Monday, July 26, 2004

Everything happens for a reason

A friend of mine from work got married this weekend.  I am very happy for her.  Her new husband, whom I’ve only met a handful of times, seems like a very nice man.  I can usually tell a person from a first impression.  It was so strange for to me to be at a wedding where the two people actually looked each other in the eyes when they spoke, and smiled and you could just tell that they love each other very much. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

My wedding was nothing like that.  It was a disaster from the beginning.  I remember standing in the back of the church getting dressed.  I stopped and told my matron of honor “Let’s just leave. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Can’t we just leave?”  No we couldn’t, she said. I was nervous, that was all, and my parents had spent SO much money on it.  So I stayed.  I cried during the ceremony. Not because I was overjoyed, but because I was staring into the face of a person I was not in love with, thinking “This is it?  This is all I get?  This is as happy as I’ll ever be in my whole life? I’m not happy at all”  I remember rationalizing in my mind, that I would learn to be happy, and learn that this was as good as life gets, and all those people out there that seem really happy are just that happy because they learned to deal with what they were given.  I sobbed during the Father/Daughter dance at the reception.  I did not want to kiss him when everyone rang the little bells we had on the tables.  I was miserable.  I found myself in the bathroom with my matron of honor, drinking Firewater straight out of the bottle.   I just wanted to run away.

My wedding night was nothing like I had envisioned. The honeymoon was awful.  It was like vacationing with a roommate.  Married life was awful.  He did what he wanted, I did what I wanted, and we just stayed out of each others way for the most part.  No sex, no love, no fun. Finally I began thinking to myself that this was not what I deserved.  My mother-in-law and sister-in-law hated me.  I didn’t care, because I didn’t like them either.  I stopped going to see them on the holidays, which was about the only time we were ever invited. My brother and dad started taking a strong disliking towards him.  Slowly they began to realize that he was as ignorant as I said he was, I wasn’t just “being mean to him”.  My mom, on the other hand, was still on his side.  He really snowed her. 

They decided I was depressed.  Well, no shit!  But they decided that the problem was me, not that I was miserable with the way my life had turned out.  She took me to a doctor, who labeled me “mildly depressed and obsessive-compulsive”.  He wanted me to take Zoloft.  I refused.  So they arranged that I go to counseling. Not marital counseling, but to a shrink that decided that I needed to learn relaxation techniques.  All this took place even though I would tell them I wasn’t happy because I was married to someone I don’t love. 

Eventually I began to distance myself from him.  I would sleep on the couch, blaming his snoring for the reason I was out there.  I quit going places with him, and eventually he quit asking me to go.  I got a motorcycle when he did.  I didn’t want to ride with him.  I just wanted to ride. That didn’t make him very happy. I started hanging out with his friends without him, which really pissed him off.  But I didn’t have any of my own friends anymore, and I needed some sort of social contact.  My only friend, my matron of honor, had moved to NC.  Finally I must have ignored him enough. He finally left. Which is a whole other story. Sometimes I think back and get really mad that I wasted so much of my life with him.  But then, as I’ve mentioned before, I wouldn’t be where I am today.  At least I’m happy now. 

A little scarred, but happy.


Blogger W.F. Call said...

hmmm...I'm with you. Been through two marriages myself. For me, it was being born into this mentality that you go to school, get your degree, get a good job, find someone nice to marry, have a few kids, and then you die. Period.
It's taken me 38 years to realize that there are other places to drive than the middle of the road. Some of them are a little bumpy while others are far more interesting and desirable than the smooth ride down the center. But it makes life more interesting, and that's a good thing too.

4:46 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home