Things move fast...

So. I have a date by which I need to move out. No job and no flat, but a date by which time I will need to be gone. Such is life. One out of three ain't bad...

It concentrates the mind, this lark. One never feels so absurd as when you are being threatened with a Dyson. I tell you, I've rarely thought so clearly (and doesn't it take on a whole new meaning to the term "domestic abuse"?) I've had things said to me that are vicious to the point of drawing blood - and I've listened and taken it in. And then I've considered the truth in it all.

Yes - I am responsible in part for this relationship breakdown. Yes - I have developed strong feelings for someone else. Yes - I failed to communicate my hopes and fears, my wants and needs to my supposed partner.

But my supposed partner was unresponsive, controlling and jealous. Simple friendship was considered threatening. Speaking to members of my own family was considered threatening. Anything that was beyond her direct control was to be shunned.

Should I stray -maybe speak to an old school friend on the phone, or go to the pub with work colleagues - I would be met with sulking, a complete withdrawal of communication, an icy absence of affection or understanding - until I apologised, promised never to do it again.

Why did I let this happen? At first I was young and naive - I thought that amount of jealousy must mean that I was loved deeply, that I was valued in some way. Then I simply became afraid of the mood swings, the atmospheres that would be created. Then I became lazy, or maybe just accepting - like a strange form of Stockholm Syndrome - I'm not sure.

After that, we both suffered bereavements - the will to work at and change things ebbed and flowed. My strength, her strength ebbed and flowed. Of course there were good times - things we did and saw together; places we went, things we said and meant; the love and support we gave each other when jealousy was kept at bay. But there was always the bad, the dark and ugly lurking too.

She lied too - about flirtations she had with other women, about who she would see and talk to in those times when we argued and ripped each other apart, or what she would get up to when out drinking with her colleagues and friends. If she cannot see the double standard then she is more self-delusional than I thought.

Our relationship -such as it was- was dead a long time ago. The reasons for not letting go sooner swirl around me like a cloud of angry bees. Each moment of my own cowardice stings.

We are both angry now. This is more than I wanted to say. Enough.