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judecorpThis is the second in a sporadic series of installments intent on processing my previous relationship. As is often the case, it will be snipped so you can avoid it if you should so desire. I offer that option now.
I keep all of my promises. This is one of the things, if not /the/ thing, that I am most proud of in my life. I use the words "I promise" very sparingly. Even when I don't say those words, though, it is often easy to tell when I have given my word. And I don't use "I didn't say 'I promise'" as an excuse. Ever.
When I was 18, I learned a very valuable lesson. I learned that you can never promise someone forever. I learned this in the ultimate Training Ground - the high school relationship.
Yes, I was one of those who thought I was going to marry the other half of my first serious relationship. That is, of course, until I went to college. Isn't that always the way?
I'm going to make a confession here, boys and girls (and in-betweens). I'm going to tell you that I got married for what, in hindsight, was probably not the smartest reason in the world. But it was my reason. And it's true. This isn't the voice of the bitter ex. It's the voice of the knight.
I got married because I said I would. Because I promised.
I don't really believe in marriage, not in the legal sense here in the US. It's sexist, patriarchal, heterosexist, and ridiculous. It's not for me. I don't feel that people should need a legal document to seal their commitment. And I don't feel that people's commitments should be considered invalid if they are unable to obtain a legal document. Because of this reason, and many others, I am opposed to marriage.
Marriage, however, was very important to A. I heard over and over that this was a big deal, that it meant a lot to the parentals, that there were benefits to compromising my ideals. Insurance. Tuition remission. Ceremony. Ritual. In the end, it goes back to the feelings echoed in my previous installment: I'd rather live in his world, then live without him in mine. With this in mind, I accepted his marriage proposal. I wore his ring. Proudly, even.
In the time that passed between the engagement (December 1997) and the wedding (August 1999), my reservations grew. And grew. And I fell into a depression the likes of which I have never known (not even with all of the crap that went on this summer did I feel even a third as bad as I did in Maine, where I would sleep 12-14 hours a day on average). In May of 1999 I had a brief affair with the owner of the Pillowcase of Angsty Love. If I was unsure about the whole wedding thing before, I was completely conflicted after she and I parted ways wistfully. The energy between us made what little physicality existed between A. and me seem ridiculous in comparison. The desperation with which my heart linked to hers was eye-opening as well.
When push came to shove, though, I had made a commitment. I had made a promise. And there was nothing, not my ideals or my happiness that was going to make me break my word. I walked down the aisle. (We won't even talk about the fiasco that preceeded this event, or the phone call to my mother that morning letting her know I wasn't going through with it.)
I don't know what's crazier - the fact that this is the reason I got married (and now have to get divorced) or the fact that I actually /told/ people that this was the reason I was getting married, and no one tried to stop me. No one challenged me on this. I think one person laughed awkwardly. "That's a hell of a reason." Something like that.
I am honorable to a fault. Sometimes in too high doses, virtue becomes vice. Do I hide behind my principles? Do I burrow in my ethics? Did I use honor as a way of avoiding the admittance of defeat?
Hindsight is 20/20, they say. Would I have done the same things over again? Perhaps. For love, I would do anything. For the people that I love, I would sacrifice myself. I would rather be hurting than see pain on the faces of those I care about. But in hindsight, perhaps I would not have grown so attached to someone who knew how I felt about marriage and insisted on it anyway. Who knows? Learning experiences, all.
~//~
Today in class, my professor commented that there are several paths to self-awareness. One of these is therapy. Another is an intimate relationship, she said, with someone who knows you and helps you to analyze your thoughts and actions. Last night on the phone with Jennifer, I was confronted and challenged three times. That's three times more than A. did in the entire course of our relationship.
Was he worth my promise? Of course, because I loved him. I wasn't, however, worth his. Well, that's not fair. I can't possibly hold everyone to my twistedly stubborn standards. :)
I keep all of my promises. This is one of the things, if not /the/ thing, that I am most proud of in my life. I use the words "I promise" very sparingly. Even when I don't say those words, though, it is often easy to tell when I have given my word. And I don't use "I didn't say 'I promise'" as an excuse. Ever.
