Monologue. What is the literal translation? One tongue? One Voice? Something like that.

At first you said you liked my voice. You liked listening to my posh accent, you said. At first you said you liked it when I used long words. It accentuated your feelings for me. Of course you didn’t say accentuated really. Far too many syllables for you.

I remember that day in the car when you said that you didn’t actually listen to what I said, you just listened to the sound of my voice.

I should have grabbed the handbrake, leapt out of the car, thumbed a lift with a stranger, and sped away as far as possible from the journey you were already planning for me. Already taking me on. Me, the unwitting passenger. You, the dodgy driver with two sat navs – one to convince me that we were going in the direction I wanted, the other hidden – along with your agenda.

I was out tonight with friends, and one of them talked about lying, and about how much it upsets her. Well I don’t like liars either, yet I lived with you, I lived with you and your lies for far too long. And I am not exaggerating when I say that it damn near killed me.

But I’m still here. I survived. And I’m learning. I’m learning how to pick my way through all your lies and damn lies until I get to the hallowed ground, until I get to where I want to be, which is the truth at the end of the tunnel.