I knew when I was walking down the aisle that I was making a mistake. I was 22, and I didn’t really know what I was doing.
But how do you stop something like that once it has begun? When the white dress is already on and everyone is gathered there in the church. The ham is cooked and laid out on a platter, just sitting at the hall waiting for happy guests to devour it?
How do you suddenly stand there and say –STOP?
I didn’t see a way out. At that moment in my life, I just didn’t know how to admit I had made a mistake.
I was with him for all the wrong reasons. He was sick. An alcoholic. Manic depressive. He smoked. He was filled with angst.
He called me his “light” and kept telling me I was going to fix him. He would draw me and make me feel beautiful. He told me he was trying.
I was a good girl. I had had a great life. I had every opportunity.
And so I said “I Do”
I had on a pretty white dress, and bridesmaids. I felt young, and beautiful and told myself everything was going to be ok.
We lasted exactly 1 year and 31 days. After 9months of marriage we were no longer sleeping in the same room. I gave him 30 days to move out and he left me with a mortgage and a crush of bills I didn’t even know we had. After 2 months I was living in the house with no heat or electricity.
My dad came and packed me into his car and took me home. I finally sold the house and paid off $40,000 in debt.
That’s how much my mistake cost me.
I filed for divorce on my own. He was gone. I never saw him, or heard from him again. I never got back any of the money I lost. I paid his debts.
And I learned. I learned what I don’t want. I learned what I deserve. I learned that I am not here to fix anyone.
Do I wish I had turned around and walked out of the church that day?
Yes. No? I don’t know. I think I had a lesson coming to me and I needed to learn it. I guess I can just be grateful that I got the message fairly quickly and only hurt myself.
I moved on. I got remarried. I have kids and a life that I love.
I made a mistake. It is history. I hardly remember it anymore. . .