So last night D asked me why I had gotten divorced.  It’s been a while, and I had to think about it because there were about eleventy billion reasons and not all of them were good ones.  Some of them make me kind of ashamed of myself and I’m embarrassed to admit them.  Some are too private – some even too private for me to admit to myself, if that makes any sense.  Some of them make you go, “Well, duh, you should’ve been divorced about ten years before you were!”

I almost broke up with Ex before we even got married.  We were in Chicago for the wedding of one of his best friends, and Ex spent the entire weekend fucked up beyond belief.  Clearly drinking in general doesn’t bother me.  Drinking excessively on occasion is fine too.  He wasn’t an occasional heavy drinker.  He was an always heavy drinker.  Like so heavy that a few times he didn’t wake up to pee and I got hit in the back with it.  Uh gross, that’ll wake you right up.  Anyway, back to Chicago … he was totally blotto, and I didn’t know any of these people, and he kept leaving me alone.  I’m painfully shy, so I wasn’t happy with that whole situation.  Plus, I was pregnant, so I couldn’t just join in all the drunken revelry.  That may have contributed to my being so sensitive about the whole damn thing.  At one point, he went off with this chick he’d gone to high school with, and they were gone forever.  They came back holding hands – to clarify, they were coming back holding hands, and I ran into them.  Um, uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe how that felt.  He swore up and down that nothing had happened, and really I didn’t care if anything had.  What I cared about was that he left his pregnant, shy girlfriend alone but was perfectly content to go off for over an hour with stupid high school girl.  That’s not cool.

I ended up going to bed alone that night, and he stayed out with his friends.  The next morning, the first thing he did (and I seriously mean first thing – he was still in bed) was reach over for his flask and start drinking again.  You know, hair of the dog and all that.  Ick.  I was like, “Motherfucker, is that how this day is going to start?”  Needless to say, it was another bad day. 

The next morning we left Chicago, and the whole plane ride home I was thinking, “I’m going to have to break up with him.  He treats me with absolutely no regard, and I’m not going to live like this.”  Thirty seconds would go by, and then I’d think, “But fuck, I’m five months pregnant.”  When we got home, I went to bed even though it was only like two in the afternoon, and I think it was about three days before I spoke to him again.  I’m not sure if he noticed!  But I knew I was too chicken to leave, that I was going to marry him anyway, and that no good would come of it.

I stayed for nearly eleven years because I’m stoopid like that.  It wasn’t all bad, but the bad stuff was things like I never had help with anything – like I was responsible for all the house stuff, making appointments, cleaning, laundry, etc etc.  If something needed to be done, I did it even when we were both working, and even when I was working and he was in school for like only twelve hours a week and had time to help (which was why it was funny, for me anyway, to watch his house stuff completely fall apart after I left – it was like, see, do you finally know all the crap I did for you???).  It was a lack of help to the point of he’d leave socks on the floor in the living room and not bother to grab them and put them in the hamper at some point.  I could leave them there for weeks, vacuuming around them, and they weren’t going to move unless I moved them.  That’ll wear on you after a while.  I couldn’t stand to eat in the same room as him because watching him eat made me nauseous.  I couldn’t stand for him to touch me.  He quite literally made my skin crawl.  He would say, “I love you”, and I would say, “Uh-hunh”.  And yet somehow, when I finally grew a set and said, “I’m done, I’m outta here,” he was surprised.  Completely clueless.  He later said he had been unhappy too.  That’s fine.

But the main reasons were that I didn’t love him and I wasn’t attracted to him.  It wasn’t fixable, and I never should’ve married him in the first place.  You have to wonder if I learned anything from it, and I think I did.  I know not to get married again unless I actually want to marry the dude.  That’s a good lesson.  I know not to get married to someone who pees on me.  Kind of duh, but true.  I know not to get married unless it’s going to be an actual partnership.  That’s why I think it’s really important to live with someone before you marry him – though I did live with Ex.  I just ignored all the signs.  So I know not to ignore signs.  I know I don’t want to get remarried anytime soon!  If I do it again, I want it to be right and I am not ready for that just yet.