A tutorial on marrying the wrong person

How does one marry someone they don't like? Not, as you may think, grow to dislike someone through the normal changes in behaviour that happen as one matures. That's practically an epidemic. So natural in fact that there's even a term for it: starter marriages.

Mine - though I'd like it to - doesn't qualify. For one, there's a child. For another, we were never blissfully loved up. We didn't splash out on a grand wedding. Or any wedding at all for that matter. We just... exchanged some words, signed some papers and then paid the fee. I've just got to be different in everything.

Going through this divorce has made me realize that we never really liked each other. We didn't like each other's friends, hobbies, interests, music, books, thought processes, clothing, styles, manners of speaking and writing. All things I thought didn't really matter as long as we had.. what, exactly? I don't know because it certainly wasn't each other.

It's almost easier to leave someone you never really understood. The legalities are just as complicated, as is juggling visitation with the one innocent party in this whole stupid mess. I wish there had been some major implosion, some thing to point to and say "there, that's where it all went wrong." I could at least chalk it up to a learning experience instead of a very costly mistake.

When most people think "I don't know how I got here" they mean away from love, not centered in their marriage. I wonder how I married someone I didn't even like.

Slacker

Unfortunately, I seem to have my side of this little space lapse. So much has happened since May. We moved into our apartment - it's a temporary space with parquet flooring and popcorn ceilings. Not my dramatic high-ceilinged turn-of-century apartment I left behind. July... July was not my best month. In hindsight through discovery, it wasn't my boyfriend's best month either. The less said about it the better.

My processing is no longer public. I rarely feel the need to seek validation from strangers or even from my circle of far-flung friends. Which, of course, means that I haven't really been making an effort to keep in touch with anyone. People I thought were closest to me have fallen by the wayside as I attempt to make my life meaningful to and for me. I'm still not even entirely sure what that means. If it includes staying here, re-marrying, going back to my hometown, returning to school, starting my own business, having more children. I just don't know. For the first time, everything important is up in the air. I've since realized that none of that list defines me.

Who and how I love - myself and those around me - does.

Inhospitable

Back in January, I told my husband I was leaving him. I didn't really have a plan for where I was going to live, I just knew that my daughter and I were going to move out. I toyed with a few apartments in the area, half-heartedly submitted my resume to a few job boards, skipped out on the interviews I did get, and generally made no effort to change the status quo.

I should probably mention I had a boyfriend. Who lived in another city. Where my mother lives. Do you see where this is going? I, along with my toddler-aged daughter, packed up our necessary belongings and moved to that city. A city I had long hated. To live with a woman with whom I have an uncomfortable relationship. A relationship that requires a certain amount of finessing.

I rarely have the willpower to deal with my mother for longer than a few hours at a time. To live with her, day in and day out, along with my 18 year old brother and my two year old daughter, and my almost two year old nephew, in a three bedroom apartment (yes, three. I sleep on the couch. It's really a wonderful life I lead.) requires a certain amount of patience and deliberate ignoring. This is without taking into account my strained financial situation which ensued from the separation.

I try to just be there and be as invisible as possible, but my own morning routines are on hold. I can't get up and make coffee. I can't just let my daughter wander around while I rub the sleep out of my eyes. I can't check my email while M bangs her train set together. Because everyone is up. Everyone wants something and guess where I am? In the living room, on the couch. Trying not to seethe with resentment that I no one respects my space. My space is the common area. Even though I pay rent. Even though I buy all the groceries. Even though I pay for gas and wine and lots of other little things that add up.

I'm living out of a suitcase in a home that isn't mine. Not exactly how I pictured my life turning out. Strangely, I'm happier than I've ever been.

Then and now

Back in 2005 when I stopped writing online, I was newly married and expecting my first child. I had quit my job after spending close to five years complaining about it while reveling in its prestige. Life seemed to be comprised of drama, excuses and justifications. Since then, I had a healthy baby girl, decided to return to school for law, had an affair, left my husband, left my beloved city, and dropped the majority of friends I had for the last near-decade.

It's been interesting.

I've never really hidden anything in my writings, and rarely did I choose to hide behind flowery terms and mysterious analogies; that won't change. However, this time around, I'm going to try not to hide from myself.