I Should Have Married Myself

I knew the morning of what should have been one of the happiest days of my life that I was about to make the biggest mistake I have ever made.

Given that I had made so many up to that point, anybody looking in would have thought that I finally gotten my life on track and was happy. I was happy to be getting married, to having a big wedding, wearing the white gown and veil, having my Dad walk me down the aisle, the toasts, first dance and of course the honeymoon. All the planning, dreaming and being somewhat the center of attention within all my various social groups, including my druggy friends at first kept me from seeing what was right in front of me the whole time; my fiancee was a sleaze, and I was too drug-addled to see it.

His friends told me as much when we announced our engagement, but in a subtle joking way. His stepfather also let me know that he had some issues, by telling very unflattering stories about him, also trying to pass them off as cute anecdotes.

My uncle, the one that disappeared without a trace had pocket dialed me after I borrowed his cell to phone home. Listening to my answering machine when I got home, I heard the conversation from their car in which he refers to my boyfriend as a sleaze ball and a mooch. I think that bothered me more than it should have, because it was a few days after my grandmother passed away in my parent's home. I was with her at the time. Anyways, the morning of her funeral, I was up and ready to go, despite not having slept. My boyfriend was supposed to drive me and attend the service. He even took the day off. That was the only reason I let him convince me to spend literally my last dollar on crack the night before. I didn't even have bus fare left. He decided he had a migraine (one of many he would get whenever he had something to do that didn't benefit him) and refused to even drop me off. By then, freebasing had completely clouded my judgement. It was too late to phone anyone to come get me, so I missed my grandmother's funeral because I spent my bus fare on crack but told people I was too upset to attend.

It was right after that incident when we decided to get married. I was trying to break up with him, but he said the m word and all was forgiven. A couple of times before the wedding, I started thinking about leaving, but wanted everyone to think that I had settled down, so on went the charade, and the drug use. As fast as I earned it, it was either spent right away on the wedding, or on crack.

I ignored the one person I probably should have listened to. My daughter disliked him from day 1, not sugar-coating anything, but unable to explain from a 12 year old perspective what exactly she didn't like about him. All she could say was that he was creepy looking and acted sneaky and guilty, likening him to our dog after he stole something. I chalked it up to jealousy. I had just come home, and she had been living with my parents on and off since she was 3. I had hoped she would come to accept him, but it never happened, especially since (I found out later on) he had stolen money from her wallet a few times.

Admittedly, I was no angel. I met him in a bar, after I had come back from BC with a bad heroin problem. I had been on and off it a few times, but this time my parents took away my clothes and locked me in a room until I had detoxed. They found out I was using again when I ruined my sister's engagement party. This is where the idea of a wedding, my wedding, started. I, also, along with many of my friends, discovered crack in the early 90's. Another low point in my life. Crack and heroin make for one hell of a roller coaster ride. I had been clean for over 4 years when I went to Vancouver. I was working as an escort out west to pay for my habit, and when I got clean after coming home, I realized I could make more money here without having to pay for drugs. I put my ad in the paper and went into business. I was doing quite well when we met. I was managing to save some money and stay clean and I looked great. I didn't know then that it was my salary and past drug history that most interested him. It took a long time to find out, and many wasted years trying to keep a never should have been relationship together. Many more wasted years trying to keep myself together.

I remember the morning of my wedding like it was yesterday, even though it was 20 years ago. I woke up early at my parents, before anyone else, snuck a beer after I did a huge racker from the gr I bought the day before, before the rehearsal, because I think I knew there was no way.

Absolutely no way could I say I do if I wasn't high. I was sitting alone in the backyard around 6 am, high on coke, trying to figure out a way to run away. I wanted to be as far away as possible. I started panicking and ran back to the bathroom, did another line, grabbed another beer, and tried to focus. My entire life, up to that point flashed before me, and I saw how happy my family was that I finally had a nice life. If they knew the truth, that I was really no better than a crack-whore, and the only reason I was getting married to begin with was because I was jealous of my sister and wanted my own wedding, white dress, walk down the aisle, first dance and wedding cake, I would've ended with no family left. Or so I thought at the time. I found out later that some of my family were secretly hoping that I wouldn't show up, that they sensed something was off and had been since I hooked up with him, but like my daughter, couldn't quite put their finger on what was wrong.

