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nota: toate pozele acestui articol au fost facute in spirit autoironic, pentru a da o nota mai comica unui articol cu subiect foarte serios… ­čÖé┬á

Exista momente in viata omului cand o imaginatie excesiv de bogata poate dauna grav sanatatii. Nu sunt dese, iar gravitatea „bolii” depinde mult de conjunctura. Imaginati-va ca sunteti o femeie care a nascut recent cel de-al doilea copil, care sta de ceva timp in Germania, dar care nu vorbeste o boaba de germana, care nu are nici un ajutor de la mama sau soacra, acestea fiind la mii de kilometri distanta, care locuieste intr-un pitoresc orasel de provincie, pe care il uraste din tot sufletul, care nu are nici o prietena sau cunostinta cu care sa imparta preocupari comune si al carei sot pleaca la munca dimineata la ora 5 si revine seara dupa ora 22. Mai mult decat atat, spatiul in care isi duce existenta consta intr-un apartament la mansarda unei case, in care toti peretii par ca se prabusesc in cap si in care soarele nu intra decat, cu mare indulgenta, o data la cateva saptamani.
In tot acest context deprimant, ea isi vede sotul pregatindu-se in fiecare dimineata inainte sa iasa din casa, parfumandu-se, aranjandu-si freza cu gel, asortandu-si hainele si lustruindu-si pantofii, pentru ca da… este patron, sef, lider… exact asa cum si-a dorit ea sa fie sotul ei.

Il vede azi, il vede maine… ea, cea cu forme de lauza, nedormita de saptamani, cu hainele patate de lapte si de pudra de talc, cu parul mirosind a mancarica de cartofi si unghii roase pana la os, pana intr-o zi cand intregul „ritual de plecare” capata in mintea-i contatii grotesti. „Daca are pe altcineva?”

O nenorocita de intrebare care a distrus vieti…

Este momentul in care se transforma in detectiv particular

Incepe sa vada peste tot semne cum ca sotul nu ar avea doar o amanta, ci probabil de la 10 in sus… I se pare ca sta prea mult cu telefonul in baie, ca il are mereu dat pe modul silentios, ca-si petrece mult prea multe ore din putinul timp cand este acasa in fata laptopului, ca o pupa si o dragaleste mai putin ca inainte si ca este mai putin interesat de copii. In disperare de cauza, sarmana ajunge sa umble in telefonul sotului, sa-i asculte conversatiile pitita in spatele usilor din casa, sa-i inspecteaze hainele si masina pentru a gasi eventuale fire de par ce nu-i apartin, sa-l urmareasca prin oras, in masura in care poate… avand in vedere faptul ca doi copii sub doi ani depind de ea 24 din 24. Cu alte cuvinte, ajunge sa se injoseasca ca intelect si ca imagine.
Acumuleaza frustrari, incepe sa se neglijeze ca femeie, si patrunde intr-un cerc vicios autodistructiv.

Este momentul cand ar fi cazul sa angajeze un detectiv particular

Da. Ar fi cea mai inteleapta alegere. Un detectiv particular este un profesionist care cu resurse minime poate furniza informatii pentru care femeia cu pricina ar trebui sa alerge ani intregi. Alergatura care i-ar distruge complet sanatatea mintala. Mai mult decat atat, sunt dovezi de netagaduit, tiparite negru pe alb. Nu mai exista nici un echivoc, nici un „si daca totusi…”
Pare un lucru sententios, cu adanci conotatii negative.
Nu este asa. Daca detectivul i-ar infirma toate banuielile, nu ar putea exista pe fata pamantului o bucurie si o eliberare mai mari. Ar fi ca si cand intreaga greutate a lumii i s-ar ridica de pe umeri. In aceeasi masura, daca nenorocirea s-ar confirma… dupa socul si disperarea initiale, s-ar instaura linistea interioara oferita de ganduri de genul: „nu sunt nebuna, stiam eu ca am dreptate, imi voi asculta mereu instinctul, etc”
Credeti-ma, pentru ca eu sunt femeia de care am tot povestit in acest articol ­čÖé , nimic nu s-ar fi comparat cu linistea sufleteasa de a ma sti sanatoasa mintal. Nimic!

Este momentul sa regret ca nu am angajat un detectiv particular

Cand am fost contactata pentru a scrie acest articol, reactia initiala a fost aceea de a refuza. Nu pot incuraja o ocupatie care atenteaza intr-un fel sau altul la dreptul la intimitate al omului. Dar, data fiind propria experienta vis a vis de acest subiect, am decis sa merg inainte. Imi asum in totalitate decizia si o voi sustine in orice conditie. Sunt convinsa ca foarte multe dintre voi v-ati identificat cu femeia prezentata in acest articol. Nu in fiecare zi, nici macar o data pe an… dar o data in viata, cu siguranta!
Din toti rarunchii va sfatuiesc sa nu va transformati in detectivi particulari, ci sa angajati unii! Acum 7 ani lucurile erau mai complicate, aceste servicii nu se gaseau usor. In zilele noastre insa, daca esti din Bucuresti gasesti imediat un detectiv particular Bucuresti… Sau, cauti un detectiv particular Timisoara? Este doar la un click distanta. Un detectiv la timpul lui m-ar fi scutit de un an si ceva de terapie, fapt care ar fi insemnat si o economie intensa din punct de vedere financiar. Damn! ­čśë

