Why I Did IT

Why I Did IT

Why did I marry a man who made me feel unsafe, unlovable, unworthy of comfort or acknowledgment?  Because it was the kind of love I was raised on. The kind I knew.

I did not love the way he spoke to me, his looks, vibe, clothes, his chest or back hair, his white sneakers with jeans.  Mostly, the way I felt in his presence. And also: He was untraveled, unread, not college educated. He made less than me.  He lived in the back of a machine shop.  He was not eager to pay for our meals out or to engage in any conversation initiated by me. He openly did not like my dog.  His best friend was a clownish, kind hearted addict who had done time in prison, and who overwhelmed me.  His sisters (the two he worshipped) were cold and demeaning.

When I met him, I was thin and fit, playing beach volleyball every weekend and on all weeknights possible.  I owned my home.  Had good friends, work life, book club and a part time job at Starbucks just for fun.  After our first year together, I quit both jobs and volleyball because the constant fighting and crying left me unable to function.  I found temp work and slowly parted from friends because I was too mortified to be honest about my situation.

In our marriage, he took off professionally and began to make friends and more money. His life and ego grew while mine shrunk- day by day.

I did not legitimately desire marriage to him anymore than I wanted the divorce.  I just wanted everything to hurt less.  When he promised to never change, I filed for divorce.  I cried and apologized as I reported that my friend’s cousin would serve him papers the following day.  I told him we each deserve peace and that in the end maybe the divorce paper would not make us any more divorced than the marriage certificate had made us married.

After decades of weekend binge drinking, I stopped drinking altogether when we got “together”, because I realized that I was a blackout drinker and in my blackouts, I would say all of the things which I worked hard to not admit or say (like “I hate you and I feel crazy and sad beyond words, more so when I speak to you and spend time with you and am terrified that you will find out and then leave me”)….and then not remember saying the things.  I knew I felt like shit when I was with him.  I knew he thought more of himself than me and I tried mightily to agree with him so we could be on the same page.  It was all familiar. 

He was different though, from others I had dated, quieter, less fun and funny and emotional (I thought this was maybe the maturity which had been missing, but— it was emotional vacancy).  I hated everything about him except that he appeared to always keep it together (while I have always been emotionally sloppy af)—oh that must be the maturity thing.  I now recognize the neatly contained rage which I mistook for something other.  I also thought it might legitimize me within my family to have married someone morally and emotionally similar…..to them.  And because I was still immature and broken myself, I did not know what maturity was (I had not witnessed it nor had it modelled for me) and his presentation, to me looked like calm and mature. 

We agreed on one thing only “He was an asshole because I was crazy and a bitch”.  If only I could correct that about myself, we would be golden. I knowingly enterered into a loveless marriage because I hated myself, only slightly more than I hated him.

I do not suggest for one second I was a champ. I own that I clearly was a train wreck, because no sane healthy, mature person with an ounce of self love would have chosen as I did.

Much Love,
Magda Gee

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