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!

The Miscarriage and the Beginning of the End

Struggling to even smile

**Note to reader: this may not be the most humorous post, I struggle to find much of any humor in the following events

A Honeymoon Surprise

Not long after we returned to Orlando from Akron, I started to notice that I wasn't feeling very well. I did not immediately assume I was pregnant because there were a wide array of factors that may have been contributing to my discomfort--factors such as excessive alcohol consumption, an ulcerative colitis flair up due to excessive alcohol consumption, prescription drug abuse, poor diet, little to no exercise, and excessive stress in recent months.

I only knew it was time to take a pregnancy test when I had become super sensitive and disproportionately distraught about some comments made by a client at work. This reaction seemed odd because I had been secretly drinking my "adult libations" throughout my shift to eradicate any possibility of caring about what anyone had to say. Yet, somehow, feelings seemed to be emerging despite the fact I had been taking specific action to eradicate all feelings and sense of humanity.

On the drive home from work that night, I had an irrational fit of road rage and aggression. At that moment, I knew it was time to take a pregnancy test. Something was just off. I stopped at the store on the way home, picked up some pregnancy tests, and took them as soon as I walked in the door. It was positive. I was pregnant. No more booze, benzos, or cigarettes for me. My feelings of elation were mixed with an overwhelming dread of the reality: 9 months (and most likely more) of life on life's terms. There would be no more numbing, no more escapism, no more vacations from my own mind. I was going to have to face reality head on, and the thought was terrifying.

My fears were temporarily subdued by the overwhelmingly joyful and proud response of my husband.

The Miscarriage

The day after I found out, I bought a bunch of baby books at Barnes and Nobles. I told my mother and some of my close friends, and upon their suggestion, bought even more baby books. I was all in. I even bought a little pregnancy journal that I dutifully filled out every day in the hope I would one day be able to show the little baby how much it was loved, wanted, and thought about from the moment we knew we were pregnant.

A week or two later, I went to the general practitioner and had the pregnancy confirmed by a blood test. At that point, I was approximately six weeks along. I still had a hard time watching other people drink alcohol, but my desire to drink was superseded by my desire to be a mother. I did, however, take a few drags of a cigarette when I was craving the alcohol very badly. It instantly made me feel horrible, and I was determined to not give in to my addictions in the future.

After I saw the doctor, I scheduled an appointment with a doctor at the hospital one of our friends had recommended. It was exciting to sit in the lobby with all the other pregnant women. I felt so overjoyed with my life--with the marriage and pregnancy, it felt like all of my dreams were coming true.

About a week after my initial appointment with the OB/GYN, I started to experience spotting and severe cramping. I immediately flew into a panic; I had a bad feeling. I went to the OB/GYN, this time quite distraught as I sat in the waiting room with all of the other pregnant women. I finally saw the doctor and he told me that the bleeding and cramping was normal, and to call if I experienced any further problems. When I got home, I miscarried. I saw it. I knew exactly what happened.

Shock

Even before I miscarried, I had entered a state of shock. It all happened too fast, and it was too painful for my mind to even begin to process what had happened. I felt numb. Actually, I felt beyond numb. Absolutely nothing interested me: not music, TV, politics, NPR, myself, or any other human being. It felt like I was outside of the world; like I was just an observer looking in, an observer with no judgement or feelings about anything that was happening. I literally could not feel. I could not care. My husband was absolutely crushed as well. The look of anguish on his face was even more devastating than my own pain.

I couldn't help but blame myself; hate myself. I knew I sat in that hotel room in Akron doing close to nothing other than drink box wine in large quantities, pop benzodiazepines, smoke cigarettes, and watch the Bachelor on my iPad. I hadn't even been good about taking Lilly out for a walk more than once or twice a day. In no way had I actually taken care of myself or my body, the whole time knowing that it was always a possibility that I would wind up pregnant. We hadn't used protection for several months before the wedding--but I used, and used to excess that entire time.

