In my last post I advocated the importance of looking after yourself in order to increase the sense of self-value. Boy did that backfire..
Yesterday I had a panic attack. A mild one but it was enough to give me a good jolt. I couldn’t breath, I felt as if my chest was being crushed under an invisible ton of bricks and I had the overwhelming need to run away. Just run away.. I knew what it was about….
Τhe other day a good friend asked me how I am. She asked with genuine concern which forced me to be more considerate about my answer than the usual “I am well thank you”. But when I paused to think about how I really am, I realised I had no idea.
Today my worst nightmare came true. Somebody who is supposed to be a friend and knows about my husband’s affair suggested that I am a kept woman.
Here I am in Paris, sitting in a sun-drenched apartment (don’t you hate it when the weather doesn’t match your mood?), the same apartment inaugurated by my husband and his mistress “doing” it a few months ago on every surface possible.