Wednesday, February 14, 2007
MB-Valentine's Day
Originally posted February 14th 2005.
By November of 1988 I was married. At 23 years old, my mother complained that I was too young, even though I was older than my parents when they were married, quite a bit older than my sister when she got married. I suppose she was right, but try telling that to a 23 year old college graduate. I knew everything then, and nobody was going to talk me out of anything.
Suprisingly, nobody had any reservations about my wife. It's not like we just ran off and got married. We had been dating since the first semester of my freshman year. We took our time and really got to know each other. Neither of us wanted to be married while going to school, so even though we knew pretty early on that we'd probably get married, we took our time.
And things went pretty well, 3 months after getting married I got my first job in TV. The hours were crappy and I had a one hour commute each way, but I had a good woman at home making sure everything got taken care of. When the lease on our apartment in Vermillion ran out, we moved to Sioux Falls to be closer to my work. She was self employed, working out of the home, but spent about one day a week in the office in Vermillion.
We had our little spats like all newly married couples do. I stayed out all night one night, coming home about the time she was getting up. I hadn't been up to no good, just with a friend on his delivery job. She was mad, but I wasn't really used to having to answer to anybody. I learned. I learned to live as a couple, not as an independent person who could do whatever he pleased.
Her job took her on the road for 3 months out of the year, doing architectural survey work around the state. It was difficult for both of us, but we were able to deal with it. It made me appreciate her more the nine months she was around. My mom told me once she was envious of our relationship, the way we talked and did things together. This from a woman who's been married to the same man for over 40 years.
But things are never perfect. Money started to be a problem. We got into a bit of debt due to poor choices on our part and some very bad luck. Then I lost my job. Things fell apart in a hurry after that. By September of 1991, she had had enough. I was told to get out. Since I couldn't pay for our apartment on my own without a job, I really didn't have any choice.
At 26 years old I was living back at home, an emotional wreck. My family was a hugely supportive, and not to sound overly dramatic, pretty much kept me alive when I didn't have any desire to do so for myself. During this time I tried to patch things up with the wife. I got the professional help I needed, got more involved in the church, worked hard at finding a job and improving myself. I talked to her occasionally, just talk, not really too much about the future, but what was going on at that point in our lives.
During one phone call she was on the verge of asking me to come back. She didn't actually say it, she didn't have to, I knew what the next words out of her mouth were going to be. I stopped her and told her that we hadn't fixed anything, that if we got together again, we'd end up in exactly the same situation in six weeks. She got really mad at me, things weren't good up to that point, but we had always tried to be civil. After that she was vicious. I still tried, though. I still wanted to make things work, but I was too emotionally messed up to move back in with her. I talked to her occasionally, but she always ended up angry. She always asked me for money, even though she was the one who still had a job, still had access to our joint accounts.
What happened next really wasn't a suprise except for the timing. A few minutes before midnight on February 14th 1992, I was on the front porch of my parents house being served with papers by a young deputy sheriff who didn't want to be there any more than I did. Poor bastard didn't want to ruin somebody's Valentine's day and I could really feel for him. Here I was signing divorce papers and being read a restraining order. Everything was dated February 12th, it would have taken two days for the mail to travel from one end of the state to the other. As far as I was concerened, it was premeditated.
I'd be lying if I said that the timing didn't make me angry. It did, but what the timing did was made me realize that it was over. There was no way this was going to be patched up, it was plainly obvious now. I didn't have to be nice to this woman anymore, I didn't have to try not to piss her off to the point where she'd never take me back. That was never going to happen. It was done. Nothing was going to fix this, and the only course of action left was to move forward.
She'd tried to hurt me and succeeded. It still hurts today, though it's slightly less pain with each passing year. What she really did, though, was took away all hope. As horrible as that sounds, that's exactly what I needed. With no hope of patching things up, I didn't have to be nice anymore. I wouldn't be taken advantage of.
Sometime in August of 1994 it was finally over. I signed the papers making it official at a law office in Vermillion, just a few blocks away from the apartment we'd shared as newlyweds. We hadn't owned anything of value. The personal belongings had been divided long before. Still she tried to get money out of me, tried to saddle me with debt she had incurred before we were married. I wouldn't have it. If she hadn't shown me so clearly that it was over, I may have submitted. As it was, I fought her on everything I thought unjust. I won some, I lost some. In then end, it turned out as fair as these kind of things can. She hadn't taken advantage of me, I hadn't taken advantage of her. That's all I wanted.