Thus, the first several weeks I was pregnant, I was smoking, drinking heavily, using benzodiazepines and prescription uppers, not eating right, and not even bothering to shower or brush my teeth on many days. I justified my behavior by telling myself that I needed to be doing what I was doing in order to recuperate from the stress of the wedding and wedding planning.

It was at that time, a part of me started to blame my husband for wanting such a big, overwhelming, unmanageable scene of a wedding. I felt a little bitter. However, part of me still knew that I was being unfair and I was just looking for anyone but myself to blame. And besides, he was the most upset I had ever seen him, and I couldn't help but think, deep down, that I was the cause of his suffering.
Of course, I never talked to him about the feelings that had begun brewing up inside of me--the inner conflict I had tried so hard to blot out.

The White Supremacist

Prior to finding out I was pregnant, I had reserved a room at a pet-friendly and unique bed and breakfast down in Key West for my husband's 30th birthday. I wanted to do something really special, and a trip to Key West was the best that I could do considering the fact that we knew almost no one in the Orlando area at that time. The only people we ever saw, or spent time any time with, was my husband's old roommate from college, his wife, and their children. At the time, they had an infant and a toddler, so they were often quite busy. Thus, a vacation seemed like a great idea. The B&B was right in the heart of the downtown area. It even had a giant tree growing in the bathroom. Until the miscarriage, I had been extremely excited about our little getaway. We had decided to take the trip in spite of what had happened because I think we both needed a break from our harsh reality at that time.

For most of the car trip, I was largely despondent and silent. I don't even think I was drinking at that time. I was simply too numb to have anything that needed to be blocked out.

We stopped to visit my husband's sister and her boyfriend, Robbie, near Key Largo. They had been living down there for several months at that time. At first, it was largely my husband who felt uncomfortable about his sister's situation. They weren't exactly living in the safest looking area, and her and her boyfriend had impulsively bought a dog that my husband did not particularly care for. He shared his thoughts with me, but kept them from his sister. He was worried, legitimately worried for her.

I was rather quick to dismiss his concerns until we went out for drinks with them. When we were out with them at a local bar, Robbie started spewing racial slurs, and ignorant generalizations about other races. My husband and I both felt uncomfortable, so we tried to change the conversation. The hint was NOT taken, and Robbie continued to utter hateful and distasteful statements that were very clearly racist, and quite frankly shocking. It almost seemed like he was trying to provoke an argument or reaction from us. I had just miscarried the day before, so I was not in the mood. My husband has a fear of confrontation and conflict, so he just swallowed his discomfort.

When we got in the car, however, all hell broke loose. To my husband's credit, he was equally as shocked, disgusted and concerned as myself. Our entire car ride between his sister's house and Key West was entirely consumed by our attempts to merely process what we had just heard. And it was tough for us to process, especially right after the miscarriage. I can't speak for my husband, but I had never heard such overtly racist and hateful words come out of another human being. It literally disgusted me.

The next morning, Garrett called his Mom to report the shocking events of the evening prior. He was genuinely concerned about what he had heard, and genuinely worried about the well-being of his sister. However, he did not receive the response from his mother that either one of us had expected. She glossed over the whole issue in a way that suggested that she was not surprised and, in fact, well aware of the fact that her daughter was dating a hateful, white supremacist. She dismissed and shut down all of my husband's concerns (and mine as well), and artfully changed the subject. To be quite honest, I was somewhat horrified and put off by her response. Strong feelings of anger and frustration began to well up inside of me.

Yes, I am angry about my husband's mother stifling his completely normal and appropriate response to horrific and offensive language, world views, hateful ideas and behavior. Thanks, lady, for teaching my husband not to trust his own moral compass. I'm sure that can only serve him well in the world--I mean, look how well it worked in our marriage.

I Guess This Is What I Deserve...

Years ago, when I was in an abusive relationship, I had found out that I was pregnant with twins. I was overjoyed. However, my boyfriend at the time, was not. In fact, he told me that if I proceeded with the pregnancy, he had no part in my life or in the lives of his children. He made a particular point of telling me that he would never give me a dime in support of the children either. If I went through with the pregnancy, I was on my own. I was in graduate school at the time, had not finished, was working in retail for a wage that could only support myself, and was a bit unsure if I would be able to manage it all on my own. After speaking to family and friends, I made a difficult choice. I've never fully recovered from that choice.

