A Christmas Gift of Suicidal Depression

Smiling (and probably drunk) at my lowest point

Boundaries???What are Boundaries???

As earlier mentioned, setting and maintaining boundaries was not something I did often during my relationship with my husband. In fact, prior to the incident with Robbie, I am not sure I set or maintained a single, solitary boundary in our entire relationship. I always gave in to what he wanted because it was easier than having conflict in our home. That is why I didn't bother to say or do much when he kept talking to the woman he'd dated before me behind my back-- even though we were already living together. Or, when he tried to get her to come out drinking with our friends on St. Patrick's Day when I was at home studying. That is also why I didn't say much about the wedding driving me to the edge of sanity, or that I remained totally overwhelmed and fragile in the months after. I was determined to make our relationship work come hell or high water, and in order to do that, I had to put my own needs and feelings aside.

In all fairness to my husband, I believe that we teach people how they can treat us. I taught him that my feelings, my needs, and my desires were not as important as his own. By saying and doing very little to stand up for myself, or defend what I knew to be best for my mental health and well-being, I taught him that those things are not worth considering. So when Robbie overstepped my boundaries and I finally stood up for myself, he had no experience dealing with it. In the past, I had always given in, and turned to alcohol and prescription drugs as an outlet for the emotions and experiences I was having difficulty handling.

But this time was different. The verbal abuse and hateful stance that Robbie had brought into my home was not something I would back down from. I knew that someone like that would not be safe for me, and would not be safe for my children or family. It was a stance I took in defense of my morals and values. I will compromise all day long on my comfort and well-being, but I will not compromise on my fundamental core values. Those were instilled in my as a child, and are far more a part of me than I even knew until that event occurred.

From my perspective, I had finally reached a point where I knew a boundary needed to drawn and a discussion must ensue. I felt I had given up a lot so my husband would be happy. And when I finally felt so uncomfortable that drawing a boundary became a necessity/need rather than a desire/want, I did it.

As the weeks passed and my husband said nothing to his family, and did nothing in response to the events that had transpired over Thanksgiving, I began to feel, on a gut level, that our relationship was not going to work out. For me, it was an urgent matter and needed to be dealt with immediately. But no matter what I did, there seemed to be no way to convince him to take action--or even take a stance for that matter! I started to feel like he wanted the conflict between he an I. I started to feel like he was setting up a situation that would result in an inevitable conflict between his family and me.

Passive Aggressive vs Passive Aggressive

Nightly fights began to ensue about the events that had occurred at Thanksgiving, and what my husband was going to do about it. He kept promising me that he was going to talk to his family, but nothing ever happened. Day after day would pass, then week after week.

Perhaps my husband thought it would just pass if he left it alone. After all, that had been his past experience with me. And, to be truthful, that is my own fault. But at least a couple times a week, we were up all night fighting about it. I cried, I yelled, I became completely unraveled.

Eventually, to put more impact behind my argument, I began bringing up past grievances. At the time, I didn't know that I was being passive-aggressive, I just thought that if I brought up other times I had gave in to him, he would understand that it was now HIS turn to give in to me, and talk to his family about the event that had so greatly upset me. But it seemed like the more I tried to convey my discomfort and the urgency of the matter (for myself), the more he dug in his heels and stubbornly refused to take action. So, like a true passive-aggressive, I began to bring up all my former grievances as time without resolution went on. I brought up my deep unhappiness and feelings of violation I had about our wedding. I brought up the fact that my parents had paid such a ridiculous amount of money for me to be deeply unhappy and feeling violated at my own wedding. I brought up the fact that I gave up my own hope of my dream wedding in order to make him and his family happy. I brought up the fact that I had turned down an excellent job with excellent benefits in order to support him and his career--at his insistence, moreover!

But despite everything I said, despite how much I cried, pleaded and argued, nothing happened and nothing changed. There was no compromise. His stance remained the same as it was the day the events transpired: he would talk to his family when the time felt right. He would do it before Christmas so everyone was on the same page.

Depression and Despair

As time passed and Christmas drew closer, I began to sink into a very deep depression. The events of Thanksgiving had caused a rift between me and my husband,  and I started to feel very lonely and isolated.

We still had not been in Florida for very long, and I really didn't know anyone that I actually trusted and felt safe confiding in, so I just internalized my feelings of depression--depression about the miscarriage, depression from not being able to find meaningful work, depression from having no friends, and depression from the rift in our marriage. I started to feel like I had made all of the wrong choices in my life, and now I was stuck in a marriage where I didn't feel respected or considered, in a state where I felt lost and unhappy, and with little to look forward to in terms of career goals or family plans. After what had happened and the fact that nothing was ever done about it, I started questioning whether or not it was even a good idea to start a family with my husband.

The icy, cold distance between me and Garrett was palpable. We were like two ships passing in the night: neither one of us felt seen or heard. And, as usual, I blamed myself for making poor life choices that put me in circumstances where I felt extremely unhappy.

I began to drink more and more. I also became more dependent on the benzodiazopines to even relax. I started having panic attacks again. Things were falling apart quickly.

