Life After Divorce

{October 27, 2008}   Moving on, but not up

After we were married, we lived in our apartment for about another year.  It was a pretty good year, as they go.  For Christmas, I heard through the grapevine that Steve had decided to surprise me with a new puppy.  I was thrilled by this, until I learned that the puppy was really a way of placating my desire to have children.  Blah.  But, the idea of getting a puppy for Christmas was thrilling anyway!  On Christmas Eve, Steve came home from work carrying a large wicker basket wrapped up in tinsel and holding our newest family member.  He says, “Surprise!  I got you a puppy for Christmas!  His name is Major Apawwhite – after UT’s quarterback… because he has one white paw – Get it??”  “You bought me a puppy for Christmas – and named it??”  Interesting.

Major was SUCH a cutie.  I fell in love with him immediately. 

The rest of our first year was pretty bland, until it came to our anniversary.  I found out several weeks before our anniversary that I was going to be laid off from my job due to it becoming automated.  Fuck.  We decided to move into my dad’s house with the intention of buying it once I finished my Master’s degree and landed another job.  Also, Steve ended up taking out a $10,000 loan from his grandmother behind my back.  I was really aggrevated.  I knew we needed it, but I do not like to be in debt to anyone – especially family.  That became a major source of friction between us.  His grandmother wanted to be paid back almost immediately, and that just wasn’t possible with me between jobs.

I completed my Master’s Degree in August 2002, and was asked to stay on as a consultant with the company where I interned.  That was pretty awesome.  But right about that time, Steve started to take a lot of sick time.  Now, he has always been a person who used his sick time as extra vacation days.  I have warned him that this is not a good thing.  But he began taking more than one day at a time, and before long was home for weeks at a time.  He wasn’t sick.  At least not in a physical sense.

This time became exponentially more volitile, as my dad was having us pay all of the bills on the house.  Neither Steve nor my dad were helping out, and I was drowning.  We ended up living there in that situation for nearly four years.  I found out about halfway through our stay that my father had stopped paying his mortgage.  Every day became a new torture… always wondering when they would foreclose on the house.  Not answering the door because you never knew when it would be the cops coming to serve an eviction notice.  My health was declining.  My marriage was deterorating rapidly.  I was miserable.

I landed in the hospital in January 2003 due to physical decline related to panic attacks.  I became physically ill around November 2002.  I felt nauseated and panicked all the time.  Around mid-December I thought… if I could just throw up… I would feel better.  So I did.  And once I did, I couldn’t stop.  By January, I had lost 15 pounds.  The last Saturday in January, I began throwing up non-stop and could barely move.  Steve insisted that I go to the ER that night, because the next day was Super Bowl Sunday, and he wasn’t going to take me during the Super Bowl.  So loving!  I ended up spending 6 hours in the ER, only to still be throwing up when I left.  The following Monday, I was in my regular doctor’s office, waiting to get a shot for the nausea.  By Friday, I had lost an additional 20 lbs.  I was so sick.  I ended up in the hospital for 5 days having every test known to man.  My potassium levels were so low, they were afraid I would die.  And where was Mr. Husband-of-the-Year?  Sitting in a chair in the corner – telling me to suck it up and get over it.

If anyone wants to buy a husband, I am thinking about putting him on eBay for bid.



et cetera