed my agitation, my nerves (we know each other so well by now), and took over. “Yes, my fiancee (God how I love the sound of him saying that) needs panties.” (He avoided saying ‘knickers‘. The way he says it has me in hysterics! Don’t ask. I’m so glad he didn’t say it though, I’d have been in tears.) I was asked my size. It was converted to US sizes and I was shown bins full of drawers, panties, KNICKERS!!!! Apparently that week they were on offer… six for half price… so I bought some and it was love, their shorts are so blooming comfy. We left, Jess holding my hand and my Victoria’s Secret bag. What a man, folks!

To be continued…

I did eventually have the money for my ticket and Jess booked it. He had a PC so it was easier. Our excitement grew the nearer it got. We had several countdowns on Facebook. Our poor friends with our constant posts of how much in love we are, our endless poems… most actually, come to think of it, loved it.

My troubles here grew daily and I walked more to try to counter the turmoil. Jess supported me as best he could… not easy, though, through a screen. I know I longed to be held as each day something else cropped up. The need to feel safe and loved was stronger. My love for Jess grew to the point it actually frightened me. I had no control over my feelings. I’d spend my days with my head in the clouds, just wishing the days away so I could finally get to be with my man. I was still losing weight at this point and was pleased with my figure and new-found confidence. I’d often referred to myself as a heifer, much to Jess’s annoyance. Right up to the week… days before my flight we had our backs up against more and more trouble.

See, as you know, I was in an abusive relationship and my ex upped his hand weekly. I was followed, harassed and, in among all this, I had a court case. There were times I just wanted to give up. I was so tired exhaustion took over. I was locked behind closed doors 24 hrs a day. I, if anyone, was the prisoner. Poor Jess watched me lose my hard won independence all over again. I think this was hard on him. He also hated it when I had to go into town where my ex lived to shop and see my doctor’s, etc. I texted Jess constantly to let him know I was fine, but there were times a bus didn’t run, leaving me stranded there for up to two hours. My phone would lose signal leaving him frantic. Also in this time I had three angina attacks brought on by stress. Imagine being across the world on a small screen watching your loved one in pain and all you can do is sit and watch. Poor guy must have aged over night.

One time was quite amusing though. As I called our paramedics, Jess, as ever on chat with me, as he had by this time got me to finally video chat, he didn’t leave me the whole while the paramedics checked on me. They loved this, asking Jess a dozen questions likes where did he park his horse ? Well, of course, being American he must be a cowboy. Also he must have a gun in his holster. If I hadn’t been in so much pain it would have been hysterical because, of course, his horse was in the garage wasn’t it?, alongside the lawnmower, trimmer, BBQ and drum kit. The horse can play In The Air Tonight wonderfully now. Not really, but he’s had the odd mouse playing bass though.

Long weeks passed. I became more and more isolated, withdrawn. Jess stayed on longer with me when my fears got the better of me. And believe me I had plenty to fear day and night. By the time October came I was just barely putting one foot in front of the other. I packed my bags with some trepidation. I’d never flown. It meant tackling large airports, three planes, border control… Remember, just weeks before, I could barely leave my house alone. This was huge. This was bigger than huge. This was bloody massive! It happened to others didn’t it? Not little quiet folks like me, surely.

As the days ticked off my nerves got worse. I was actually going to see Jess. He had booked us a hotel room for two nights… thought a bit of time alone together was called for. He lives with his brother. My nerves jangled at the thought ‘What if he doesn’t like me?… What if he doesn’t find me attractive?’ A dozen questions fired into my brain daily. The big day arrived. My daughter and her husband had spent the night at my bungalow ready to drive me to the airport in the early hours. I spoke to Jess right up until I lost the signal, it being rural where I live. He still texted but no seeing the face of the man I loved. I missed him deeply.

At the airport I had assistance. These people are great, folks, helping me right onto the plane, then meeting me on the other end. The last flight was delayed and I’d not spoken to Jess in hours. I grew tired and worried. What if he wasn’t there? What if he didn’t meet me? Where would I go for three months? I finally found a way to call him and got a very excited Jess. We chatted a few minutes. I had this long delay at the airport… plenty of time to become excitable, nervous. Finally my flight took off after the storm delay which would setback it’s arrival. I didn’t care… I was seeing the man of my dreams. No turbulence, wind, rain or anything was stopping me getting to his arms. (There’s a laugh there I will fill you in on later.) The flight was indeed bumpy but I still loved every minute. See, I’ve discovered I love flying. Who knew? I reached Jess’s airport at twelve that night. I’d been flying hours. I needed a wash. I looked like hell. A porter turned up to assist me. Now… this bit of our story I’ll leave to Jess, poor guy.

