This is hard for me to write about. I feel like I need to begin with my beginning so that you might know more about how I got to this place in my life. I blame no one. I know that my parents, my education, my environment, even my race all plays some part of who I have been, and who I am becoming. I have made some bad choices in life, and I started making these choices early in life, I had to. I would not be the first person to have a child at the age of 16. So I married early, 18 years old, I was a bright student but didn’t finish high school, I studied and passed the GED course. I went to college but that didn’t last—I needed to take care of my son and myself. And so this does not turn into a memoir, I have married the same person twice, my son’s father—we have separated numerous times and twice since the second marriage. We are back together—should I call this what it is? Co-dependent?? Or is he my soul mate?? People come into our lives a season, a reason or a lifetime... I read this somewhere. We seem to always gravitate back to each other. Any relationships we pick up along the way don’t last and then we revert back to the known. Each other. I have grown to love him—my God we have known each other since we were 15 years old he’s turning 50 and in October I will be 49. I have a lot of fun with him, I admire his drive and ambition. We get along fabulously for a time... and then well life happens you know.
Well, I wanted to paint a picture of the obvious dysfunction in our marriage, there is more and perhaps its not fair that you don’t get the more right now. There is not enough time in this writing, and well I’m not too comfortable talking about all of it right now.
Here’s the latest and the greatest: our marriage has been through some tests, and before we were married the relationship had its share of obvious reasons why we shouldn’t get married. But we did. In 2006 he and I separated for about eight months—he started dating—I chose not to. I couldn’t stomach a relationship; I just wanted to have a relationship with myself, drink my wine, and do whatever else took me outside of myself. (I’m not proud of this fact). But it helped me cope at the time... now this coping mechanism does not work.
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