Christmas

I've always struggled at Christmas, I wont pretend to know why. But ever since I was a child, depression had reared it's ugly head during the holidays, and I did my best to cope with it. That year, my best was alcohol and Xanax.

My husband and I went back North separately that year. I went to New Jersey to visit my best friend and my family up there, and Garrett went straight back to Buffalo. At first, I found it a great relief to visit my family and my best friend. It made me feel happy and feel like myself again. But as the time to go to Buffalo grew closer, I started getting anxiety.

A day before I was supposed to go to Buffalo, I called my husband and asked him if he had spoken with his family yet. He had not. Of course not. That night, I proceeded to get wasted at my best friend's house. I fell down the stairs backward, in the dark, slamming my head in several places on the way down. I just laid there in pain. A couple of my fingers were possibly broken, my head had taken a legit beating, and my legs would surely be bruised up the next morning...and they were. I never told anyone except my husband how serious the fall actually was--I didn't want anyone to confront me on my drinking. I'm fairly sure I got a concussion and that I broke at least two of my fingers. I never went to the hospital. Those two fingers are crooked to this day, and hurt when I bend them and when the weather is bad.

I arrived in Buffalo, and at first everything was fine. Garrett had told me that his grandparents were aware that Thanksgiving had been a deeply unpleasant experience. I felt relieved and ready to move on, and so I did--for about a day.

Garrett's sister and Robbie were not at Christmas that year, and that was the only reason why I felt comfortable going. And, as things had not gone well at Thanksgiving, I felt like I wouldn't have to worry too much about hearing about them. Again, I was wrong.

His sister and Robbie kept having car troubles and financial troubles on the way up to visit his family in Georgia. Obviously the blow by blow of their misadventures became a topic of frequent discussion. This was an annoyance, but one I could deal with. But something made me snap that Christmas, and I don't even know why.

On Christmas morning, one of Garrett's Grandparents showed everyone a picture of Garrett's sister and Robbie in the matching pajamas they had bought for them. His family made a series of comments to the effect of, "Look at how cute they are in the matching pajamas we sent them!" and "Look at how happy she is! Look at how happy Robbie makes her! They are such a cute couple!!!"

In my state of abject misery following recent events, I felt greatly offended by the fact that everyone was glossing over the immense amount of stress and conflict Robbie's actions had generated in our own home and in our own marriage. I was offended by the hatefulness he had brought into our house, and the abusive comments and abusive attitude he had directed towards me. It offended me how he was still portrayed to the family as some sort of good guy that had really turned things around for Garrett's sister. Fuck that. Although I didn't say anything at the time, I had reached my last straw.

Later in the night, Garrett and I stayed up all night arguing. Eight or more hours straight. It was redundant, it was the same argument we had been having for over a month, and the solution was still the same: he would say and do nothing. I was done. Done. I saw myself going down a dark path, and I needed to leave to be OK. So I did. I left his grandparents house in the middle of the night and went to a hotel. My husband went back to his family. I stayed alone in the hotel drinking and crying--so angry with myself for getting into such a mess with my life. And then I started thinking about it--I had thought about it before at Christmas, and this time seemed as good as any: suicide. I could see no way out of my misery. I hated myself for putting myself in such a position (again). I hated being alone--I had felt very alone for months at that point. I was depressed, exasperated, and unprepared to deal with the circumstances in which I found myself. I was also too drunk to come up with a solid plan, but I began to call people and let them know that I felt backed into a corner and didn't know how to get out. As I talked to people, I began to feel like I was burdensome to them, and they would be better off without me. I felt like a failure; a fool. I had actually thought I could have a nice, normal life and a happy marriage and family. I was wrong. And I was stupid to think that something like that was even possible for someone like me.

Eventually, my husband came to the hotel. We flew back to Florida early. I didn't think it was even possible, but Christmas had gone even worse than Thanksgiving.

Stop Being Weird, Liz/Be Productive, Liz

Stop Being Weird, Liz (i.e. Stop Googling the History of Ron Howard's Family)

This morning it dawned on me that I've been a little weird the last couple of days. The decent into weirdness was quite gradual, and I only hit my rock bottom when I woke up and started googling stupid shit again--and by stupid shit, I mean stupid, random nonsense that no one really needs to know about.

I feel like this started last Wednesday before I went to mediation for my divorce. I got dropped off at the courthouse three and a half hours before the meeting. This was unfortunate because I had a little too much time on my hands to think about what was actually happening. Free time and thinking are generally not the best for my psycho-social stability. First, I sat down at a diner and tried to do step work for my recovery. However, that quickly got way too deep and a little too boring for the morning of the mediation for my divorce. Then, I started texting everyone I knew saying whatever random nonsense was crossing my mind at that moment. That kept me occupied for about an hour. Finally, I bought and consumed an energy drink, and quickly devolved into repeatedly asking online tarot cards and computer oracles what was going to happen at mediation (Yes, I actually did that).