When I did get to my man I hated I didn’t look my best. I couldn’t make eye contact. He had bought a beautiful red rose… stood looking at me. I stood, head down, shyly looking at my feet. We had spent weeks talking about this very thing and I’m blowing it, folks. He tried to kiss me. I pulled away. I’d not been kissed in thirty years. I was so scared I’d get it wrong. He eventually settled on holding my hand. I loved this. It felt good… the most natural thing in the world. As we got in the elevator again Jess approached me for a kiss. Again I pulled away, still so very worried I’d mess it up before hitting our hotel room. We found his car and set off for the hotel. I had a tummy full of butterflies. I hadn’t slept with a man in years. But Jess put his hand on my knee and I felt all my worries drift away. I wanted this guy! My nerves dissipated. I turned and shyly looked at him while he drove. He was the most gorgeous of men I’d ever known. My heart fluttered like a dozen caged birds trying to escape. We got to our room within minutes. I put down my case and he pulled me into his arms and kissed me so tenderly I thought I’d swoon. LOL Well, I did, but not onto the floor. This wasn’t me. I’m a tomboy who has slept with the same man for nearly four decades. Nothing like this happens to woman like me does it? Well, yes it does and thank the gods for it.

I’m not going into detail… I’ll spare you that… but our first night was absolutely perfect. I awoke in his arms once that night to feel him gently brushing back my hair from my face. I loved his soft breaths on my neck. Nothing had prepared me for a night so beautiful, so wonderful. After years of Hell, ladies, I’d finally met heaven. And did we French kiss? You bet your life we did! And it was all and more that I’d dreamed it would be. He was a very able teacher. I fluffed my lessons a lot, needed that little extra coaching. LOL Oh come onnnnn… my darling was there, I was there in his arms. He was kissing the hell outta me and I wasn’t complaining.

To be continued…

Jess and I often talked about what it would be like, you know, to actually be in the same room. Take into account we had only seen each other on our prospective screens until now. Okay, we knew we were attracted to one another. Lord how we were attracted. We had talked of our first meeting over and over countless times… both of us having issues with our looks… neither thought ourselves attractive. Both decided the other would run soon as we saw the other. I got upset one night when Jess said “you know you’re going to take one look at me and march right back on that plane.” This guy really didn’t know me at all did he?

I was so far in love with him I wasn’t ever going to be able to stop. He’s my everything, folks. My first and last thought. I broke into tears at that point, told him my heart had always dictated where he was concerned. It’s true, it always has. Jess said he had a scar down his chest he was worried about. I said I’ve also a scar on my chest, and, yes, it always bothered me someone seeing it. It’s my lumpectomy scar from fifteen years previous. Okay, it’s not noticeable until I undress but, hey, I was going to right? Arghhhhh!!! And there’s another thing I was going to be naked in front of him. Lord have mercy, I mean even my ex of 35 years had never seen me naked. The thought was scary as hell. See, I’d been attacked at 16. Numerous other things had happened along the way. No one and I mean NO ONE saw me naked. But Jess expressed such a wish that I would feel comfortable, confident enough to do this with him. Uh huh. “We’ll see.” But, yes, my scar was an issue for me. I sat upset thinking maybe this would put off this amazing man I loved so deeply and who had been through so very much with me. So I did something, folks, totally out of character…I asked Jess to show me his scar. Then I’d take a picture of mine. In my half-cocked logic I thought ‘get it over before I traveled all that way. Might as well face the heartbreak now.’

Nervously I pulled down my top and bra. Thank God it was a nice lacy one. LOL With shaking hands I took a snap. It’s okay, folks. My scar’s at the top. Nothing crude. All above board. Jess went first, if I remember rightly, and it didn’t look bad at all… not like he said it did. I longed to run my fingers across the ridged scar. I smiled at the screen as we still hadn’t gone live on FB at this point. Then came my turn. I nearly backed out, but that wouldn’t have been fair, so I quickly put on the picture and held my breath. What am I saying? I couldn’t breathe! To Jess I’d done a major disservice as he looked and he must have known I’d be worried he replied straight away “Honey, that’s nothing. In fact I can hardly see anything.” I almost cried with relief, but part of me still doubted when he saw it.

We shared much of the next few weeks. One thing was a bucket list I had. As I say, we held nothing back from each other now. One thing on my list was to learn to French kiss. Jess was amused at first but he knew my background, knew I was indeed serious, I’d never done it. He most kindly offered to teach me. I knew I’d be a more than willing student.

.It was still some time before I had the money to buy my ticket but we both talked of little else. Our friends were equally excited for us, wanting pictures of our first meeting. Like hell! I thought.

