Pole Dancing In The Dark

Runaway Bride

This is a long one, so you might want to grab a drink, go to the bathroom, get some food, whatever. Linda and her wonderful husband Shawn know most of this all ready, so you guys should just pass on this...

I was perusing some of my fellow HCBAers’ blogs last night, trying to get caught up, off work time, as well as trying to keep up with a variety of hobbies and house chores. Suddenly there are all these things to do with my time, other than watch TV. Anyway, I get to the bottom of the list, The Unrepentant Individual and I come across his post a couple of days ago about the run away bride. He makes an observation about other marriages he has seen where the bride also walked away at one point, but after going through with the ceremony anyway, having these marriages end in divorce. So, based on his experiences with certain types of people (particularly women, in this case) he makes the assertion that if his bride to be ever “ever called off the wedding or given back the ring, that was it. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, I’m right out the door. I’m tremendously thankful I was never in the position where I had to make that choice. But I’ve seen it happen to others.”

And continues with “So my advice to anyone who is getting engaged, or is currently engaged, watch out. Someone who does it once is emotionally unstable enough to be a bad risk for your future.” Brad certainly has a right to express his own opinion (especially since it is his own webpage). But I will say that I was taken aback by the statement, nay, I was downright outright offended – but don’t worry, I won’t sue, and I don’t expect any apologies. (Although I do agree with Number 2 Pencil who made this statement “Myself, I think anyone insane enough to plan a wedding with 14 bridesmaid should be committed on the spot (and I believe the Manolo agrees with me),…”

The reason why I was offended by Brad’s statement is simple. I was *one* of those brides. Not quite to the extent of Jennifer Wilbanks and nor will I defend her actions. No responsible human would ever put their families through that kind of drama without at least letting them know that she was ok. And the heartache her husband to be must have gone through, knowing that he was the prime suspect of a murder he didn’t commit and not knowing what happened to the woman he loved. No, that wasn’t the kind of running way a sane person would do.

And, in fact, I didn’t really run way. I called off the engagement midway through the planning stage. I didn’t take the ring off and throw it at my wonder fiancé and storm off in a huff. I didn’t yell and tell him it was over, that I was done with him, nothing as dramatic as that. I told him calmly and tearfully that I wasn’t sure if I were doing the right thing for the right reasons.

It was a dark and stormy night in December, I remember it clearly. I was at the time, working retail, when he proposed. See, he wanted to ask me on my birthday (December 21) but I was working all sort of insane hours do to the Christmas shopping season (how I loath it to this day) so he asked me a few days before that. He did it in the old fashioned style of getting down on one knee, with a waver of nervousness in his voice and his gorgeous blue eyes wide with fear/hope tunneling laser like into my brain. The question, unexpected, the answer, easy. Of course I said yes.

But as the plans started to be laid for the wedding, it’s was like I was suddenly in this leviathan pressure cooker. Not from him, not really. But life was suddenly taking this huge downward spiral. I left my job at one retail store for another retail store that was going out of business (because there was huge money to be made quickly) to a string of retail jobs that I was fired from to the job with the biggest asshole of an abusive boss ever known to mankind. Things were also going on with the fiancé that were unexplainable. He had these weird headaches known as “Ice Pick headaches” where he was unable to move for days, weeks, months at a time. He started taking all sorts of horrific medicines, with even more horrific side effects. So, now in addition to planning a wedding, looking for a new job, being verbally abused day in and day out by an asshole boss, and having supposed friends turn their backs on us, I had to now take care of a grown man that couldn’t even move. (It was very fortunate that he worked for his parents, other wise he would have probably lost his job and had to find a way to pay rent with his disability and my miniscule paycheck.)

Also, at the time, I was still living with my parents. I was too old to be living there, but I had no money of my own (every cent I made went into paying for a car and credit card bills that were accumulated because of the previous car – really long ugly story as well) so it was that, move in with fiancé and risk them never speaking to me again (old fashioned catholic folk) as well as not attending or helping to pay for said wedding. Living with them was also pure unadulterated hell. I love my parents, don’t get me wrong, but I hated being in that house every second I was there. My mother was constantly grinding me down with her verbal abuse and my father – well, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? He’s an alcoholic, and not a nice one – at least he could use the excuse for his verbal barrages as he was pretty much drunk most of the time. My mother can just be mean. He finally got nailed with a DWI, and somehow it was my fault that I was right about him.

So, even though my mother was kind of rotten to me, I had no one else to help me plan this wedding. And the worst part was as soon as the planning started, everything else broke down, and suddenly I was caught up in this whirlwind of activity and I wasn’t so sure any longer why I was doing this. It’s like the moment the pageantry of wedding planning starts, the reason for the wedding in the first place flies out the window. And somewhere between trying wedding dresses and picking out flower arrangements, I suddenly had the thought “Well, if it doesn’t work out, I can always file for a divorce.”

That stopped me dead in my tracks.

Then I stopped and thought about all the reasons why I was getting married.
1. Getting out of my parents’ house? Check.
2. Some sort of financial stability? Check.
3. Some sense of security? Check.
4. Did I really love him? Check?

Did I really love him for who he was other than what he could provide for me? I thought I did, but was I just telling myself I did because of what he could provide for me? Would we just wind up being another statistic down the road because I wasn’t really sure?

I will also admit to being fairly unstable at that time. There was a fight, a huge fight, an ugly fight, a knockdown drag out neighbors threatening to call the police because we wound up on the floor in the hallway in a heap (no, he never hit me. Ever.) Then we made up. But something still wasn’t right. I was the unhappiest I had ever been and I couldn’t marry him like that. Matter of fact, the thought occurred that he would be better without me.

Days later, I honestly thought about suicide. I got as far as a knife, in the bathroom, his bathroom. I know, completely unstable. Then I thought about how he would have felt finding me dead with blood all over his floors, in his apartment. Sanity returned, I grabbed the yellow pages, and found a “payment scale” psychologist. I then called him at work, and told him everything. He came home, shaken, and we talked. We talked a lot. He offered to go to the appointment with me, but I felt it was necessary to do this on my own at first, and him later if warranted. I told him I also needed time to decide if I were getting married for the right reasons. He was loving and understanding and wonderful.

Then I told my parents that the wedding was called off. I told them about the appointment with the therapist. They were surprisingly understanding. Everyone was, except for the dirtbag asshole boss – he was what he was.

Fortunately, after starting therapy, things did start turning around. I found another job, which was better money, my parents stopped being so horrible to live with. My father couldn’t go out to drink anymore because his license had been taken away, he was ordered to some sort of therapy himself, and fiancé went on being wonderful and supportive. And I found something that I had lost. Some sense of self respect, self reliance and self worth. I realized that I was strong enough to make it on my own if I had to. I also realized that I did honestly love this person that wanted to spend their life with me, psychotic episodes and all. That I didn’t need him for his money, or his apartment or what he could do for me.

I needed him to be next to me every morning when I woke up. I needed him to hug me and kiss me and tell me how he felt about me every single day for the rest of my life. I needed to hug him and kiss him and tell him how I felt about him every single day for the rest of my life. So, we were “re-engaged”, then married and I haven’t looked back since. Hubster is the mac-daddy of hubsters, and I am one lucky woman.

Besides, he all ready had custody of the cats.

Posted by Ethne at May 5, 2005 08:29 PM