It is almost 7 months since I split up with my husband.

Today we both had to go to court to sort out child arrangements and it has left me deep in thought and tears.

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I am sorry to pour this all here, but at the moment its really sad to say, but I have no-one to share it with here in reality.

I was ok until he turned around in court and said sorry for the way he treated me. I managed a "thank you "and the floodgates opened.

I have to hold it together best I can for another couple of hours before the girls get to bed, I have to keep pushing the tears back and my head is throbbing.

14 years I let someone into my life who was an alcoholic and a chronic liar it turned out. And it didn't bring out the best in me either.

For years he disappeared out on random whole nights doing his duty to save the country from terrorists.

He was my hero.

But what was he doing really?

He didn't get paid for it, get recognized for it or tell anyone but me about it.

He'd come back in varying degrees of sobriety or practically collapsing from some drug that his "people" had made him take so he couldn't remember, or to tell him that his life was in danger if he stopped helping him.

Why did I believe it, without question?

I'd hear tales about how he'd watch certain people his "people" suspected of being terrorists, even the owner of a restaurant owner minutes from our home was under suspicion, how he had to defend himself against a series of six people who tried to kill him, how he crapped his pants, when he diffused a bomb on train, that turned out to be a dud.

I could write a book, he could write a book.

Despite the last 7 years being a hard, hard road.

I'm not all innocence and light I had an affair 7 years ago, and I felt I owed to him to try to make things work, well that and he said he would kill the man I had an affair with and I believed him at the time.

The affair lasted 6 months, mainly via text message and phone calls.

I was on a business trip in Germany and got very drunk one night and didn't remember a thing, so the next night I thought if I have done something that wrong already, I may as well remember it and the rest as they say is history.

So I let him call me bitch, whore whatever for the next year or so while he got over it and didn't go out, didn't do anything without him, left my job (he was a work colleague). Pretty much did everything he asked of me, without question to show him I was sorry.

A year passed and he promised that would be the end of it. That was a promise never kept.

Every argument would inevitably end in bringing up what I did.

When my first child came along (only agreed because of above promise), it didn't stop.

In fact, I think I was two weeks pregnant when I ran out of the house and into the park, with a knife with the sole intention of using it on myself, because his "people" had somehow got access to the texts that I had sent and he had read them and found them disgusting.

Even when we found out I was pregnant it didn't stop.

He'd still regularly shout. And at some point he actually slapped me so hard around the face he gave me a back eye, but I thought I deserved it and that I'm glad to say was an isolated incident.

He'd still get right up to my face and shout right in it if I didn't give him an answer he wanted to hear, or emotionally blackmail me into stuff - if you really loved me, you'd do this.

Despite of this, our second daughter came along, not quite as planned as the first and in nicer circumstances at the time I seem to recall.

I thought we'd managed to hide most of our angst away from the children, but on occasion our arguments woke them and caused the neighbours to complain. Officially looking back now the atmosphere was obviously rife with bitterness and walking on egg shells and our arguments were obviously having an impact on the children.

My husband was not your average shouter.

His eyes would go as cold as ice and not just snipes, but full on angst and intimidation, in your face unless you agree with me type of stuff. It was frightening.

At some point I garnered the courage to argue back, instead of taking it lying down.

He didn't like that. I'd changed.

Social services became involved.

Long story short, my rose tinted glasses were still on and we tried to tell social services everyone argued sometimes.

We attended courses and everything else they asked us to do, but the idea of what I (and the kids) was going through was not normal was planted.

He wasn't beating me or physically abusive, but emotionally he was draining me and the children.

He attempted suicide in 2015, after I disclosed to social services some of how he'd been treating me when he was unable to attend a meeting.

We separated for a couple of months as a result of this action, but he begged me to try again, that he'd never drink again and this time he'd try really hard to be the best husband and father.

I still had those glasses on.

Six months down the line, he started drinking again.

He didn't help much with the children as he has a damaged nerve sack and some days he can't get out of bed, but other days he'd be walking around without a care in the world, especially if his 'people' called him, he'd make a miraculous recovery and be out all night. Usually on days before we have a family day planned, so it would just end up me and the kids.

I would spend hours hoping this will be the day I get a bit of a break and he'd do something with them. Occasionally it would happen, but it was more the exception, rather than reality.

So I was always exhausted and then I'd get told there was no way I could love him as I didn't want to shag him and that a there was a huge chasm between us, even though he was lying right next to me. One day, I thought I might just agree with you.

My eldest would like to dance and the vibrations would really wind him up and he'd shout at her to stop.

She needs to dance, else she is a nightmare!

Despite all this, I think I came to the unhappiest point in my life the end of last year, when I realized that all of this wasn't normal, it wasn't all in my head as I'd kept being told and I needed to do something about it.

January came about and I reached the end of my tether and I told my husband I didn't want to be with him anymore. I stuck to my resolve for about 3 days of pleading and how could you do this to me, until he got to the kids and asked them to ask me if he could stay and I couldn't resist an hour of them crying and asking me please.

I gave him to April to sort himself out.

Two weeks later, Hazel told the school he had thrown her on the sofa too hard.

He maintains to this day it was done in a playful manner, but when I came back from school and told him what had been said, he started calling my five year old daughter every name under the sun and then proceeded to blame her for our break up, which she still blames herself for.

He might of got away with calling me names over the years, but no way was I going to let him do that to our five year old daughter.

I asked him to leave.

He is now homeless, for which I will feel guilty for, but I know I shouldn't.

I can see the good in people, even if its not at the forefront. I always could see it in him, I tried to encourage it out, I could not but it came at a cost that almost destroyed me.

How do you turn them rose tinted glasses off?

I want to help the world, but I don't want to do it alone.

I'm down, but not out.