To be continued…

So I walked my way into the record books nearly, each day making my way to the local woods, sitting in among the trees, the smell of motorcycle fuel all around me as it was a gathering spot for motorcycle enthusiasts. I’d been a biker in my past life. Yes I was for my sins. Loved it, too. Anyway, here in the woods was my go to place. I’d spend an hour, maybe two, listening to music, taking in the sights, the sounds… cooling off from my walk. I’d buy a cup of tea, take off my shoes and feel the cool grass under my feet. I needed this break before home as I suffer from H.M.S. Noooo… not a ship! Hyper mobility syndrome, the illness that’s not known much about except, as the sufferer, we know all about it, of course. Means my joints are awfully painful. They burn, dislocate, pop out of their sockets… all kinds of amazing things you don’t want me to bore you with. But my joints would be burning so I’d rest and recover for my walk home. Despite the pain this is my time. I loved the feel of being free to walk… just being free actually.

See, as a child I had to answer to a very strict mum, then I was married to a man who thought I should be chained to the kitchen sink or just chained, so moments of freedom before were very rare and fought hard for. After these walks I’d come home, shower, invariably chat to Jess. If he wasn’t about I’d go sit by the local duck pond, write poetry, dream of my man. I spent hours doing this.

At this time I had been told the name of a solicitor. Now, there wasn’t one local so it meant going into the city; an hour long bus ride away. This was fine but I’d not been on a bus in over twenty years. Agoraphobic people can have issues riding public transport. And boy did I have issues! But in my head I knew if I was ever going to get on a plane to see Jess I needed to conquer the dreaded bus phobia at least. If I couldn’t even manage a bus how in the hell would I manage a plane or three.

When that dreaded day arrived I woke up sweating, shaking. I was physically sick while I got ready. I chatted to Jess. He kept me calm. “You’ll be fine” he assured. Mmmmhem. I wasn’t so sure but I went, sat at the bus stop, tried chatting to fellow would-be passengers. Had Jess, my daughter, friends on text constantly. As the bus pulled up waves of anxiety filled me. Here I was, no safe person (a person some of us agoraphobics rely heavily on to be at our sides to keep us safe) but I got on the bus. Sat right up against the side of it, leaning heavily, praying no one would sit near me, especially guys. I was a mass of shaking nerves but as the bus pulled away, I texted everyone. They all cheered me on. Twenty minutes in I found myself relaxing into the beautiful scenery on the way. It really was pretty. I took pictures, showed my group where I was going. They were all brilliant. Jess and Becky were so proud of me, made me feel like I was doing something amazing, not just sitting on a bus.

By the time I’d reached my destination fear was in the past. Now to find my way to the solicitor’s. Lincoln is a big city and I was a lone agoraphobic in it. To start with I got lost… soon as I left the bus terminal. Oh come on… I’d never gone anywhere alone in years. LOL But I approached someone (yes I approached a real human) but this, although nerve wracking, was far preferable to walking around aimlessly in the heat for hours. I really have no sense of direction. No I don’t as Jess would learn down the line but they told me there were two directions. (Oh please don’t give me two ways to get anywhere that’s a disaster in the making.) I chose the gap in between the boards where there was a huge amount of construction going on. And, yes, it lead me to the main high street. WOW!!!!! Shops, lots of shops, hundreds of people. Arghhhhh!!!!! But it was 2:15 pm and I had to be at my solicitor’s at 2:30pm. I hadn’t a clue where that was so once again I stopped where I was, got on my mobile (cell phone to my American friends) and I asked for directions. Okay, no biggy you’re saying, but I’m phone phobic and I was talking to strangers! Oh my!! (Here I am peopling again.) I mean legal secretaries, I’m talking to ladies who don’t know Treez and her oddities. No sense of directions. Please don’t tell me go left, turn right, left again for six blocks, etc. It’s my worst nightmare. But no, I was told go straight on, under the arch, then turn left, walk till you get to the end. I could do that right. (Couldn’t I?) Yes I did.

I found my solicitor. I was dressed like a bag lady as my jeans hung off me. I had a black vest on with my favourite baggy big men’s shirt loose over the top. Best I could do with no clothes I’m afraid. I left all my clothes behind when I escaped my ex. I felt on the back foot from the start. See, not only was my dress code all wrong, but I have learning issues due to the H.M.S. (No, not a ship LOL) Plus my solicitor is a guy. Oh well. I go into the reception, announce myself, sit nervously on my hands while waiting on an authority figure, another problem for me.