When I was 18, I learned a very valuable lesson. I learned that you can never promise someone forever. I learned this in the ultimate Training Ground - the high school relationship.
Yes, I was one of those who thought I was going to marry the other half of my first serious relationship. That is, of course, until I went to college. Isn't that always the way?
I'm going to make a confession here, boys and girls (and in-betweens). I'm going to tell you that I got married for what, in hindsight, was probably not the smartest reason in the world. But it was my reason. And it's true. This isn't the voice of the bitter ex. It's the voice of the knight.
I don't really believe in marriage, not in the legal sense here in the US. It's sexist, patriarchal, heterosexist, and ridiculous. It's not for me. I don't feel that people should need a legal document to seal their commitment. And I don't feel that people's commitments should be considered invalid if they are unable to obtain a legal document. Because of this reason, and many others, I am opposed to marriage.
Marriage, however, was very important to A. I heard over and over that this was a big deal, that it meant a lot to the parentals, that there were benefits to compromising my ideals. Insurance. Tuition remission. Ceremony. Ritual. In the end, it goes back to the feelings echoed in my previous installment: I'd rather live in his world, then live without him in mine. With this in mind, I accepted his marriage proposal. I wore his ring. Proudly, even.
In the time that passed between the engagement (December 1997) and the wedding (August 1999), my reservations grew. And grew. And I fell into a depression the likes of which I have never known (not even with all of the crap that went on this summer did I feel even a third as bad as I did in Maine, where I would sleep 12-14 hours a day on average). In May of 1999 I had a brief affair with the owner of the Pillowcase of Angsty Love. If I was unsure about the whole wedding thing before, I was completely conflicted after she and I parted ways wistfully. The energy between us made what little physicality existed between A. and me seem ridiculous in comparison. The desperation with which my heart linked to hers was eye-opening as well.
When push came to shove, though, I had made a commitment. I had made a promise. And there was nothing, not my ideals or my happiness that was going to make me break my word. I walked down the aisle. (We won't even talk about the fiasco that preceeded this event, or the phone call to my mother that morning letting her know I wasn't going through with it.)
I don't know what's crazier - the fact that this is the reason I got married (and now have to get divorced) or the fact that I actually /told/ people that this was the reason I was getting married, and no one tried to stop me. No one challenged me on this. I think one person laughed awkwardly. "That's a hell of a reason." Something like that.
I am honorable to a fault. Sometimes in too high doses, virtue becomes vice. Do I hide behind my principles? Do I burrow in my ethics? Did I use honor as a way of avoiding the admittance of defeat?
Hindsight is 20/20, they say. Would I have done the same things over again? Perhaps. For love, I would do anything. For the people that I love, I would sacrifice myself. I would rather be hurting than see pain on the faces of those I care about. But in hindsight, perhaps I would not have grown so attached to someone who knew how I felt about marriage and insisted on it anyway. Who knows? Learning experiences, all.
~//~
Today in class, my professor commented that there are several paths to self-awareness. One of these is therapy. Another is an intimate relationship, she said, with someone who knows you and helps you to analyze your thoughts and actions. Last night on the phone with Jennifer, I was confronted and challenged three times. That's three times more than A. did in the entire course of our relationship.
Was he worth my promise? Of course, because I loved him. I wasn't, however, worth his. Well, that's not fair. I can't possibly hold everyone to my twistedly stubborn standards. :)
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Re: ...I'm amazed by you...
Date: 2002-01-18 03:41 am (UTC)*eeps at her tangent*
But, that post was /supposed/ to be to let you know that you...
YOU....
Are amazing.
The way you're able to be truthful with yourself. Wow. To be able to investigate the whys and the hows. I'm so impressed.
You're an incredibly strong super-hero, and I've been blessed to read your journals. I'd be proud to have Cass grow up and hear your stories.
Re: ...I'm amazed by you...
Date: 2002-01-18 06:21 am (UTC)If Cass is lucky, she will not only hear the stories of many, many women, she will tell her own. And so will her mother.
Truth and honor are my most powerful possessions. There's no need to be amazed by my honesty, with myself or with other people. To me, it's just a given. It just /is/.
I never want to look back on my life and think there was a time that I was not truthful.