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.

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. 

Being a Weirdo and Other Wedding Related Blunders

Is this a vision of true love or what?

Crap! Nowhere to hide!?!!!??!! :< (extra frowny face)

My husband had his bachelor party in Orlando. We were living in a small apartment there. In addition to being reasonably close to Disney, there are generally a lot of fun things to do in Orlando, so it made sense to have the bachelor party down there. However, our apartment was tiny, without much room for guests. My husband had his brother staying at our apartment for about a week or so during his three day bachelor party event.It wasn't the most graceful moment in my life, so I'm sure that no one is surprised to hear that events unfolded in a somewhat uncomfortable manner that was a bit too self-revealing for my taste. The state of the apartment, with a huge Bloody Mary stain that had been left of the living room floor for at least a month, provided even the most casual observer an unflattering glimpse into my lifestyle and priories. The more intricate details of my debauchery and dysfunction would be revealed over the course of the week--as three people shared an extremely small living space.

I did have a conversation with my husband about my concerns, but being the passive-aggressive, people pleaser that I am, the conversation went something like this:

ME: Soooo, your brother is going to come stay with us for a week...

HUSBAND: Yep, that's OK with you, right?

ME: Of course! It will be so much fun to have some company!!!!

What I wanted to say was something like this:

ME: Um, husband, how are we going to convince everyone that I'm psycho-socially stable if we let them stay in our tiny-ass apartment where my dysfunction is readily apparent by the box of wine in our bedroom, the Bloody Mary stain on the living room floor, and the knife on my bedside table?"

HUSBAND: Good point, babe, maybe you should ask one of your friends if they could go stay with you at your parents condo!

ME: You are so brilliant, hon, and that is why I'm marrying you!

Besides the fact that I was trashed all day every day, I slept for very long periods, didn't have a job, barely ate, endlessly spewed my drunken, ridiculous ideas, and had a knife on my bedside table in case my crazy strangling ex-boyfriend tried to break in. Although he had given no indication that he would do so, and had actually written me a letter of apology at that time, in my drunken stupor I remained convinced that he was coming to Orlando to either steal the dog or murder me.

Husband in no way concerned about Cercei Lannister eating children

My cousin also stayed at our apartment during the bachelor party. I put on a strong performance to hide my dysfunction, but I'm fairly sure he wasn't buying it. He's known me since he was born, so he already knew I was ridiculous. On the plus side, he forgot his tea tree oil Paul Mitchell shampoo and his goose down pillow. I "forgot" to mention that to him, and relished the tingly and refreshing feeling of his hair products. His pillow is still in my position and remains my preferred sleeping utensil. I suppose I owe him a new pillow and some shampoo.

Panic Attack at Disney

The night before I was supposed to entertain the wives of my husband's friends at Disney, I had one too many libations while out with the guys. The next morning I was feeling a bit "under the weather" and a little "nervous." Overwhelmed by the idea of spending a hot, summer day hungover at Disney's Magic Kingdom (where no alcohol is served), I drove to meet the other women. When I arrived, I looked as crazed as I felt. A crazed, frothing, rabid raccoon is really the best description I can come up with for the way I feeling that day. I had one of the other women drive my car there because I had started putting a few back to cure my hangover with a little hair of the dog. When we finally paid the exorbitant fee to enter, I found out there was no alcohol served, and then I quickly realized I had left my Xanax at home. I was crushed. Crushed. So we proceeded to get in a 45-minute to an hour long line for the small world attraction. It was sweltering hot, and I was extremely dehydrated and hungover. I remember looking at the fans on the ceiling and thinking I was in some bizarre version of hell. When we got on the ride, the endless creepy ,singing statues and nauseating perkiness of the "happy"" songs started to rub me the wrong way.

It was hot, I was hungover, it was cheerful, there were happy people and excited children everywhere, and I was not. I did not want to be there at all, I had just paid over $100, and stood in line for an hour, to go on this very creepy (in my opinion) ride.

Frothing rabid raccoon lady (i.e. me)

By the time we got off the ride, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I had already revealed to the two other women that I suffer from severe anxiety and that I was feeling a bit hungover. The two fresh-faced women were cheerful and supportive, but I knew they had no idea what sort of state I was actually in, and this made me feel very isolated, alienated and different. When I compared myself to those two other women, I started to feel bad for my husband. I was a lush with a lot of personal baggage. These were healthy, stable, successful women without drinking problems or years of personal baggage to lug around with them everywhere they went. I missed my husband. I missed him mostly because he was the only one who knew the whole truth about me. I didn't have to hide around him. I didn't feel vulnerable and exposed.

I told them I was going to have a panic attack and I excused myself to run home and get my Xanax. The happy, laughing families and cheerful music were worsening my sense of panic and I couldn't stay a second longer. I was so anxious at that point, that I couldn't even figure out how to get out of there. I called my husband and he calmed me down. But...I was exposed.

There was no time that I felt like more of a fraud then that moment. I can't ever remember ever feeling so out of place and so dislocated from myself, other people, and humanity in general. I went home, got a Xanax, journaled, and relaxed by myself for a few hours. But in an effort to appease my husband, my husband's friends' wives, and to maintain some sort of mask of dignity, I went back to Disney and joined them again for another ride. Later that evening, alone, I called my husband again panicked, and one of his friends drove him over to stay with me that night. I felt horrible. It was the night of his bachelor party and he was supposed to spending the night with his friends at a hotel. I just couldn't hold it together. I didn't know what to do, so I flew back to Massachusetts the next day. I had barely had a moment alone with my husband in over a week, and there were not many opportunities in sight before the wedding. Going home made the most sense. My family could comfort me, and they did. Thanks to my family, I was able to gather enough grit to make it through the events ahead...without making my breakdown obvious to the general population. I had some glitches, and I had revealed more about my state of mind than I was comfortable with, but I managed to get through the wedding. Unfortunately not the marriage.

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