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 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 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!