By the time my lawyer finally arrived, I was crashing off of my energy drink and more or less had deteriorated into Gollum from Lord of the Rings. But rather than "precious" being a powerful ring that held mysterious and magical powers, "precious" became any and every free online fortune telling device on my iPhone. Which, in my opinion, made me way creepier and weirder than Gollum ever was about that ring. I had a seriously crazed look about me as well. Not one of my finest moments.

Soon after, we went into mediation and it seemed like everything was going to be easy breezy. I actually wondered why I had got myself so worked up over it all! Within the first five minutes, my husband's lawyer "accidentally" got my DUI confused with a domestic violence charge. Yeah, because those two offences are so much a like--easy mistake. I'm a buck 10 soaking wet, domestic violence? How did she even come up with that? And how is that in any way comparable to DUI? I immediately burst into tears, and we had to be separated into different rooms. Next, my husband tried to say that there was no equity in the house and that neither of us had any assets. Mediation ended right after that. We spent a grand total of 20 minutes in mediation, and decided it wasn't working out. So, I waited three and a half hours for a 20 minute meeting and spent an hour and a half (or more) asking online fortune telling devices what would be happening during those 20 minutes. None of them predicted that debacle. What a surprise.

I was later informed that it could take up to a year to go to court for the divorce, so I would remain married for the foreseeable future. This was disappointing because I was hoping to take a post-divorce vacation to Ireland this fall in an attempt to meet a hot Irish guy to ease my pain. Damn it.

I had to work long hours four out of the five days after mediation, so I didn't get much of a chance to process it. On my one day off, I let my roommate, Jake, convince me to send a "suggestive" picture to the Italian guy I've been ogling for the last two months. Good life choice, Liz. Please, continue to seek relationship advice from a 25-year old single dude that has gone on more dates this week than you have this entire decade. I'm sure that guy knows EXACTLY how to reel them in. I mean, I've only dated two guys in the last ten years...what do I know? It turns out that I know A LOT. I know a fucking lot! And, in the future, I am going to trust experience won by my AGE and LIFE EXPERIENCE rather than listen to a millennial. It was, however, fun to "live on the edge" for a minute--I'll give it that.

So, acting like a 25 year old millennial towards a grown man with several children didn't work out according to plan. I wonder why. Luckily, I had to work the next day, so I didn't initially overthink it.

Weirdo in the middle

That being said, Tuesday came along and I found myself with three days off in a row. Thus, I was surrounded by my two worst enemies: FREE TIME and THINKING.

On day first day, I read as much of Florida divorce law and case law as possible. When I came to the conclusion that what I read was basically what my lawyer told me (and therefore he knew how to do his job), I became disinterested and decided to focus on the other blunder of that week: the text to the Italian.

I had not received much of a response from him, so I immediately considered every horrible possibility that might have happened. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that he was probably dead and started crying. I mean, that is the next logical conclusion, right? He hasn't texted me in 48 hours, so clearly he's dead. Children at home? Business to run? Break-up to deal with? Those seem a little too plausible if you know what I mean--and let's face it: none of those reasons have anything to do with me, so it doesn't even make sense.

Eventually Jake convinced me that I was being irrational, and he probably got back together with his ex or simply didn't like me. That made me cry even more. When I got back home, I finally decided enough is enough: my face is puffy and my nose is red! I'll just gracefully exit this situation without making any more of a scene than I already have, and refocus my energies on my dog, the potential hot Irish guy that I would eventually meet when I got divorced and took a trip to Ireland, and accept that I would probably be an old spinster-- the dog version of a cat lady. I also decided to write to my friend in England to confirm a backup plan to my backup plan.

Well, now that that was all taken care of, I should be fine, right? Nope. Of course not. In lieu of obsessing about my divorce or humiliating debacle with the Italian guy, I decided to watch every movie I could find on nuclear war. Then I googled all sorts of facts related to nuclear war. Then I wondered if I just got myself put on a watch list because of the content of what I was googling. Then I decided I was already on some sort of watch list because I had googled the same nonsense many times before. My ex actually made me a nuclear weapons blast calculator for my birthday one year. It was one of the most thoughtful, memorable gifts I've ever received. I still have it in case I have to calculate the size of a bomb against my distance from it. Always good to have, just in case.

Soviet weapons Whiz Wheel and nuclear blast calculator!

After I decided my nuclear war obsession was a bit morose, I decided to watch the last season of Arrested Development to cheer myself up. While this initially did the trick, it eventually deteriorated into reading the entire history of Ron Howard's extended family in order to see whether or not it matched up with the plot line of Arrested Development. Very informative, but I remain unsure about the application of such information in my future en devours.

After seeing the total and utter psychological deterioration and demoralization I had suffered as the result of my days off (including the day that I sent the text under Jake's advisement), I decided to call my sponsor, go to a meeting, tell on myself, and do something remotely productive before I went to work today. And this is what I did!!! Ta DAAAAAA!!!! Thank God new episodes of BoJack horseman just came out!

