When I was 25 I was convinced my best days were over. I had made too many bad choices, dated the wrong guy just one too many times.

If I’m making it sound funny then that’s because the reality was excruciating. Betrayal and abuse can destroy the human soul like little else. And the worst part: I had no one else to blame. I had given away my trust cheaply. My heart was beyond mending. And I cried. For many long nights. Day after day, year after year. I’m convinced that it’s possible to die from a broken heart.

But I didn’t. I’m still here. My heart is not the same, but it learned to love again. Last year I got married. To an honest man. We’ve just had our first baby. We called it Phaedis.


I used to visit my mother at her work. She would let me use the office computer. When she died I spent the subsequent years in my bedroom, in front of the computer. It was my way of trying to stay connected with her.

We became best friends, the computer and I. To the outside everything was fine, but on the inside I was numb. There was no point to let people in if they had to leave at some point anyway. Who would have thought that Mr. Computer would one day save the day. All those lonely hours had made me become quite good at my craft and when I was 19 I was offered a job in Berlin, doing what I loved.

Disconnecting from the place where she died allowed me to let people in again. Today, I’m not numb anymore. I’m not afraid to let people in.