In the end I only talk to his secretary, she’s nice enough, and she writes down my story. I’m only there half hour, then back out into the stuffy summer air I’d normally hate but love because I survived another milestone. I walked back along the high street strolling as there’s no rush now… I can take in my surroundings. I’m starving as it’s gone three and I’ve not eaten since the night before. (Nerves will do that to you.) I go into a posh coffee shop and order tea and a scone. Very British. LOL I sit out in the cool shade of the tearoom enjoying watching folks mill about, listening to their chatter. I’m alone, all alone, seeing couples, seeing friends. It dawns on me I really am alone! I’m sat having fancy tea on my own. Okay, I’m texting friends, but here I am at my age, sat for the first time by myself. That was one cathartic moment folks. ( I felt lonely. I felt abandoned. I felt scared, belonging nowhere to no one.) I walked into a few shops, bought myself a salad at Marks and Spencer. (Marks n Sparks to us Brits.) I sat again very alone at the bus station.

I spoke to my friend Donna for a while. I couldn’t reach Jess. I felt small. I felt lost but proud I did this. I had achieved much that day, much I never thought I could. I sat looking back and remembering sitting on a bench in the square of the high street and this guy coming up and sitting down next to me. I didn’t move away in horror as I would have previously. I made myself stay put. He talked about fishing there in the canal many times and did I know that the city of Lincoln was the birth place of many famous people? I listened. I love listening to people. He listed all these stars. I murmured what I thought was an interested-sounding response. One really caught my ear. Did I know that Whitney Houston was born there and found fame? “Erm, no” I reply. “Sure didn’t.” Who knew! He then said his goodbyes and left. I like to think I gave him a much needed platform to air his thoughts. Cost me nothing and he left happy.

Just as I thought that the bus turned up. I enjoyed my long ride home listening to music, still feeling a little lost but do you know what?… I’d done what I thought impossible so it was alright. Also around this time I was applying for my passport… something you need, right? before traveling. I’d never had one before. Had filled in the forms, sent them… eagerly waiting on my shiny new passport, my passport to my man. We started this in March. Keep this date in mind, folks. I hear back they need more information. I send it. April, May, June, July… no passport. We are getting antsy. Our nerves already taught from the thought of finally, yes finally, meeting.July turns to August. No passport. I find out a letter had gone to my old address. Ex had ripped it up or something. I phone. Finally we get a passport. Now everything’s possible. The nerves rattle as I’m about to see my man for our first meeting. I’m going to fly. I’m going to stay in a hotel. never done any of this. What’s more I’m going to hold my man. God I couldn’t wait.

To be continued…

Okay so where were we? Grab yourselves a coffee/tea, large slice of cake and let us carry on.

As you can imagine my head’s everywhere and nowhere. Here’s the man I love more than life asking me to marry him. Arghhhhh… runs about quietly but crazily. Of course I said yes. Well, come on! A little thing like: I was still in the same house with my ex and not divorced yet. I mean that’s nothing, right? We text a while back and forth, then we leave. I reread the messages a thousand times. I can’t believe my eyes still. I’m going to marry the man of my dreams.

Weeks pass in a weird wonderful mess-like state. My birthday approaches fast. I decide after the aggression escalated to a point I just couldn’t take it any more. Day and night full-out hell will do that. I was in desperate need of a rest. I had spent most of march hiding away, curled in a ball crying. Those I helped on line (self help page) had even heard the constant barrage, the bullying. I asked my son if I could possibly spend two weeks at his flat. My ex had hated this idea and even as I went out the door with just two bags of clothes he would turn up daily at the flat to make my life hell, following me when I walked. One occasion trying to drag, even force me, in his car. I managed to stand my ground. Don’t know how to this day as I was terrified. I walked home shaking. By the time I got in I couldn’t get warm and just curled up for the night weeping myself to sleep. Jess tried to stay in touch as much as possible. One night while chatting for hours as we did he fell asleep while online. I lay down my phone on my pillow listening to his breathing. I slept deep for the first time in an age. He apologized for falling asleep. I said ‘actually you did me a favour‘ I slept for a couple of hours… unheard of for me. (See, I had trained myself to sleep for twenty minutes to an hour at the most so I could watch out for anything untoward touching me in the night if you get my meaning.) But I had felt safe with Jess there. Yeah, I know… he couldn’t have helped, him also asleep, and on the other side of a screen – a phone, but he was a huge comfort to me.