Thanksgiving, The White Supremacist and the Last Straw

Thanksgiving

It had been a difficult year: the felony strangulation investigation against my ex, the stress of the wedding planning, the wedding, the move to Florida, buying our first home, and the miscarriage. A lot was going on, and I think it is fair to say that I didn't handle it all that well--and that is if you consider slipping into full-blown alcoholism "handling" it.

Roughly a month after the miscarriage, we invited my husband's sister and her boyfriend up to Orlando for Thanksgiving. The month since the miscarriage had been stressful and depressing for both my husband and myself. And I can't speak for my husband, but I looking forward to some reprieve from the isolation and melancholia that had become almost oppressive in the weeks following the loss.

We had reason to be excited that Thanksgiving because we had bought our first home less than a month before, and it would be the first time we had guests or family members over to our new home. In our excitement, we went all out in preparation for their arrival: we spent several days cooking and cleaning, spent several hundred dollars on groceries and niceties for their stay, and even went so far as to put a bottle of champagne and expensive pastries in their room. We were excited to share our new home with others, and truly looking forward to some respite from our troubles.

That did not happen...instead, we had a four day onslaught of white supremacist views from Robbie, the significant other of my sister-in-law.

The White Supremacist 

I can't even begin to describe the level of hatefulness and aggression that came out of Robbie's mouth that holiday weekend. I've never heard anything like that before or since. To put it plainly, Robbie hates everyone that is not white, male, and Christian. Moreover, he will force his views on you whether you want to hear them or not. Being that he was a guest in our home, he literally had a captive audience, and for him, Thanksgiving was clearly an optimal time to unleash is fanatical and controversial world views upon those who had no desire to hear them. I literally felt like a hostage in my own home. I definitely considered bailing on my husband for the rest of the weekend and going to my parents place on the coast.  

Personally, I find this kind of behavior a little hostile and abusive. It clearly made me uncomfortable, I stated that it made me uncomfortable, I stated that I did not agree, but he never stopped. In fact, he specifically directed his racist comments at me after I had expressed the fact that I felt uncomfortable and disagreed with his views. Most people, when seeing that I'm uncomfortable with what they are saying, are respectful enough to back off and understand that my views are different than their own. The reason that whole situation felt abusive is because, after expressing that I felt uncomfortable, Robbie actually increased the frequency and level of offensiveness of his comments.My husband had addressed his sister regarding the issue, his sister had addressed him regarding the issue, but he didn't stop. In fact, he escalated.

 Moreover, instead of making general comments to the group, he specifically started to address them towards myself directly. And after expressing my uncomfortably, he specifically told me (and his girlfriend) to "put a tampon up your pussy and cry while you watch Oprah."

I had just married, miscarried and bought my first home, I was overwhelmed and still a bit unstable after all of the stress in the months prior. We had just moved to Oviedo. I didn't even know my way around, never mind know where to go, who to talk to, or what to do. I ended up calling friends and family out of state, and honestly, no one really knew what to do because no one could recall ever being in a comparable situation.

I made it pretty clear I had no interest in listening to is bullshit. But why would my comfort matter to him? He is a guest in my home, and my husband and I offered him and his girlfriend our warmest welcome with the utmost thought and consideration for them? But why would our feelings or comfort matter??? After all, I am a woman, so I can pretty much go fuck myself because I'm not equal and he is entitled to treat me any way he wants. 

It is totally normal to make a person feel uncomfortable in their own home, right?

Robbie said so much hateful stuff, I can't even remember it all. But, to give the reader some idea, here are a few choice comments that I remember:

"Those s**d n*****rs and Jews are always causing our country problems. We should just a-bomb the whole middle east and that'll solve it."

"Mexicans (Latinos) are ruining our country and stealing our jobs. We need to deport those fuckers so white people can work."

But among the most confusing and astounding things he said was, "Come on now, honestly, honestly, don't you believe, on some level, that you are better than other people because you are white?" Um, No, Robbie. There are a hell of a lot of people out there from all variety of races and religions that are doing substantially better for themselves than I'll ever do. That doesn't even make sense. I'm sorry, but how dumb can you be? In what degree of denial do you have to immerse yourself to be able to believe that is even remotely true?

The Last Straw

Frankly, I've been through enough in my life. I am not interested in inviting verbal abuse and hatefulness into my home. Moreover, there is no way I would feel safe starting a family in a situation where every holiday would put me in circumstances where I felt uncomfortable, disrespected, and generally stressed out. Nor would I want to have children around that level of hatefulness or aggression. It is not normal, and it should not be treated as such.

At some point, I started to feel like I was in crazy land around his family. I was the only one who would even seem to acknowledge what happened (other than his father), or express any concern about the implications of what had happened. My husband kept trying to ignore it, his sister kept trying to ignore it, and the general message I received from his family was to ignore it and pretend like there was no problem. No. Not going to happen. His views and behavior were extreme and I'm not going to pretend like nothing is going on. Racism is a deal breaker for me. So is verbal abuse--or, for that matter, abuse of any kind. I made that very clear to my husband, and he told me he understood. Still, he did nothing about it. He promised to say something when the "time was right"...but as the weeks passed, it was beginning to become clear that the time was never going to be right.

