So I took the only route I could. I started to tell them, one at a time, what had happened and was surprised by their reactions. No-one judged me harshly. I was only back at work for three hours a day, which allowed me time each day to try to get myself back together. And it gave me the chance to start writing this book.
This book, which was originally just a means of getting it all out and maybe filling in the gaps in my memory. As the days passed though, and the words came pouring out, something different became to take shape in my head. Was there a chance that my story could be published? And if it was, could there be the possibility that someone would pick it up, read it and see something of themselves in it?
Maybe, just maybe, I could help someone else who had reached that point where they could no longer keep fighting what seems to be inevitable. Could it maybe help someone suffering the way I had been – give them the strength to confront their demons and win?
Then, of course, more doubts set in. How could I try to get my story published when so many people around me were unaware of the true me? How would they react to discovering that I had been portraying myself as something that I wasn’t? And how could I put my story out there if there was the remotest chance that it would hurt my Aunt and Uncle who had always been so good to me?
My best friend helped me a lot with this dilemma. She never told me what to do, nor did she try to influence my choices. But she was always a sane and caring voice at the end of the phone. And I knew that I could trust her. Maybe because I knew that she had nothing to gain by betraying me. Or maybe because in my time of need she dropped everything and came straight to my side to support me.
She helped me to come to the realisation that I should not be the one worrying about the effects of any revelations on Alex’s family. He was the guilty party, not me. His family should be his concern, not mine.
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