Regret din tot sufletul ca nu am apelat la o asemena expertiza atunci cand a trebuit. Toate indoielile in care am trait ani de zile nu au facut decat sa adanceasca o groapa, pana in punctul in care a devenit fara fund. Ulterior am aflat ca 80% din ceea ce vedeam a fost strict rod al imaginatiei mele, dar momentul a venit mult prea tarziu, cand nu s-a mai putut face nimic pentru relatia mea. Nu zic ca omul a fost usa de biserica… ­čśë , dar nici Don Juan de Marco… asa cum eram eu convinsa ca este. Parol! Si destept, si frumos, si cu bani, si familist… si devreme acasa… Prea multe „si-uri” pe o singura pereche de umeri. Nici inaripati sa fi fost… ­čÖé Va pup tare si apasat!

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note: all photos in this article were made in self-ironic spirit, to give a more comic approach to an article with a very serious subject … ­čÖé┬á

There are moments in one’s life when an excessively rich imagination can seriously damage one’s health. They are not frequent, and the severity of the „disease” depends greatly on the situation. Imagine that you are a woman who recently gave birth to her second child, who has spent her latest year in Germany, but who does not speak German at all, who has no help from her mother or mother-in-law, these being┬á thousands of kilometers away, living in a picturesque provincial town, which she hates deeply,┬á who has no friend or acquaintance with whom to share common interests and whose husband goes to work from 5 o’clock in the morning to 22 o’clock in the evening. Moreover, the space in which she lives her miserable life consists of an apartment in the attic of a house, in which all┬á walls seem to collapse in her head and the sun only enters with great indulgence, once a few weeks. In all this depressing context, she sees her husband getting ready every morning before he gets out of the house, perfuming himself, arranging hie hair with gel, assorting his clothes and polishing his shoes, … he is a patron, a boss, a leader … just as she wanted her husband to be.

She sees him today, sees him tomorrow … she, the one with „just given birth body”, sleepless for weeks, with stains of milk and talcum powder all over her clothes, with hair smelling of roasted onions and bitten nails, a day when the whole „ritual of departure” gets into her mind with grotesque meaning. „What if he is cheating on me?”

A fucking question that has destroyed lives …

She turns into a private investigator

She starts seeing everywhere signs that her husband would not just have one mistress, but probably more than 10 … He is sppending too much with his phone in the bathroom,┬á he always has it on silent, spends too many hours in front of a laptop, he kisses and caresses her less than before and he is less interested in their children. In desperation, the poor soul gets into her husband’s phone, listen to his conversations from behind the doors of the house, inspect his clothes and car in order to find hair that does not belong to her, followes him in the city, to the extent that she can … given that two children under two depend on her 24 out of 24. In other words, she decades as intellect and image. She accumulates frustration, starts to neglect herself and enters a vicious self-destructive circle.

Now she should hire a private investigator

Yes. It would be the wisest choice. A private detective is a professional that with minimal resources, can provide information that she could only gatter in years. Not to mention that this whole precess would completely destroy her mental health. Moreover, there is unremitting evidence, printed black on white. There is no ambiguity, no „and yet …” It seems to be a sentence, with deep negative connotations. It is not so.
If the detective denies all her suspicions, there could be no greater joy on the face of the earth. It would be like the whole weight of the world would rise from her shoulders. In the same way, if the misfortune were to be confirmed… after the initial shock and despair, would prevail the inner peace offered by thoughts like, „I’m not crazy, I knew I was right, I would always listen to my instinct, etc.” Believe me, because I am the woman I have mentioned in this article ­čÖé , nothing would compare to the relief of knowing that I still own my mental health. Nothing!

It is the moment to regret I did not hire a private investigator

When I was contacted to write this article, the initial reaction was to refuse. I can not encourage an occupation that, in one way or another, damages the right to human intimacy. But given my own experience, I decided to go ahead. I fully assume the decision and support it in all circumstances. I am convinced that many of you have identified yourself with the woman presented in this article. Not every day, not even once a year … but once in your lifetme, surely! I advise you from the bottom of my heart not to turn into private investigators, but to hire some! 7 years ago things were more complicated, these services were not easy to find. Nowadays, they are all just one click distance.

I totally regret that I did not go for such expertise when I needed it. All the doubts that I have been living in for years, have only added to a hole, to the point where it has become without a bottom. I later found out that 80% of what I was seeing was the fruit of my imagination, but the time came too late, when nothing could be done for my relationship anymore. I do not say that the man was „the door of the church” … :), but he wasn’t Don Juan de Marco … as I was convinced he was.┬á And smart, and beautiful, and with money, and a family guy … and coming home early … Too many „ands” on a single pair of shoulders. Wings had they had, it would have steel been to many „ands”… ­čÖé

I was wearing

Massimo Dutti coat

Steilman pants

Steffen Schraut shirt

Mulberry bag

Epica & Reserved sunglasses

Photos taken by HD Photography