BOJ
By November of 1988 I was married. At 23 years old, my mother complained that I was too young, even though I was older than my parents when they were married, quite a bit older than my sister when she got married. I suppose she was right, but try telling that to a 23 year old college graduate. I knew everything then, and nobody was going to talk me out of anything.
Suprisingly, nobody had any reservations about my wife. It's not like we just ran off and got married. We had been dating since the first semester of my freshman year. We took our time and really got to know each other. Neither of us wanted to be married while going to school, so even though we knew pretty early on that we'd probably get married, we took our time.
And things went pretty well, 3 months after getting married I got my first job in TV. The hours were crappy and I had a one hour commute each way, but I had a good woman at home making sure everything got taken care of. When the lease on our apartment in Vermillion ran out, we moved to Sioux Falls to be closer to my work. She was self employed, working out of the home, but spent about one day a week in the office in Vermillion.
We had our little spats like all newly married couples do. I stayed out all night one night, coming home about the time she was getting up. I hadn't been up to no good, just with a friend on his delivery job. She was mad, but I wasn't really used to having to answer to anybody. I learned. I learned to live as a couple, not as an independent person who could do whatever he pleased.
Her job took her on the road for 3 months out of the year, doing architectural survey work around the state. It was difficult for both of us, but we were able to deal with it. It made me appreciate her more the nine months she was around. My mom told me once she was envious of our relationship, the way we talked and did things together. This from a woman who's been married to the same man for over 40 years.
But things are never perfect. Money started to be a problem. We got into a bit of debt due to poor choices on our part and some very bad luck. Then I lost my job. Things fell apart in a hurry after that. By September of 1991, she had had enough. I was told to get out. Since I couldn't pay for our apartment on my own without a job, I really didn't have any choice.
At 26 years old I was living back at home, an emotional wreck. My family was a hugely supportive, and not to sound overly dramatic, pretty much kept me alive when I didn't have any desire to do so for myself. During this time I tried to patch things up with the wife. I got the professional help I needed, got more involved in the church, worked hard at finding a job and improving myself. I talked to her occasionally, just talk, not really too much about the future, but what was going on at that point in our lives.
During one phone call she was on the verge of asking me to come back. She didn't actually say it, she didn't have to, I knew what the next words out of her mouth were going to be. I stopped her and told her that we hadn't fixed anything, that if we got together again, we'd end up in exactly the same situation in six weeks. She got really mad at me, things weren't good up to that point, but we had always tried to be civil. After that she was vicious. I still tried, though. I still wanted to make things work, but I was too emotionally messed up to move back in with her. I talked to her occasionally, but she always ended up angry. She always asked me for money, even though she was the one who still had a job, still had access to our joint accounts.
What happened next really wasn't a suprise except for the timing. A few minutes before midnight on February 14th 1992, I was on the front porch of my parents house being served with papers by a young deputy sheriff who didn't want to be there any more than I did. Poor bastard didn't want to ruin somebody's Valentine's day and I could really feel for him. Here I was signing divorce papers and being read a restraining order. Everything was dated February 12th, it would have taken two days for the mail to travel from one end of the state to the other. As far as I was concerened, it was premeditated.
I'd be lying if I said that the timing didn't make me angry. It did, but what the timing did was made me realize that it was over. There was no way this was going to be patched up, it was plainly obvious now. I didn't have to be nice to this woman anymore, I didn't have to try not to piss her off to the point where she'd never take me back. That was never going to happen. It was done. Nothing was going to fix this, and the only course of action left was to move forward.
She'd tried to hurt me and succeeded. It still hurts today, though it's slightly less pain with each passing year. What she really did, though, was took away all hope. As horrible as that sounds, that's exactly what I needed. With no hope of patching things up, I didn't have to be nice anymore. I wouldn't be taken advantage of.
Sometime in August of 1994 it was finally over. I signed the papers making it official at a law office in Vermillion, just a few blocks away from the apartment we'd shared as newlyweds. We hadn't owned anything of value. The personal belongings had been divided long before. Still she tried to get money out of me, tried to saddle me with debt she had incurred before we were married. I wouldn't have it. If she hadn't shown me so clearly that it was over, I may have submitted. As it was, I fought her on everything I thought unjust. I won some, I lost some. In then end, it turned out as fair as these kind of things can. She hadn't taken advantage of me, I hadn't taken advantage of her. That's all I wanted.
BOJ
Labels: Mega-Bitch Wednesday
# posted by Blind Orange Julius @ 7:35 AM 
