I think I have always known. In the back of my mind the thought had probably always existed. I just refused to acknowledge it.

I didn't realise how difficult it would be. I understand deception - lies to be a beautiful thing now. People never appreciate a lie, they always claim they want the truth, why? Truth isn't always a good thing. It's harmful, it destroys people. I know I sound confused but I'm not. I can almost hear the words of others. "Honesty is the best policy" " Lies tear us apart." how wrong those words are, even now they are leaving a bitter acid trail in my mind.

I was happy in my lie, we both were. I lived for that lie. I lived for him. The truth isn't so easy to live for. I feel sick every time I think about it. Anger swells within me, the hurt, guilt, fear and self disgust chase each other round my head every day; each emotion rearing its ugly head like a creature from the deep, dragging me to murky depths to drown in a sea of my own sorrow and self pity.

Sometimes I want to scream but when I open my mouth there is only silence - nothing but the emptiness that has declared itself within my heart. I can't even remember the last time I cried, I can't really remember much now, all my days blur together into a haze of drink and pills, then more drink and even more pills. The only thing my mind can really recall now is the pain, the knowledge of what he has done.

I wonder if he cares. He claims he does, he claims he loves me more than life itself. Once those words were all it would have taken to make me happy, now when I hear him say them I want to rip out his tongue. If he loved me, why would he do this? this can't be love. Surely all he must feel for me is hate to continue to put me through this suffering.

There is only really one thing I want to hear him say, one answer I crave but he refuses to give me. 'Why?' I got up the courage to ask him once. He didn't answer me. He merely stared with blank eyes. Cold, empty eyes that seemed entirely devoid of life, that had me shivering and wondering just what thoughts were passing beneath that glassy stare.

I never let those wanderings settle. There are places I cannot allow my mind to drift, thoughts I cannot readily accept. I crush these thoughts down whenever they try to surface. It is the only choice I have left, what else can I do? Of course there is another possibility, another choice but I cannot stand the idea of it.

It would be too much, the ending of me, the ending of us. I don't just need him, I crave him. He is my addiction, my drug and ultimately the utter bane of my existence. I cannot stop the feelings I have for him, I have tried but it is useless. He holds all power over me, he is like oxygen. The very reason I breathe. Even so I cannot forget, my conscience wouldn't allow it.

Does he have a conscience? all evidence points to the contrary. He told me he had to confess to me because he couldn't bare to lie to me any longer, because he loved me too much. Love? this seems more like a punishment for some unknown sin. How could he honestly have thought I would be happier, better off knowing?

I admit there was some morbid part of me that wanted to know more, but I couldn't bring myself to ask. I keep praying the day he confessed will wither into the ghost of a repressed memory, that once again I would be wrapped in the sweet bliss of ignorance and innocent love. That we could go back to being that couple that was so happy, so perfect.

So I smother the bad thoughts when I see him, I push them to hidden places. How else would I be able to endure his touch? When he reaches for me I cannot help but recoil, but then he pulls me close and the touch of his skin against mine makes me shiver with anticipation and apprehension. He takes my face in his hands and his lips dance across mine, the sweet rhythm obliterating the darkness within. We are together the way we should be, and the alcohol, his hands on my body push me to a place where those thoughts cannot hurt me and all that remains is he and I and the heated passion and alcohol flowing through our veins.

No doubts, tears, hurt, anger, no betrayal and the worst of them all the guilt.

Others would choose to judge me, call me weak but I have tried, to stop him. At night I always bring him vodka, or something strong to hide the taste of all the pills I crush into his drink. We drink every night now, in fact all I seem to do these days is drink, it makes my life so much easier and if he's been drinking he won't wonder why he couldn't get up in the night. All this I do in order to avoid the emotional backlash of waking up alone.

It's killing me all this drink, all these pills, this life, all his secrets. I can barely stand it. I'm only just clinging on, my fingers scrabbling on the edge of sanity and with each day that passes I can feel myself slipping. I don't want to think about what will happen when I fall.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the one to blame in all this. That if he was happier at home, with me, maybe he wouldn't need to sneak out in the middle of the night.

He told me that there have been six of them. Six women. He tried to tell me more but I could not stand to listen. I marvel at myself now, at what I have become. I stare into my mirror and try in vain to find that girl. That girl that was so happy, that had a whole future ahead of her, a whole life plan. Where is she? Why did I let him ruin her?

I can scarcely recognise my reflection now. Is that really me? Is this the kind of woman I am? I still don't understand how all this could have happened, how this whole mess could have become my fate. At times it's so surreal I wonder if I'm not just trapped in some horrific nightmare. I know the solution though, or at least part of it. It's common sense, one I would not have hesitated at previously but I didn't know him then. I wasn't captured by the unyielding hands of love, encased in a tight grip, unwilling and unable to break free.

I have to accept that this is my life now, enamoured with a man who claims he loves me yet rips me apart every time he leaves the house. He claims he loves me yet despite all my pleas and begging has not made me the one promise I've wanted to hear since we made our vows.

I cannot undo the past, I made this vow, as his wife. For better or worse. He is and will forever be my husband. My one true love. No matter how much I wish things were different, it will not change the fact that this is my life now. Sometimes I am filled with such dread that I can barely even function. It gets so bad that at times I find myself fantasising about ending it all, about taking those last pills and drifting away into oblivion. There are times when I even think I will take him with me, where we can spiral into darkness together. Before the police can snatch him from me and drag us both away.

Six women he has killed. Six. And everyday I find myself wishing that I was seventh.