When I miscarried, I believed that it was a punishment for the difficult choice I had made years before. I was sober, healthy, and doing relatively, although not completely, well at the time I made that choice. When I miscarried, I was a drunkard who abused prescription pills, had a bad flair up of ulcerative colitis as a result of my stress and drinking, and was in no way stable. Punishment. Punishment on several different levels. And to be quite honest, I have not yet processed all my feelings about either situation.

So, that is why my husband let me chase the ghost of Hemingway in Key West on his birthday. I had, in a very real way, lost touch with reality. He felt bad. 

Wedding Woes and Alcohol Part 3: The Finale

It is ridiculous how excited I was to post this on Facebook, truly ridiculous.

Oh well...

At the moment I am writing this, my wedding ceremony started  two years ago on this day. It hurts; it literally hurts in my chest. But that is because I miss my husband, not because I joyfully reminisce about this day.

Gemma did an AMAZING job, and I know that a lot of people really enjoyed the wedding and reception. I just wasn't one of them. And that wasn't her fault.

Proposed location of wedding

The day before the wedding, I started panicking. I went to my father and started ranting about all of my frustrations. He asked me if I wanted to cancel the wedding. I said I didn't, and I meant it. I still mean that. As a solution to my litany of complaints, my father proposed that we go up to his hunting cabin (affectionately known as "the camp") and get married by the Green River in front of the waterfall. Only immediate family.

That idea calmed me down a lot, and I spent the rest of the day considering the suggestion. The camp is a place that is very sacred and special to me. It reminds me of my grandparents, being little, having fun swimming and making forts with my cousins, and other fun stuff. The good parts of life. I have many, many fond memories of the people that I love the most, hanging out at that river on the fourth of July.

Fourth of July 2011

Small, private, sentimental, personal. My Dad really had an excellent solution to all of my worries and complaints.

I remember mentioning this suggestion to my husband, and it was met with a lukewarm response. He wasn't opposed to it, but he wasn't a fan of the idea either. And of all the people in the world whose approval I seek (and I literally seek the approval of EVERYONE in the world), I seek my husband's approval the most.

That was where I made another huge mistake.
If I had to do it all over again, I would have said something like, "Look, buddy, this is my wedding day too, and we are going to compromise!"

Fourth of July 2011

But frankly, standing up for myself and drawing some boundaries would have been a little too healthy of a response for me at that point in time. And that is NOT my husband's fault. I had not set any personal boundaries for myself during the course of our relationship, and it would have been odd to start setting those boundaries on our wedding day. Besides, if I set any boundaries for myself, he might decide he doesn't want to be with me, and I would end up a childless, old spinster with an unhealthy obsession with her dog! Wait, Oops, that happened anyway :(

And besides, as a passive-aggressive, I was definitely going to need some grievances from the past to throw at him at some undetermined time in the future, when there is nothing he could do about it, and I could therefore assert that I had been victimized by him in some way. I mean, how am I supposed to bolster any unrelated argument against him if I didn't save up some ammunition? These are some things to consider.

The Betrayal

Truth be told, very early in our relationship I had compromised my boundaries and dignity in order to make the relationship work. My husband had dated a girl named Megan the summer before we met, and he had very strong feelings for her when we started dating. After 3 or 4 weeks of dating, I asked my husband if he wanted to date me exclusively. At that point, he told me that he loved spending time with me, but if Megan ever called, he would most definitely ditch me to be with her. I broke up with him that night.

About a month or so later, I texted him in a knee jerk reaction to some other guy being a lying sack of shit. I thanked him for his brutal honesty, in spite of the fact that I had been crushed by that truth. But, like my Italian ex-boyfriend used to say, "Better the ugly truth, than a beautiful lie." It was his honesty at a difficult point that allowed me to have confidence in thinking that he would always tell me the truth. In turn, I opened up to him, made myself vulnerable, and had strong confidence in his honesty and integrity.