We took to doing this regular from then on in. I was scared I’d snore (because I snore fit to bust, folks, can’t be helped… it’s a nose and tonsil thing). Jess told me he had already heard it and he thought it endearing. Okkkk! LOL (This guy really is a keeper!) We had a time difference of five hours, so I was sleeping around four or five in the mornings but slept fitfully at least three or more hours. The two weeks nearly up, I decided I couldn’t go back. He would turn up unannounced making what was to be a pleasant time a living nightmare. One time nearly pushing me down the stairs, another trapping me with him in my bedroom. Jess overhead that time and the poor guy was beside himself. Nothing he could do to help me, bless him. That night he talked me into going to the police which I did. That, too, was one very long night. I’m surrounded by police, mainly men, trying to tell them about my life story. This bully I had lived (nay, existed) with for 35 long years. Okay, there was one woman in there but the rest were guys. I was a mess. It took hours to get across (mainly my fault) this life story. I didn’t get home till 12 that night from six that evening. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I lay on my bed near to tears, wanting nothing more than to be held by my man. But Jess listened and soothed the best he could, said I’d done the right thing. I knew he was right. I also had, by now, a Dash support worker… adult abuse case worker… lovely guy who also pushed me to go to the police.

When my husband was arrested my sons didn’t approve. They said their dad was disturbed mentally, maybe I could hold off. They had seen the bruises all down my leg where one night he had battered the door into it repeatedly. It also went into my spine. I still, to this day, have issues with my back. This was just one of the many catalogue of things. Jess begged me to be honest with them, tell them of the other attacks on myself, far worse things that I’d hidden to protect my family. My daughter knew but she and I were exceptionally close. Nothing got past her. But my sons either hadn’t wanted to see or I’d done a better job than I thought of masking this horrendous life I was barely getting through. As things progressed it went to court. He got off with a no contact order (this later he went on to violate. Remind me to tell you of that later.)

You all still there? I know… long long story and I’ve bypassed most. Go get more coffee and snacks, then I’ll start again… interlude for snack getting, bathroom visitation… Groovy music starts.

Oh there you all are. We all cozy under our fleece blankies? Then I’ll begin.

By now I discovered walking. I say discovered, I should say ‘re-discovered‘. See, in my teens, if anything had bothered me I walked for miles. Even later when the kids were young we walked. My children loved going on picnics. We walked to a local beauty spot and picnicked, didn’t go home till late. Here I go again, wandering… So most days I’d set out for this walk… music blasting in my ears. I loved it. For that time I strode out, head high, feeling my muscles working hard, my breathing even controlled, sweat dripping. It all felt good as all that time I didn’t think of court cases, violent exes, where would I live, what would I do, trouble with my family. I thought of nothing, only my love of Jess. I felt free for that hour. When I came back it would still all be there, but for a while I was free. Each day I walked no matter the weather. Each day our problems grew, but so did the love we felt for each other.

To be continued…

Jesse’s Perspective

I had no problem asking Tess to come be with me. I loved her. That she was still in a sham of a marriage did not faze me… her ‘union’ had, for all intents and purposes, died years ago… it just took some time for the body to be found.

Tess was a nervous wreck. I felt so helpless to do anything for her. She contacted her son and made arrangements to stay with him for a while. I was initially relieved as I thought her son would have protected her mom just as I would have my own mother in the same circumstances. Though it was better, her being away from her prison, the son did not believe how bad things were and showed no willingness to keep the ex out of his flat and away from his mom. My concern for Tess’s safety grew daily. I felt somewhat good when she told me that having me on the phone with her, watching me sleep, just hearing me breathe, gave her some serenity. From my perspective, just hearing her on the other end sleeping… snoring (Yes, she snores. But it is not obnoxious in any way. I find it endearing. If I could spend the rest of my life with her snoring at my side I would be a happy man.)… gave me a modicum of peace of mind. The time difference between the US and UK made for some really weird sleeping scenarios but at least she was getting some rest.

Toward the end of her 2-week hiatus at her son’s she was able to get a case worker from DASH, a domestic abuse agency, who was to become instrumental in getting Tess the help she needed to leave the violence and abuse. By this time she had decided that returning to the dungeon where she had been captive for all those years was not an option. For her own safety and welfare she needed to rid herself of the person she was connected to on paper only. The DASH dude urged her to go to the police and file a full report for the assault and harassment.