My husband never had a conversation with Robbie, his sister, or his parents about the events that had transpired. In retrospect, I can't entirely blame him. The first time he had called to tell his Mom about the events that occurred on our way to Key West, she shut him down and dismissed his concerns. So why would he bother trying a second time? Also, my husband is uncomfortable with conflict, so he will avoid it at all costs. Because conflict, verbal abuse, and a generally abusive stance are all fine--as long as they are directed at his wife and not him.

I felt like I didn't matter to my husband--or to anyone else in his family. The interpretation of events that I internalized were that it was not only OK for my husband's family to act out towards me in a hostile manner, it was OK for their significant others to do that as well. Does that mean it would be OK for them to do that to and around any children we would have?

Robbie left that Sunday, but the conflict he brought into our home and into my relationship with my husband and his family remained. He still has there full love and support, I on the other hand, do not.

And well, saying or doing nothing in response to statements like that??? Why??? Unless...if you catch my drift...

And I thought marriage was about being on the same team--supporting each other, sticking up for each other, having a united front. Unfortunately, it became pretty clear that that wasn't happening in our marriage.

My husband promised me he would address the delicate situation with his family, buttttttt.......

The Honeymoon Part 2: The Last Happy Days

Lock we put on a bridge in Paris--we threw both of our keys to the lock in the Seine to symbolize our eternal love

Barcelona 

We arrived in Barcelona still in our sangria stained garbs from the San Fermin festival. A guy with a top hat opened the door of the cab for us as we arrived at our five star hotel. I can't speak for my husband, but I most certainly felt a bit out of place. We had just spent 4 days up in the mountains wearing the same clothes for the entire time. I had one giant dread in my hair after going so many days washing, but not brushing, my hair. Our white garb from the San Fermin festival was stained many, many times over with red wine and sangria that we had either spilled on ourselves, or someone else had spilled on us, during the festival. San Fermin was basically a big party with non-stop drinking 24 hours a day for as long as the festival lasted. For someone who loves to drink as much as myself, it was perfect!

However, eventually we had to return to reality, and that reality seemed almost surreal after San Fermin. This reality included me starting to detox after all the alcohol I had consumed over the weeks prior. I was getting cramps in my calves, getting the shakes, and getting very, very nervous. I had a few Xanax with me, so I started to cut back the drinking by consuming less alcohol, and using the Xanax when I started to feel symptomatic. I really didn't want to keep drinking at that point, but I was physically addicted. I never had a conversation about any of that with my husband. To this day, I'm not sure if he knew what was going on with me, or if he knew that I knew what was going on with me. It just seemed like a bad time to say, "Sorry, babe, I know this is our honeymoon, but I'm detoxing from all the drinking I've been doing."

Paris

Paris was amazingly Romantic. Garrett absolutely loved Paris. In Paris, we shared some of our most peaceful moments in months. One afternoon we brought a blanket, some food and some wine and had a picnic out in the gardens in front of the Louvre for a good portion of the afternoon. We relaxed, people watched, napped, cuddled--it was amazing. Another night, we bought some food and wine at the grocery store and ate a little picnic right on the banks of the Seine.

My detox continued in Paris. We actually had to go to the pharmacy once because I was getting such severe cramps in my calves and I was beginning to worry about my potassium levels and the effect that both the drinking, and the detoxing, were having on my heart.

But, I got through with the little Xanax I had left. I had to divvy it up into smaller doses to make it last longer, but that seemed far more comfortable and sensible than detoxing off of alcohol and Xanax in a foreign country.

In spite of my growing discomfort as a result of my detox, we were still able to do some fun touristic things. We went to the Louvre, and dashed out after seeing the Mona Lisa to go to Hemingway's favorite bar: Harry's New York Bar. I think we both agreed that it was the best tourist attraction we had been to in Paris. It was small, quaint and exactly like one would imagine "Hemingway's Bar" to look and feel like. I even got a picture of myself under the Ithaca College pennant that was hung on the wall there. We went to other Hemingway haunts, but that was by far the best. We also took our token boat ride down the Seine, climbed the Eiffel tower, and went to Notre Dame. At Notre Dame my husband told me that he was creeped out by the fact that I would actually pray when we went into the churches. I did not tell him the great peace it had brought me in my younger days, that I did it every day when I lived in Venice, or that it was a part of my cultural heritage that I deeply valued and to which I felt deeply connected. That would be an argument for another time.

At Harry's Bar in Paris under the Ithaca College pennant

Reykjavik

In an effort to save money, I bought a ridiculous amount of vodka during our layover in Iceland. I bought it in duty free, and I wasn't supposed to use any of it until I went through customs in the US. I started drinking it right there in the airport, and was completely out of it half way through the flight back to Boston. 

Akron, OH

Akron was interesting. It was neither bad nor good. We had to stay in a rather dumpy, antiquated motel in Hudson because it was the only motel my husband's employer would cover that also allowed dogs. It was pretty gross. It smelled, we saw raw sewage leaking out of one of the rooms, it had bugs in the bed, and it was a generally unpleasant place to be.

