I spent six years of my life, thinking I was dreaming. That everything that had happened was just a nightmare or a bad joke. No matter how unbearable that my life had become. Neither the times I woke up in the arms of men that didn’t loved me or respected. Never mind that these men disappoint me. Nor did it matter that my bank account was always about to break. None of that mattered, because it was the fruit of a nightmare. And as we all know when the sun rises and the sun comes up the nightmares go away and reality is present. Some friends, even working  advisers , and  psychologists  I’ve known throughout this time advised me to leave Madrid.
I remember the last conversation I had with a lovely job counselor. She  said to me , “You’re still young, in Spain there is no work and your business sector suffered a drop in wages. Already have no husband, no home ownership, you have nothing to bind you to this city. I don’t understand why you do not return to England. as I listened carefully, I wanted to mourn.

But none of that mattered because I was dreaming. Soon I’ll wake up next to my husband. Watching their eternal blue eyes, which were my windows to heaven. Fondly remember saying in rainy days, when the sky was cloudy. “No matter what the day is overcast, I have sky at home. Yeah for me, always was good weather, the days were always sunny because through his eyes my life was complete.
Didn’t understand why other people could not understand that they were inside my nightmare. It was they who were wrong, because they believed they were awake. Sooner or later, they would know they were characters in my dream.
Then it happened, I went on holiday to Ibiza. When I returned I had a new depressive episode. But again I returned to work, was making up again. But, why I did not feel happy? I loved makeup. Every time I held a brush I felt like mourn. I had awakened and  I was broken.
All this time, had been hitting the breaks that came out. And finally the glue had come off and I had broken completely. I could feel the pain all over my body and this time I was aware that the pain was mine.
This time I cried like I had never done before, I was aware of my tears. And with them the reality hit me hard, a reality that was as painful as the same loss that I had suffered.
He had died, and I had spent six years of my life lost in a dream. Loving without loving, living without life, crying without feeling the tears , laughing without hearing the laughter. I had been dead or asleep not matter. My hair was covered with gray and my youth had passed.  I had spent six years as a ghost. I panicked, I had to leave Madrid and I had nothing to lose, no walls to stick. Only the horrible reality of a dead husband and a list of men who  I had never loved and  never had loved me.
I wanted to kill myself, I wanted to escape my own body. I could not glue the pieces of my soul again, and did not want to live like a ghost.


I had to make a decision.
Travel seemed the best solution. Travel had saved my life once. Maybe this time also gave me a new chance to start over. I had nothing to lose, I was broken. I felt like a newly hatched chick, scared, not knowing what was before my eyes. I’m sure more than a chick, will like  to go back into the shell. If I knew what was coming. But we all know that’s impossible.
So I decided to collect all my pieces put them in my backpack. I realize that I can not paste them again, but  they will serve to remind me that I’m awake and help me not sleep again.

I lost six years of my life.  I was not going to lose any more.


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