I don’t get depressed much now days – but if I remember my life, I think I was depressed for all of the first bit of it. Firstly, I had a strange upbringing. I had a disastrous first marriage that I stuck in for ten years because, in those days, women in Africa who walked out on their husbands, lost all rights to their children. And both our parents said “You must stay with each other for the sake of the children”.
Believe me – that is bad advice.
All you get, then, are miserable children as well.
Having said that, I am really pro marriage – that is, some agreement between two people that they will look out for each other physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually. That contract could be a marriage or a civil partnership or a domestic partnership – even a business partnership.
But commitment is the thing.
Mr Furlong has been my husband, now, for more than half my life. I’m really used to him. I like him. I respect him. He has been my very best friend. He (mostly) looks out for me. I (mostly) look out for him. We do things together. We committed to that – together. We look after each other – together.
There is nothing to be depressed about now that we are back from our hols.
We have returned to our same old lifestyle.
We are the same pains-in-the-arses and stick-in-the-muds, and sometimes-squabblers we have always been. What’s there to be depressed about? I’m just grateful we made it back home!