At that point, staying at home was not an option. In the months prior to the wedding, my husband had been away two weeks of every month. I didn't feel OK going a whole month without him at that point. Particularly in a place where I didn't know anyone and could barely manage to navigate around (Orlando). Too much had been going on in the previous months, and though I didn't tell him, I needed him.

I spent all day drinking wine out of a box and watching every season of the bachelor I could find on the internet. Smug in my newlywed life, I very much enjoyed judging the relationship decisions of other people. I think it made me feel good to believe that I had figured out the secret to love when none of those other people had had any success. Little did I know. 

The Bun in the Oven

Shortly after returning for Akron, I found out I was pregnant. We had conceived some time during that trip.

Wedding Woes and Alcohol Part 2: Conflict and Humiliation

Conflict and Humiliation

One thing surprised me about getting married: a lot of people have very strong opinions about how the wedding should go; people other than the bride and groom.

As I mentioned before, I have a profound aversion to conflict and a crippling need for everyone to like me. As I began to plan the wedding, it became very clear that there would be no way to avoid conflicts, and therefore, no way to keep everyone happy so everyone would continue to like me. This revelation was troubling to me and I felt like the best way to deal it was by increasing my use of of alcohol. I mean, that makes perfect sense, right?

This seems like a really good idea!

The first mistake I made in planning the wedding was to get one of my good friends involved. This particular friend, let's call her Jane, is a great person and most definitely means well. However, Jane is also but a bit of a "personality" with a little too much time on her hands. When I was struggling to find the motivation to plan the wedding, and having trouble make decisions about the wedding, I started asking her for help. Eventually I paid her to help me plan the wedding. Around that time, things went horribly awry. Of all the people that had very strong opinions, Jane had the strongest.

No pressure or anything..

Jane's strong opinions started to boil over when we went back to Massachusetts to decide some of the more intricate details of the wedding. At this time, Jane met one of my family members that was also helping to plan the wedding. It made sense to have this family member, Gemma, involved in wedding planning because she actually LIVED where the wedding was taking place, and besides that, planning weddings was ACTUALLY her job. While Jane had been a very successful wedding photographer, she had never actually planned a wedding.

Jane met Gemma, along with another person in my family, Maria, at the Greenfield Country Club to discuss the details of  he reception. When Jane realized that Gemma knew what she was doing, the whole encounter took an uncomfortable turn. Jane instantly became defensive, and as a result, started to inappropriately drop information about herself and her very impressive (to be truthful) work history. However, it was apparent to everyone else there, including my husband, that she was feeling very insecure and was being a bit combative with Gemma. It was awkward to watch and I politely excused myself to the bathroom to pop a Xanax. When I returned, everyone was discussing transportation. I jumped into the conversation, and cut off Maria who was, at that moment, was offering the services of other family members that potentially might be attending the wedding as guests. Of course, none of those people had any idea that their services were being offered. This resulted in Maria abruptly getting up and storming out. My husband chased after her when she ran out, while Gemma, Jane and I awkwardly tried to pretend like nothing odd was occurring. The awkwardness was compounded when my husband returned and reported that he had tried to flag that person down, but they drove right past him and ignored him entirely. The meeting ended shortly after that, and the entire ride home Jane ranted about Gemma and her suspicions that Gemma didn't like her. I sneaked into my sister's liquor cabinet that night after everyone had gone to bed. After I began to feel some alcohol induced relief, I popped another Xanax and went to bed. The whole day had been stressful and incredibly awkward and embarrassing, and the wedding was still months away. I couldn't help but wonder what my husband thought of everything that happened, but I didn't have the courage to deal with whatever he might say.

In the months between the terrible wedding planning debacle and the actual wedding, I fired Jane after she lost the second dress I had bought her for the wedding. Also, my husband and I got into our first serious argument that I described in the previous post. As the wedding date got closer the pressure and stress became seemingly endless. I was beginning to fall apart at the seams, and that was starting to become apparent to others. I hate it when that happens, it is really frickin' embarrassing.

Transparency

A couple of nights before the wedding, I went to a small, intimate dinner with some of the people that were directly involved in the wedding. At first, I felt relieved. I knew everyone there very well, and I didn't feel like I had to filter what I said, or pretend that I was doing well. I wasn't. In an unguarded moment, I made a joking toast over dinner that went something like: "Well, we are all crazy here, so I feel very much at home!"

Shhhiiitttt!!!Now I'm the one that made everything awkward

One person at the dinner did not appreciate my joke/toast, Valentina, one of my bridesmaids. This was exceptionally uncomfortable because I hold Valentina's opinion in very high regard. I very much care what Valentina thinks of me.