She did so and spent practically an entire day there trying to impart the Readers’ Digest version of a 35-year-abuse story. She was made to recount all the things that had been done to her over the years, memories which are painful to revisit for the telling. Like most women victims of domestic abuse, her tale of woe was not fully appreciated nor understood by the all-male contingent of cops converting her narrative into a report. It did lead to the guy being arrested at long last. This did not seem to sit well with her two sons. They were fed what was essentially lies from their father which, of course, made HIM out to be the victim. Although they had witnessed the treatment, seen the bruises, the scars… KNEW what their father was, they still did not accept their own mother’s justification for protecting herself from further abuse by any means available to her. This put pressure on Tess… hurt her terribly. Anyone that knows her knows that she does not lie. Ever. If anyone should know this it should be the sons who lived with and witnessed the abuse. Still, they took umbrage to their sperm donor being arrested. I was beyond frustrated. And angry. I sent messages to the son she lived with indicting him for not being a man and protecting his mother. I am never shy about giving my opinion, especially when it comes to women being abused. Eventually her son blocked me, but I think I planted a seed of doubt in his mind because he would turn around and do something to help his mom after I chastised him. I have no idea how this will affect our relationship in the future after his mom and I are married, but, in my view, I said things that needed to be said and I regret nothing. Tess is too self-effacing to adequately get across the outrageousness of her treatment. I loved that woman so much I wanted to protect her from everything… and it frustrated me to be so far away with my hands tied.

The arrest was short-lived. He gave his sob story and professed mental illness and was released with the proviso that he would seek counselling. That was a farce. The situation progressed to a court hearing, at which time he got a mere hand-slap and a restraining order ostensibly keeping him away from her… which he violated with impunity. Neither the cops nor the courts did anything, so Tess was back to being subjected to his abuse and threats of violence. I came to learn that the cops in the small community she lived in were worthless in domestic situations and the courts were no better. Women facing domestic abuse is a problem all over the world, granted, but in the US at least there is a recognition now in MOST communities and women can get the help they need to keep their abusers away. But Tess… the love of my life… was relegated to fighting the world alone. I was there on the phone, certainly, but what could I do if he were to ambush her in some isolated area? My anger boiled and my mindset was hellbent on killing the sonofabitch which caused concern for Tess, Tess’s daughter, my family, my therapist. All were terrified that I was going to go over to the UK and end up in prison for murdering this bully.

Tess and I had long discussions… debates, really… about our differing views on taking care of bullies. I advocate making them suffer the same pain they so freely inflict on others. Tess is more humane and possesses the compassion of a saint. Ultimately, I vowed to her that I would never physically touch him because I never want to look into her eyes and see disappointment in me. Right now they are endless pools of love and I do not want to ever do anything to change that. In addition, my therapist and my cousin extracted a promise from me that I would not assault him VERBALLY. Now the women in my life have tied my hands, so I must let myself be mollified just knowing that I am the better man and that he would most likely run off and hide if I merely took a step toward him. I also have a ace in my pocket; no one has mentioned that I cannot have my CAR physically assault him. I will keep that locked away in case I need it later. LOL

Tess became a walking addict. She told me that, when she was younger, she would walk as therapy whenever anything bothered her. We all have our go-to’s to ward off the effects of depression and anxiety. Hers was to walk miles upon miles. Mine is the eat semi-truckloads of pizza. So… she took up walking again. She would walk MILES every day. One week she logged about 85 miles. I got tired just hearing her tell me about it. The downside was that she often would walk to a park a few miles from the small town she lived in and other out of the way place where there was no cell phone service. This scared the hell out of me. Being connected when she was out was the only thing that kept me sane. Without that connection I always imagined the worst-case scenarios which always involved the ex and violence. Once I contacted the police and they patiently informed me that the area she was in that day was notorious for poor service. I think they were amused. I, however, was on the precipice of a nervous breakdown.

Tess’s walking regimen was having great positive effect on her physical fitness and her health, both mental and physical. Our love grew, she was getting fitter than she had been in a while. There were rays of hope poking through the clouds of her existence… and the end of her life of misery seemed to be getting nearer to our grasp. My love was growing and our relationship was progressing exponentially. Happiness seemed just around the corner.

To be continued…

Tonight isn’t about another chapter in my story of myself and Jess. Tonight is about this wonderful man I fell deeply in love with and can’t be with. My heart, yes, is still beating but with each beat, with each breath, I feel this awful pain, this tearing of heart. You see, right this minute I should be sat watching some soppy film on TV, curled up on the sofa, our dog curled in my legs, fleece blankets, a glass of wine and kisses… glorious soft warm kisses shared between us. Instead I’m sat looking at my phone, looking into his eyes, those gorgeous brown eyes that make me go weak. (sigh) See, a week ago I flew to be with the man of my dreams. Because of an error on my passport, not one of either of our making, I was turned back at border control. As I say it was nothing I could do… nothing I did wrong… and for that reason I’m not with my love. This pain is very real. I’ve fought tears back all day from the cruelty of this. We have been through so much to get together and yet still fate twists the knife in my heart some more.

