My marriage to my first wife was done as an act of my twisted sense of honor. Through high school, I had tried to be friendly with everyone. There was one girl in particular who had a crush on me. I was tied up (off and on) with my girlfriend – and I had no reciprocal interest in this other girl – but I still tried to maintain a friendly relationship with her. After high school, however, she and I met up after I had finally broken it off with my high school girlfriend.
In an attempt to discourage her romantic advances, I set her up on a date with a coworker. They dated for about a week or two before she found an interest in someone who paid her more attention – my co-worker’s half brother. A couple of weeks after she started dating this new guy, she finds out that she’s pregnant.
Meanwhile, once I managed to get her out of my hair, I spent the next month hanging out with my best friend. We would occasionally invite her along to hang out with us, but for the most part, we only learned most of what happened through hearsay. But once I discovered that she had become pregnant, my “big brother” attitude came out and I was ready to rip this new guy’s head off. This was about the time in my life when it was first pointed out to me that I might have an anger problem.
My best friend and I pulled up in my car outside of the house where my first-wife-to-be was living. Most of the time, when my friend and I showed up, she would be the first one out the door to run out to the car. This time, however, the woman with whom she was living was the one that came outside. Her back-woods husband was following right after her. They were both approaching me very quickly. The wife was concerned that I might do something to upset my soon-to-be-betrothed, but her husband was more concerned that I wasn’t about to go kill someone. They were both doing what they could to calm me down before I even had an opportunity to learn what had happened.
Once I found out, I had a fit of rage. I don’t recall what happened – a common side effect from these things from when I was younger. I vaguely recall shady images of activity. In this instance, I recall snapping out of my rage while standing in the middle of the street holding some blunt object. That was when I realized that the jerk wasn’t coming. I realized at that moment that he skipped town. I waited a few days before I began to formulate a plan to marry my friend and raise her child with a father.
Shortly after we were married, my first wife and I started to fall into deep financial problems. I enlisted into the military, but even they said that I needed to have my head examined. It took them 10 weeks to send me back home.
Upon my return home, I met my 2 month old daughter for the first time. I played with her a bit in the beginning. But once she started to walk, I quickly realized how spoiled she was becoming. I tried to counter-act the spoiling that she was getting from her grandparents and her mother, but eventually, I just hid myself away. And this was going to be the longest period of time I had ever spent after severing myself from society.
For twelve years, I hid from my problems. I spent what time I needed to eating, balancing the budget, working, and paying bills, but then the rest of the night, I spent locked away in a room by myself. I didn’t realize at that time, however, that I had depression. I lied to myself, justifying my rash behavior from my youth. But for a decade, I felt honor-bound to stay in that marriage.
It took me almost 5 years to gather the nerve to get a divorce. Although I still didn’t realize that I had a deeper problem, my purpose for getting a divorce was so that I would be able to move on and blossom as a human being, again. I know, now, that my first wife understands that today. But it took a few years for her to realize precisely what I would soon learn.