Hearts rebuilt from hope resurrect dreams killed by hate. Aberjhani

It was my 50th birthday last week and I travelled to France to celebrate with my family. It had been a long time since I had last seen them as I had become isolated as a result of the ongoing ambient abuse that I was subjected to. It was much easier to be alone than have to answer questions about my relationship.

I was afraid to grow old. You see, he was 20 years younger than me and every day I would look in the mirror and watch the signs of ageing and be worried about our future together. How can he love a woman who is 20 years older than him? His last girlfriend was only 24 years old and despite what he was saying, that he liked older women, it seemed that all the women he was attracted to were much younger than what he claimed. I remember once, I complained that he had spent 4 hours with a client for a 1 hour personal training session at her house and when I questioned him about it, he said: “Why would I be attracted to her? She’s a grandmother?” She was 46 years old!

My birthday was a bittersweet event as he was supposed to be with me. I had bought the tickets for us as he knew that it was an important time in my life and he was trying to make an effort to save our floundering relationship. I was able to change the name on the ticket and travel with one of my friends instead. Well, at least I was able to enjoy my birthday celebration and be myself and share this moment with people who genuinely cared about me. My parents, sisters, nephew, nieces and other friends were delighted to have the old me back.

It wasn’t all plain sailing because I was missing him and hoping he would maybe send me a text to wish me a happy birthday even if we had agreed that it would be best not to stay in contact. I had to fight hard not to get panic attacks and tried my best just to appreciate the moment and erase him from my mind.

Now, I am back in the UK, one year older but with HOPE that in time I will regain my self-confidence, self-esteem and “joie de vivre”. All the things that he stole from me. He nearly succeeded in stealing hope as well, but it is still with me.

One comment

  1. Pascale, well done for writing as you have. When you feel like it, let’s go for a coffee and croissant in Kingston? I’m the same age as Mrs Macron, by the way. She looks like a super chic lady (something for me to aspire to).


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