Anniversary

1 May.

It seemed like a good idea come up with young, communist lovers - get married on May Day. So we did - 3 years ago.

Now it is an impossible date to forget, and unfortunately, none of the memories are good. The wedding day was fine, but that night we all got drunk, my brother and father almost ended up in a punch-up, my new husband and I almost ended up in a punch-up. Instead we had a screaming row when we got home and I slept on the couch. We woke up in the morning trying to pretend it didn't happen and putting it down to too much booze.

Our family time together with his mother and grand-dad and my mother and brother was slightly downed by not only the hangovers, but also the fact that we learned that his brother had tried to commit suicide the night before and was now admitted to the psychiatric ward of the Doncaster Royal Infirmary. They were trying to keep it secret from his grand-dad. Nonetheless, in attempt to act normal, we had a pub lunch, walked along the Thames, and went to the London Dungeon (which was not as good as the York Dungeon I might add).

That was 1 & 2 May three years ago.

Two years ago our anniversary was only a few weeks after the first time he took coke, blacked out, and we did end up in a knock down, drag out fight. It was the first time he had ever hit me. He broke the door off the washing machine, and said the most awful and abusive things to me. I left the flat and wandered around Archway at 3am trying to find an open cafe that I could stay in. Eventually I went home and he was passed out. I slept on the couch and left before he woke up. He didn't remember a thing in the morning.

I slipped into a deep depression, crying at random, but unable to tell my family what happened. We took a weekend away for our anniversary to try to release the stress. On 30 April we had another awful fight, no violence this time, but shouting about breaking up. Again, alcohol fueled. In the morning, our first anniversary, he tried to pretend it didn't happen, or what happened didn't mean anything. I couldn't and was miserable and teary all day and until our return to London.

By our second anniversary, we had split up and I was living elsewhere.

Now its number three and we have been split up for a year and a half. I worry (a bit pathetically) that I won't be able to have a meaningful relationship again. I worry that I won't be able to trust another person or indeed myself in a relationship. Then again, I know this is foolish, as I am only 25.