Once upon a time, a lifetime ago when I was actually young, I got married. I was 21. He was 23. I was coming off a period of heavy-duty drinking, partying and drug use, and he represented stability to me. He was an engineer, working, fiscally and socially conservative. I hardly knew him. At twenty-one I didn't even know myself.
I was such a stupid child, I didn't really think about the ramifications of getting and being married, the level of commitment it takes, the fact that we couldn't agree on anything, not even something as simple as the type of ice-cream to buy, and that I really didn't even like him. He was close-minded, controlling, misogynistic, homophobic and racist. I didn't think that once you're legally hitched, getting unhitched isn't easy. It all just seemed like a big adventure to me. Escaping the control of my overly strict upbringing, and my alcoholic bi-polar mother.
In my gut and in my heart I knew it was a mistake. I didn't love him. I didn't even like him. I was standing with my Daddy, waiting to walk down the aisle, and I looked at him, and told him that I thought it was a mistake. Daddy looked at me, and said, "If you don't want to do this, don't do it." I said, "What about all the people? What about Mom?" He said, "It doesn't matter about them. If you don't want to do it, don't do it." Of course, I didn't listen to him or to my intuition. I chalked it up to cold feet, and got married anyway.
What an idiot I was.
Every single time in my life that the intuition in my belly tells me something is right or wrong, I ultimately regret it when I don't listen. Because it's always right. I am learning to believe in it, and ultimately believe in my own sense of judgement.
The man was abusive. Go figure, his being controlling, a misogynist, homophobic and a racist. That should have been a clue for me. The marriage lasted four years when it should have never happened. I wanted out after six months, and he couldn't and wouldn't accept that fact. After I moved out, he stalked me, waiting for me in the halls of school buildings at night, because I was finishing my Master's degree at this point.
I felt so trapped. There is absolutely nothing worse than being in a bad relationship. Being alone is better. Dating a series of losers and an occasional great guy is better. Hanging out with my cat is better. Hanging out with my friends is better. Hiking alone with my ipod is better.
There were signs from the beginning that it was doomed. You know, besides the misogyny, homophobia and racism. He hated cats. He threw my pet kitten across the room in a fit of rage. I found that kitten a new home immediately. He locked me in the closet. He explained to me quite seriously that I didn't need any friends except him. That he was the only person I should have in my life. That there was something wrong with me if I wanted to go out with a friend. That there was never any need to travel to any foreign country, that the only place worth seeing was America- but only certain parts, and then only in his parent's ginormous RV. Certainly we couldn't go anywhere that had any other races besides whites. He used offensive terms for every ethnic group. The only sport he liked was basketball, and the Lakers at that- just not the African American players. I actually used to enjoy basketball until I lived with him. He didn't like football, and he hated baseball. He didn't want me watching football or baseball. It wasn't necessary, since I had him and the Lakers. I am so thankful that sex with him was repugnant, and I didn't have any children with him. Imagine the horror of being linked to that fungus forever through a child. Shudder.
Really, all the other obnoxious stuff aside, hating baseball was the sign of a deep character flaw. I should have known. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I think all mistakes in life are lessons that need to be mastered. And never repeated. You trip, you fall, you pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and keep on going. Because, I am ever optimistic about love.
After that miserable experience, I told myself that I would never, ever make that kind of man-mistake again.
And, I haven't. I make new ones. And pick myself up, brush myself off, and move on. Stupid optimist that I am, I never give up. I have learned that you actually have to like the one you're with, and have some points in common. And there really needs to be that electricity between you, or you may as well be brother and sister.
Also: if you go through enough of the wrong ones, culling away, what you want will become clearer and more focused. You'll just know when the right one comes along.
I was such a stupid child, I didn't really think about the ramifications of getting and being married, the level of commitment it takes, the fact that we couldn't agree on anything, not even something as simple as the type of ice-cream to buy, and that I really didn't even like him. He was close-minded, controlling, misogynistic, homophobic and racist. I didn't think that once you're legally hitched, getting unhitched isn't easy. It all just seemed like a big adventure to me. Escaping the control of my overly strict upbringing, and my alcoholic bi-polar mother.
In my gut and in my heart I knew it was a mistake. I didn't love him. I didn't even like him. I was standing with my Daddy, waiting to walk down the aisle, and I looked at him, and told him that I thought it was a mistake. Daddy looked at me, and said, "If you don't want to do this, don't do it." I said, "What about all the people? What about Mom?" He said, "It doesn't matter about them. If you don't want to do it, don't do it." Of course, I didn't listen to him or to my intuition. I chalked it up to cold feet, and got married anyway.
What an idiot I was.
Every single time in my life that the intuition in my belly tells me something is right or wrong, I ultimately regret it when I don't listen. Because it's always right. I am learning to believe in it, and ultimately believe in my own sense of judgement.
The man was abusive. Go figure, his being controlling, a misogynist, homophobic and a racist. That should have been a clue for me. The marriage lasted four years when it should have never happened. I wanted out after six months, and he couldn't and wouldn't accept that fact. After I moved out, he stalked me, waiting for me in the halls of school buildings at night, because I was finishing my Master's degree at this point.
I felt so trapped. There is absolutely nothing worse than being in a bad relationship. Being alone is better. Dating a series of losers and an occasional great guy is better. Hanging out with my cat is better. Hanging out with my friends is better. Hiking alone with my ipod is better.
There were signs from the beginning that it was doomed. You know, besides the misogyny, homophobia and racism. He hated cats. He threw my pet kitten across the room in a fit of rage. I found that kitten a new home immediately. He locked me in the closet. He explained to me quite seriously that I didn't need any friends except him. That he was the only person I should have in my life. That there was something wrong with me if I wanted to go out with a friend. That there was never any need to travel to any foreign country, that the only place worth seeing was America- but only certain parts, and then only in his parent's ginormous RV. Certainly we couldn't go anywhere that had any other races besides whites. He used offensive terms for every ethnic group. The only sport he liked was basketball, and the Lakers at that- just not the African American players. I actually used to enjoy basketball until I lived with him. He didn't like football, and he hated baseball. He didn't want me watching football or baseball. It wasn't necessary, since I had him and the Lakers. I am so thankful that sex with him was repugnant, and I didn't have any children with him. Imagine the horror of being linked to that fungus forever through a child. Shudder.
Really, all the other obnoxious stuff aside, hating baseball was the sign of a deep character flaw. I should have known. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I think all mistakes in life are lessons that need to be mastered. And never repeated. You trip, you fall, you pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and keep on going. Because, I am ever optimistic about love.
After that miserable experience, I told myself that I would never, ever make that kind of man-mistake again.
And, I haven't. I make new ones. And pick myself up, brush myself off, and move on. Stupid optimist that I am, I never give up. I have learned that you actually have to like the one you're with, and have some points in common. And there really needs to be that electricity between you, or you may as well be brother and sister.
Also: if you go through enough of the wrong ones, culling away, what you want will become clearer and more focused. You'll just know when the right one comes along.
No comments:
Post a Comment