When I was married I would fantasize being a widow. Being brought up Roman Catholic divorce was not an option so the only acceptable way for me to be free, in my mind that is, was for him to die. Well he never died.

In fact one of my favorite fantasies was he died of some dread disease and his whole family and I were gathered around the cemetery plot and his mother in typical “Italian mourning” black was wailing and almost throwing herself into the plot. Me - I just stood there not crying or saying a word waiting for the service to be over.

I would play this fantasy over and over in my mind. The fantasy made me happy. I know this sounds gruesome but he was gruesome to me so I am not sorry.

No I don’t think of myself as a horrible person, I think of myself of someone who needed to do whatever she had to do to get through each day when I was married. My fantasies were the one way I felt I could function during the day.

My fantasies were my survival technique.