Life Changing Times

A sentence I have been saying for nearly 30 years.

I had a book deal once, to write my story after working in Mostar, Bosnia and Hercegovina during the war. My wonderful, wonderful supporter and therapist introduced me to a ghostwriter, Dave, who had just written a successful book about a brothel – so much there to unpick I wouldn’t even know where to begin….

He was a successful tabloid journalist, married with 4 children and a big personality. I was a deeply traumatised, literally shell shocked, mess; but one that was still deeply passionate about what I had witnessed and I wanted the world to know what had gone on. Oh yes, I was also married at the time. To Gringo, from Mostar and with who I’d fallen head over heels in love with during my time there. Marriage was more for legal reasons, but the love was real. As was his trauma and recovery from drug addiction, and his utter and complete devastation at having to leave his country; the country that had fallen apart, that he had fought for, whose same army tried to destroy him and turned on its own people.

Back to the book. Dave and I met a number of times, I told parts of my story, shared some of the copious writing I did when I was there. He listened, recorded, listened some more, and argued with me about my story having to the be the focus of the book – I raged back at him that it was not about me, it was never about me, it was about the people who didn’t have a voice.

Gringo and I decided to break up and we had a celebratory dinner the same day. We loved each other deeply, but the circumstances were not right for either of us, the damage too deep and we would destroy each other if we tried to stay together. So we celebrated our friendship, one I still hold dear to this day.

A week later, Dave and I were out, I was about to type ‘in a field somewhere’ but I think I may have got my life muddled up with the Cadbury’s flake woman (you need to be old to get that) and more likely we were in a cafe or perhaps a park. He declared undying love to me, said he would leave his marriage, co-parent his children and that he wanted to be with only me. I vividly remember looking at him and saying ‘ok’. Just that. I truly had no capacity to take on what he was saying, my emotions were very, very far away and I believe that had he said at that point ‘lets jump off a cliff’ I would have responded in the same way.

And soon after we were living together. In a house that I seem to have bought, or perhaps we bought it, in fact yes, we had – trauma takes away chunks of time from you, making events seem very surreal and like they are far away when you are right in the middle of them. And that’s how this part of my life was – I was watching it unfold like a play, with very little understanding of what was happening or agency in it all. What I do vividly remember is the children, his four and my one. They were just incredible, all of them, and I know the depth of my love for Hayley, my daughter, and the growing love I felt for his children was a lifeline for me. It meant I could connect, I could feel, and I truly enjoyed and revelled in the time with them.

The book, however, went out of the window. Along with the deal, the goodwill from the publishers and any last vestiges of sanity I may have retained.

This will be shocking news, but things over the two and a bit years we were together unravelled, spectacularly so. Dave had a nervous breakdown. Is that what it’s called now? Did that term ever really make sense – in fact, what exactly is a ‘nervous’ breakdown – makes you think of ladies with smelling salts weeping a lot? He did have some sort of a breakdown and it was messy, emotional, unpredictable and chaotic. Bloody hell was it chaotic. In the middle of it, I discovered I had Hepatitis C right around the time Hepatitis C itself was discovered, and I began a regime of Interferon treatment for 9 months. Tl;dr, Interferon is hell – its like a mild chemotherapy, you inject yourself three time a week, you feel horrendous most of the time and in my case, become clinically depressed. I can’t image why Dave and I didn’t work out.

No really, I will write a book….