I’ve never been well-equipped for rational decisions. I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, “what the hell pile of nonsense just came out of my mouth”, WHOOPS – kind of girl.
I throw drinks on people who insist on dancing on speakers in front of bands I like. I frequently cut my own hair when I’m bored and thriving on cabin fever. I tell men I’ve met one time that I love them… in German. I go for walks in snow storms at 3am to buy beef jerky because it’s better than staring at blank walls. And I get married because I felt like that’s what I was supposed to do, and hey the guy was pretty rad.
If I were a rational person, I would have thought about all of the changes that would come with marriage. The financial aspects, both in case of a “happily ever after” or a ” ’til stupid fights do us part”. I would have reminded myself that my track record with commitment and monogamy was basically non-existent. And my second, third, fourth, and infinite thoughts pre-wedding would have been heeded.
Now don’t get me wrong – if I could go back in time I may not have done anything differently. Choosing marriage gave me my son, it taught me a lot about other people and conflict, and shone a light on some personal character flaws I was in a pretty strong denial about. But it also left me feeling trapped in unhappiness. Being miserable is miserable. Knowing that you’re making someone else miserable? That’s excruciating. ESPECIALLY if this is a person you love and swore to make happy, for better or worse. Not only was I in an emotional trap, but it was also a general life one. Financially, practically, logically with children involved – separating seems wrong. And bloody fucking impossible. Last week we would have celebrated three years of wedded “bliss”, but instead we celebrated a year of “being somewhat functional but we’re still really trying to learn and get our messy lives under control co-parents”. Yes, same date. Yes, it’s been a year. No, it’s not easy. No, it’s not figured out. No, we don’t always get along. But YES, it’s still better than making each other bald due to the stress of forced loving interactions and constant guilt over our misery.
I’ll probably never get married again. Love is fucking splendid, and the idea of being someone’s wife and saying “I ONLY WANT YOU FOREVER” still has that magical shine of hopeless romantic nonsense to it. But I’m fairly positive there are other ways to show people this shit without piles of government official documents that cost comical bags worth of money which would be much better spent on cheeseburgers and beer. Throwing someone a #wcw or #mcm on Instagram is way cheaper, and also delete-able because sometimes life just needs a good takesie-backsie.