I will never give up on us because we both feel our love is strong, unique and very beautiful. So, yes, as I lay on my lonely bed wanting more than anything to be held in the arms of the man I love, when you see your loved ones hold them tight because right now there’s this huge hole in my chest, this uncontrollable pain I feel for want of my man. If you hear a sound of something breaking it’s just my heart. I love you Jess xx

February came. It was still cold and dreary. I had lost over 50 lbs on my exercise and diet regime. I felt 100% better in myself, more confident, went to adult education classes in math (I hate math BTW), English… yeah, I know, I know, I could do with more of those… and Italian. I also took much better care of my appearance. (Before I’d lived in jogging bottoms, t-shirts. See, I’m a tomboy!) Pretty clothes are lost on me. I would be fidgeting and pulling at them in no time. Hate dresses and skirts with a passion. You will no sooner see me in a dress than Jess. Hang on… in fact I’ve seen Jess in a dress. He doesn’t look half bad LOL. Better than I would, put it that way. So, I digress. I do this a lot folks. Dresses are still off… devils work… but the strangest thing happened around this time. Lace happened! Don’t ask why or how. I’ve no idea, although Jess has his theory on this. Yes, folks, under my jeans and not so baggy shirts I bought girly lace things. No one could be more shocked when I bought my first lacy, dare I say pretty, bra. I keep saying this but, if you knew me, you would know this is totally out of character. From there it was all downhill LOL.

I bought loads of lacy undies. What was this? I had no one to wear them for. No one saw them, but by then I was changing daily. I bought new clothes. Okay, still not girly but definitely more within keeping. I loved my classes, even started walking back from them. This was some undertaking for someone this seriously agoraphobic. It scared the hell out of me in the beginning.

The first day was high winds and driving rain. I was already breathless from anxiety, and the wind blowing in my face didn’t help. Weekly the places I could manage grew. I expanded my territory. Jess told me he was proud of me. I’d text each milestone excitedly. He phoned once a week at least. Jess sent a beautiful bunch of long stem red roses to me. This caused no end of trouble, but I cherished them, still have two pressed. I lived to hear his voice.

As February drifted into a bitter cold March I started taking Briar out for nighttime walks, another huge hurdle for me. I hated going out at night. I’d been attacked when I was sixteen. I never left after dark but here I was with tiny Briar. She’s a poodle X Patterdale, smaller than a Jack Russell Terrier in stature, frightened of her own shadow, me much the same… both out jumping at any sudden sound or movement. Areas of my round pitch black with no streetlamps. So, what did I do?… put on earphones with music on, of course. Okay, not sensible, but I found it a comfort. I trusted wee Briar’s hearing totally. I would text Jess and my fellow admin as I covered each new milestone. They joined in my excitement. They understood my fears. Soon I was walking to the local Tesco, no million miles away but far enough for this beginner.

I began to enjoy my 10pm strolls; frost underfoot, full moons, the air felt good in my face… I felt good. I would come home, work out, then lay waiting for the ping of a message from Jess. I then started walking Briar during the morning, each day expanding my route. At the same time my then husband took to following me everywhere, timing how long I was out, becoming aggressive, huge long tirades of where was I going. He followed me! He should know, for goodness sake, if anyone should. It took away my excitement of my gains, as these hateful in my face shouting matches became more extensive and more often, sometimes for hours. I became very withdrawn relying heavily on my therapist, Jess and my friends just to help me keep going.

Around this time early one morning I had a very odd text from Jess that would rock my little world again. He said he wouldn’t be in touch for some weeks. My world crashed. I stopped eating. I just curled on my futon under a pile of comfort blankets. I won’t go into how far I shut down, but it was as low as you can get. I had totally given up on life. If it wasn’t for a friend sitting with me all that Saturday I don’t know I’d be writing this now. Jess was and is my life. I took each breath, each heartbeat for him. Gradually, with support, I started the slow path to recovery. I hurt. I cried daily. I still lost weight but I plodded on.

One bitter cold day I left a message for Jess as I still did. I said ‘okay, if I couldn’t have him it was time I left this man who controlled my every move and found someone who wanted me, for me’… never expecting an answer. Then ping ‘if your going to find someone be careful for both our sakes‘. I knew then he still cared. Maybe not love, but he cared. As he signed off it was ‘talk soon, love you‘. I thought what the foof… what was going on here. I walked more in a daze that only those in love will understand. One night I asked my son could I stay the night at his flat. He agreed to give me a break as his dad had got steadily worse to the point each night I spent all night bombarded with questions. He would try touching me. So this little break away was brilliant. I lay all night texting Jess. He rang me, too. I was still very much in love, in fact, more so. I arranged for more nights at my son’s, more nights spent chatting. It was wonderful. Just before my birthday Jess said ‘you know you are eventually coming over for a week… why not make that two… hell, a month, three! Move in with me. I love you‘.