Six months down the road, my husband and I were living together (in addition to all my other issues, I'm also very codependent, so moving in together seemed like a great idea! No unhealthiness going on here!).

Our relationship took a turn for the worse in March of that year. I had just finished mid-terms in grad. school, and I was pretty stressed out, so my husband and I decided to go down to Florida to visit my family. My family is in Florida every March for our family vacation. Initially, it was a fun and relaxing trip until my phone died and I used my husband's to contact my Mom. I was trying to figure out why she was late to the beach. While attempting to text her, I ran across text messages between my husband and Megan. He had been texting her the entire time we had been dating and living together. I had no idea. I was crushed.

Apparently, my husband had decided that he should invite Megan out with all of our friends on St. Patrick's Day while I was home, sober, and writing my mid-term papers. I couldn't go out drinking because I was in recovery, and truthfully, I had more important important things to do that day than drink.

Picture taken minutes before I found out about Megan

The betrayal was palpable. I had been with him and our friends having lunch only an hour or two before he had texted her to come hang out with him. He did this, while I was at home in the apartment we shared, with our dog, studying for my mid-terms. Luckily, she didn't show up because she was in graduate school as well and she had a committed boyfriend. But what if she did show up?

The trust I had for him, the trust that made up the very foundation of our relationship, was gone. He hid things from me, he had no problems with lies of omission. I felt a fool for making myself vulnerable to him, loving him, trusting him...and he had done the exact same thing as the guy before him. I felt like an idiot. I kept choosing men that were settling for me while they secretly had their eyes on other prospects. Better prospects than my damaged self. The boyfriend I had a year prior to that specific day had done the exact same thing. Only he did it with many women, on many occasions. The ex-boyfriend actually strangled me until I nearly passed out in his own parents home when I finally caught him for the last time and broke up with him. A year later, I was in the exact same position--minus the strangling. I was still dealing with the legal fallout of that situation and the cops investigation into that event until just weeks before my wedding. So, on top of all the other stress I was experiencing in the weeks before the wedding, I was having to talk to the cops and the district attorney in the county where that incident occurred.

Picture taken about an hour and a half before my husband texted Megan to hang out

At least the first time, I still had the dignity to stand up for myself and put an end to the relationship. The second time I was just too worn down by life. And in the back of my head was the same little voice reminding me that I was in my early 30's and that it would be unlikely for me to ever get married or have children if I broke off the relationship. So I just shut down. I expressed to my husband my hurt and frustration, but I was still so set on taking the traditional trajectory of a "successful" life (meaning marriage and children), that I put my feelings of betrayal and pain aside. I remember even telling myself: with the kind of life you have lived, this is the best that you are ever going to get: there is no such thing as true love.

So I swallowed my pain and retreated back into my inner world that included only studying, going to classes, binge watching TV on Netflix, and sleeping as much as possible. I was just too tired to try to start all over, so I didn't. I even helped my husband come up with the rationalization for his behavior that he uses to this day. I didn't do it for him. I did it for me. I needed to save face, I needed to make this work, and I needed everything to appear beautiful on the outside even if was nothing but a shit storm on the inside. So, I forged on through. Obviously, appearances are way more important that reality.

Thus, if I didn't have enough dignity and self respect to stand up for myself when that whole situation occurred, why would I suddenly have the impetus to do so on my wedding day--a day that I was in an even more fragile state of mind. My husband had no experience with me actually asserting personal boundaries, so why would he suddenly know how to deal with me doing so on my wedding day. So, like I had done in the past, I put my own needs and desires aside and saved my rage for a later date...the day that things finally went too far.

I still cry when I think about the stress of that wedding. I have ever since it happened. It was the beginning of the end, and it was my fault. I couldn't make one healthy decision in regard to that relationship. But those are stories for another day.

Stay tuned for: "The Honeymoon: How to Have a Drinking Binge in 5 Different Countries," and "Being a Weirdo and Other Wedding Related Blunders"

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