The next day, I was meeting with Gemma to discuss the final, last-minute details of the wedding reception when my phone started blowing up. It was Valentina, and she didn't to be in my wedding anymore because the toast I made the night before had greatly offended her. She had decided at the last minute that she would not be in my wedding. I nervously read her texts while continuing to discuss the details of the wedding with Gemma and my husband. Something was wrong, and everyone could tell: my phone was blowing up for ten minutes, and my pain and anxiety continued to increase every time my iPhone made the "bing" noise to notify me of an incoming text. I rushed through the details of the wedding so I could escape from the coffee shop and cry in private. When we walked out, my husband and I sat in the park across the street and I just cried and vented. He was there for me, and I felt so relieved that I would be starting a new life with him. He was always very even-keeled and supportive.

After I had pulled myself together, we went over to the People's Pint so I could find some liquid courage. I had a couple of drinks, calmed down, ran an urgent errand for the wedding. We then proceeded up to Valentina's house in an attempt to resolve the conflict. When we arrived, her and her husband came out of the house and confronted me in the driveway. She informed me how offended she was and why. I just backed down and agreed that I was wrong in order to smooth things over so I wouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of having to explain why this very near and dear friend had suddenly decided that she didn't want to be a part of my wedding. When I finally thought we had come to some resolution, she confronted me about my drinking. I lost it. I argued with her brutally before getting back in the car and driving to the bed and breakfast where I was staying. Before we left, she confirmed to me again that she would not be a part of my wedding, and perhaps would not even attend my wedding. That particular person and her family would have been a very noticeable absence at the wedding. That absence would have wounded me for the rest of my life, and would have been absolutely humiliating for thereon after.

At the bed and breakfast, I wracked my brain for a solution to my certain humiliation. I decided that I would find someone else to replace her. Everyone that I was close to had already been asked to be in the wedding and had already either accepted or declined. My best friend couldn't be there because it was enormously cost prohibitive for her, and I started to feel very vulnerable. At that point, I very uncomfortably turned to my husband's friends in order to fill Valentina's void. It was massively awkward and uncomfortable to ask people I had only known for a few years, but I was pretty desperate at that point. One of them consented, and I put the rest of the mess on the back-burner for the time being.

Within the next day, people began to arrive for the wedding. My bridesmaids helped a lot in smoothing over all the rough edges and keeping me calm. My husband disappeared around that time because he had to attend to his own family and friends. My best friend from high school was in my bridal party and doing her best to keep my spirits up. However, she lived locally, and was not staying at the bed and breakfast with me. I started to feel isolated and lonely at night. Everyone was busy, and there were a lot of long gaps of time where I was alone with little else to do but ruminate on my many worries. I know that people would have been there for me if I asked, but I was too humiliated to talk about all the drama that had been going on. Around that time, Valentina reluctantly agreed to be a part of my wedding party again, but we were still on a very shaky peace.

Finally, the night before the wedding, my old friend from England arrived. He had just gone through the break-up of a very long, very serious relationship. Neither of us were in the best of spirits, so his presence offered me enormous comfort. I was also able to confide in him about my drinking, the conflicts that had occurred, and my general unhappiness about the event.

We slept in separate twin beds in his room that night because I was too nervous and depressed to sleep in my room alone. We drank quite a bit with the other wedding attendees and I went to bed.

The next morning I woke up sober and completely overwhelmed. I was afraid I was going to have a panic attack. I realized that I had left my Xanax in my husband's belongings, and I desperately needed it. He sent over his friend's wife, who had agreed to be a part of my bridal party, with my bottle of Xanax. I popped my Xanax and continued to drink champagne as I got ready for the wedding ceremony.

This isn't risky at all! And besides, it is for a good reason!

My husband and his brother stopped by in between the golf game and the wedding pictures that morning. I made nervous, self-deprecating jokes in attempt from inadvertently revealing to my husband that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown on our wedding day. I think I did a good job minimizing how unraveled I had become. I didn't want to ruin his wedding day just because I was having a meltdown. However, when they were leaving, his brother shot me a look. I can't be sure, but I got the impression he was on to me and the haphazard cover-up over my wedding breakdown.

 A couple of my bridesmaids were late for hair and make-up. One of them was Valentina, and I remained worried in spite of my haze of alcohol and Xanax. Gemma came to the bed and breakfast and talked to me while I was getting ready. I could tell from her eyes that she knew I was having trouble as well. I seriously wish I was not so transparent when I fall apart! We all pushed on, and went to take the wedding pictures before the ceremony. My buzz started to wear off during the lengthy photo shoot, and everything started becoming a little too real for me. On the way to the wedding ceremony, I made the driver stop at the liquor store so I could buy a couple of vodka shooters.

In the basement of the church, I shamelessly pounded my vodka shooters in front of my husband's groomsmen. I already felt exposed and I was about to stand up in front of almost everyone I knew, as well as everyone my husband knew. I was petrified that everyone would see right through me--see my stress, see my fear, see my embarrassment. I felt entirely transparent.

Right before the ceremony, I went upstairs and continued drinking with my bridesmaids in the back room. On the way up, I ran into one of my cousins' husband. He shot a look right through me--but his was a look of judgement. It was not a kind or concerned look like the others. I put it out of my head and went on with the wedding.

