How prosaic everything is, you say. I will confirm your words. It’s trite when people cheat, but we’re still shocked every time: “He seemed like such a good person.”

So yes, I expected something like this all the time.

And finally, when I relaxed in my twenties after three years of seclusion, and began the first serious relationship in my life (it lasted about two months), he left me.

And later he admitted that he had cheated.

This man drank every day, drove drunk, threw hysterics about sex, even proposed marriage to me. And in the end he left with the words: “You were too nagging at me.”

As a religious fanatic, I tried to make a man out of Dima, criticized and nagged him so that he would change, manipulated sex so that he would change.

And in the end she got hit in the back.

Do you know what's terrible? I wasn’t upset that this fallen little man slept with someone else, I sprinkled ashes on my head for my nagging.

I sincerely believed that I should return him and slow down. That since he wanted to get married, then he is the one and I need to change myself, become more loyal to his shortcomings, more patient, forgive and start all over again.

Of course, you already know the sequel. You can guess that I started drinking with him, going to nightclubs, skipping school, and generally becoming more cynical than I was.

Girls, if you tried to imitate your imperfect man only on the assumption that he was the one, then let the world cry, because this is the greatest stupidity of the weak half of humanity.

So what could I do then.

First, do not start a relationship with an alcoholic at all. In Russia, despite the supposed genetic predisposition, there are still men who do not abuse alcohol.

Secondly, I could recognize his psychoticism even in his first hysteria and drive it away.

Thirdly, after he stopped picking up the phone and calling himself, it was worth leaving everything de facto. It was worth completely immersing yourself in studying, and maybe even working part-time, so that there was no time left for stupid thoughts.

Every evening I returned from university to a rented apartment, where my neighbor regularly worked or slept after a night out, and cried in the bathroom.

I hardly ate, I got hooked on “The Sims” (this is a computer game), and if my friend could stay with me for a little while, I occupied her ears and made her depressed.

It was a difficult period, I took Corvalol twice in order to somehow fall asleep. Thank God, I clearly understood the harm of antidepressants and psychiatrists and did not go for “help.”

Zhanna, that same neighbor, had been on antidepressants years earlier because of her boyfriend’s infidelity. What did it cost her? There was barely life… She tried to commit suicide one night while on medication.

Yes, you heard right. Not before or after taking them, but during. Before the intervention of psychotherapists, Zhanna simply suffered and cried, her threats of suicide were just words, which alarmed her parents.

But after a week of taking psychotropic drugs, Zhanna got up at night while the “convoy” was sleeping and went to commit suicide.

Her parents woke up in time and stopped her. This was followed by a difficult period of rehabilitation with withdrawal symptoms, but she coped with it and stopped taking the terrible drugs.

I, taught by her experience, clearly defined my life: “I will never take any drugs to treat mental pain.”

Corvalol was the only weak drug that I wanted to use as therapy.

But in the end it wasn’t he who helped, but you know what?