Whattttttttttt?????????????

To be continued

Jesse’s Perspective

February, that most dreary  of months. Except for Valentines Day, which I dearly love. Tess was working on a self-improvement regimen that resulted in her sounding more confident, more full of an inner strength she never realized she had. I was so proud of her with all the progress she was making. Since I met her she always proclaimed that she was not really a woman at all. Her reasoning was that she did not like all the frilly, girly things. I kept trying to convince her that those things are not what made a woman. In my view, she was every bit the woman I wanted… much more than I ever imagined loving me. When she started displaying a propensity for wearing lacy things I was a bit surprised but not shocked by any means. I had gotten the impression throughout our nascent relationship that the woman she had kept hidden and buried inside was coming out. Having never been loved and cared for before I believe that her finding a man that simply adored her awakened that inner woman. She was losing weight, becoming more fit and feeling 100% better about herself. My love for her was growing exponentially.

The classes she was taking were opening her mind to a brighter tomorrow. She was LEARNING! Getting feedback on things that interested her. And she was kicking agoraphobia to the curb. She started out tentatively enough but, as time went on, she was becoming more confident… blossoming before our eyes; mine and the plethora of friends she had following her progress on Facebook. I was more proud of her accomplishments every day.

Tess and I began speaking on the phone steadily… usually several times a week. I found her voice soothing… melodious… SEXY! I loved hearing her talk. Those conversations became the highlight of my week, even though it was hard to hear her sometimes because of the sound the wind made in her microphone. For Valentines Day I sent her flowers. Turns out she had never had that before.

Time passed and Tess made a habit of taking her dog for walks. For anyone who has experienced agoraphobia you know what a monumental accomplishment this was. She would venture out at night, though frightened of the dark, and would post on Facebook each milestone. ‘Made it to the second lamp post. Yay!’ ‘Went round the next block. Yay!’ We all cheered her on. She continually made me proud of her as if I had accomplished these things myself.

She had a therapist in whom she confided and found safe haven discussing the hell she was living through. She turned to the support group we belonged to online for support as well. She would tell me later in our relationship that I also provided an impetus to keep trudging on. She was stuck in a house where she took to barricading herself downstairs behind a blocked door and sleeping on a futon so that she would not have to share space upstairs which she found intolerable. I pitied her plight and found my love and affinity for protecting someone I love growing leaps and bounds with each passing day. 

Given that growing adoration, I became frightened of where we were headed. Tess had been giving mixed signals as to a possible future together. On one hand she indicated a desire to be with me. On the other she had three adult children in the UK that her relocating to the US would require leaving behind. I keep thinking how, early on in our relationship, she had been adamant that she would never marry again… would never be with another man again. Marriage was something I most definitely wanted. About this time I had some business obligations that were going to require my attention for a while. I thought it best for us to step away from each other for a short period, so I told her as much. I would not learn until much later that this devastated her, tore her apart and made her physically sick. I am not quick to pick up on the attentions of the opposite sex and I was totally clueless as to how much I meant to her… how much she loved me. I knew she said it… I knew she showed it… but I had heard the words before, all hollow and without substance. I thought separation was best for her and me.

What I discovered was that I could not get her off my mind. I kept thinking how good she made me feel and what a living hell she was subjected to daily. I contacted her and let her know that if she was going to go out and find someone else to have a relationship with I wanted her to be careful… for her own benefit and well-being and also for my own peace of mind. I somehow did not believe we would never cross paths again and I did not want her too broken from another bad relationship for that eventuality to happen. She began stopping over at her son’s to escape the abuse and we took up texting and speaking on the phone again. She was planning on coming to America to visit an online lady friend once her passport was sorted. I began thinking that it would be nice if we could also spend time together during that adventure. I deeply cared for this woman and the prospect of never meeting her and sharing a visit with her was not one I was ready to accept. I thought she could spend time in the US relaxing. My thinking was that she could stay in my home as I had a bedroom I would give her while I slept on the sofa in my living room. As things eventually turned out, that was a very naive plan on my part, but that was my intention. I contacted her and made the offer. I had to tag on ‘I love you’ because I could not dismiss that I did. I had no idea when I sent this message where her head was at, all I knew is that I wanted to see her, to be with her, to see if we got on in real life as well as we got on chatting online.

So I sent the text to her and eagerly awaited her response… holding my breath. I honestly did not think she would take me up on my offer. However, I began fantasizing our time together if she did. I could not wait to hear her answer.

To be continued….