As I got married, the rush of alcohol and Xanax hit me, and I started to feel OK. I did my best to look happy and excited. I searched the expressions of my husband's family members to see if they had any indication of how uncomfortable I felt or what a fake I was. They seemed OK.

The alcohol started to wear off as the wedding reception started. People were having a good time, so I felt less concerned about having to put on my happy face. I sat down at the table and relaxed. For a moment, I left my expression unguarded. I looked over, and my cousin was looking right at me. He knew I was miserable, and in some way that was quite comforting. It all would be over soon anyway.


To be continued..TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR THE EPIC CONCLUSION OF THIS SECOND ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL!

Wedding Woes and Alcohol Part 1

This is the weekend of my second wedding anniversary. I find that there is no way to avoid the abject humiliation and soul crushing depression that happens when you're sitting at home, alone, cuddling with your dog and binge watching "Orange is the New Black" on your second wedding anniversary. Especially when your husband is off to somewhere, with some people, in some place--none of which you know anything about.

I don't blame anyone for wondering: "Wow, what was so bad about their marriage that her husband filed for divorce less than two years after marrying her??? Is she crazy? An adulterer? An unruly lush?"

Not an adulterer. Crazy? Unruly? Lush? Well...those are all subject to interpretation. Other stories for another occasion. Today, I'm starting the story of how I demolished a happy, healthy relationship with my husband, and crumbled a marriage in less than two years!

In regard to my current situation, today I received this text from my sister:

Oh God, people are thinking about this!

While I appreciate the concern and support, it is a bit rough knowing that a whole bunch of people are probably thinking about, or hoping for, the same thing.

If I'm totally honest, the marriage really started to crumble before we were even married. My parents confronted me at the first Christmas after we were engaged, and compelled me to pick a date and start planning the wedding. That was the beginning of the end...

First of all, it was a lot of choices. Making decisions is not my strong point. I have historically struggled with flexibility as well. I was hell bent on a haunted, Halloween wedding at the Deerfield Inn, a famously haunted AND historical lodging in the foothills of the Berkshire Mountains of Western Massachusetts.

I feel a deep passion for Halloween. It is my favorite holiday, and probably the only time I feel the same joy and excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Basically, Halloween is awesome. My husband and I even went so far as to meet with the event coordinator at the Inn. She told us that we could spend our first wedding night in the haunted room. I was almost giddy with excitement. I envisioned myself with a Halloween wedding/wedding dress something like this:

What I actually looked like was this:

And the wedding looked something like this:

Absolutely lovely, but entirely different from anything I had envisioned. Not Halloween. Not Haunted. Not Small. Not Personal. NOT ME.

I get myself into situations like this because I have a fear of confrontation. I also have an obsessive need to be liked by others. A true passive-aggressive, my own wants and needs get put on the back-burner in an effort to garner the approval and affection of others, to avoid conflict or any potential disapproval of others, and to present the illusion of flexibility. But like a true passive-aggressive, those needs are not forgotten. In fact, they are carefully stored in the file cabinet of my memory to be used at a later date: a date that it is too late to meet those wants and needs, but allows me to feel completely justified in using my overlooked wants and needs as ammunition in any and all future disagreements.

Compare and Contrast:

Actual Wedding

Wedding Envisioned

To my credit, I did on one occasion try to communicate with my husband how I felt about the wedding we were planning and why it made me feel uncomfortable. That attempt ended in an 8-hour sleepless night, arguing with my soon-to-be husband in his Grandparents' house, while his brother slept on the couch behind us. Eventually, I just yielded to his will. I loved him, and I was tired of arguing. That was actually the first major argument we ever had. It was also the first time I questioned if I was making the right decision.

Second of all, planning a wedding was a lot of work! I spent 3 days straight inside, never going out, barely eating or sleeping, and doing nothing other than composing our wedding website. The website thorough and, in my opinion, demonstrated the perfect blend of humor and sentiment. And while I'm pleased with how it came out, in retrospect, it is a bit unclear if it was worth that level of sacrifice and effort; especially since the marriage was well on the way to a divorce within two years. I tend to be a bit obsessive, and a bit of a perfectionist. Apparently, these sorts of characteristics can lend to a thorough wedding website, but an entirely unpleasant wedding.

Wow, 729 Days!

It was some time during the period between Christmas and the wedding (six months later) that things started to fall apart. First, everything about the wedding was turning out to be an enormous disappointment. Then, we had our first serious argument, and started questioning if I was making the right choice. But rather than follow through with the questioning, and either sorting through our troubles or making a difficult choice to end a relationship of several years, I decided to give in to him. Always, in the back of my mind, a voice reminded me that I was in my early 30's. And, sadly, I believed that it would be unlikely for me to ever get married or have children if I broke off the wedding.

I also truly loved my husband and wanted to share my life with him. So I put my thoughts and feelings aside, and at that point, I began to drink...a lot.

Little did I know, at that time, I would be childless and alone two years later. But in the meantime...

To be continued...

For full wedding website: http://www.theknot.com/wedding/Garrett-Elizabeth