I was unintentionally late for my wedding, because my brother, one of the groomsmen, had forgotten the bubbles and went home to get them, with my maid of honor. I had been drinking and sniffing on and off since 6 am, it was now 2 pm, sunny and very humid. I fought the urge to vomit, pulled up my big-girl wedding panties and managed to walk down the aisle on my Dad's arm, and joined my husband to be at the altar. I said I do, he said I do, we exchanged rings (that I paid for, I actually paid for everything), and then the Minister pronounced us husband and wife. In that single moment, I realized that as much as I wanted a wedding, was as much as I didn't want him as a husband. If I really loved myself back then, I would've thrown myself a wedding to marry myself. I would have had no problems keeping any of my vows.

I spent over 5 years trying to make it work, doing whatever I could. On our wedding night, he started opening envelopes, and trying to hide what cash there was. He was very good at motivating me to do rock. He knew the triggers. By the next afternoon, all the cash was gone. No honeymoon. It went up in smoke. When I deposited the cheques, he made sure they went into our joint account, because the day they cleared, he transferred it all to his account, and spent most of it at the bar over the next few days. He even spent the photographer money, that I had saved up, but loaned him for his bachelor party. It was to be paid back to me from the wedding gifts. I soon realized that nothing worked, he got even more selfish as time went by, was plagued by more frequent "migraines", started stealing money from my work pouch (by this time I was waitressing, making decent money; it gave the appearance of stability), stealing from my daughter's wallet(she was 16, living with us, had a full time job and was on the honors roll every term in high school) and putting even more money into the VLTs. He whined incessantly because he wanted me to put my ad back in the paper. During this time, he was (and still is) working at a major university, earning good money, in a new relationship in which he lies about softball, the same excuse he used on me, many times. I know this because he never stopped frequenting the bar, even after I left him for one of the coke dealers and worked there for over 12 years. A whole other long complicated clusterfuck lasting 12 years. But that's for another time.

I can, although honestly say he was never violent, never even raised his voice. It was the opposite. Whenever an argument, or even slight disagreement would arise, he would shut down. Completely, and if I yelled or got angry, he was able to look like a beaten puppy, and then I would get even angrier at him for making me feel bad. Then he would sneak off and get high alone, and blame me for hurting his little feelings, I think it was every time he pulled that stunt that I began disliking him more and more. But I refused to admit defeat or ask for help. I would have to lie to my parents to borrow money many times to pay bills, or just eat sometimes.

The two times I actually cheated on him with another man while I was trying to make it work was thanks to a barmaid who worked in the drug bar he introduced me to, where we bought our coke, and played the machines. She invited me for supper, and when there she point-blank asked if I would have a 3-some with her and her friend. I had naturally assumed she wanted to do me as when she invited me for dinner but wasn't expecting that! I accepted because I wanted to fuck around with her and figured a 3-some might be my best chance. I was shocked at who her friend was, a really hot long-haired hippy Jesus freak looking guy from that same bar. We actually all hooked up twice. Little did I know back then that 15 years later, that bar would be the main catalyst for almost everything I've gone through these last 15 or so years, and those 2 hook-ups would save my life and finally show me what it's like to live happy.

Now I am 51, a still reasonably attractive "widow", no longer handicapped, and in an amazing relationship.

Both my knees were replaced, my foot and ankle screwed back together, found a biological medication combination that works on my auto-immune disorder, and able to control myself as I am still taking morphine regularly. I will finally be able to go back to work soon. My love's course is due to restart as well, and until then we daydream together about our future.

I feel better than I have in years, and despite what is happening in the world around me (BLM, Covid 19 and Donnie Dickwad in the White House), I am grateful that I am still here, and grateful that after my daughter's father, my jerky ex-husband, and my dearly departed common-law husband (they each deserve their distinct and separate memory, to come at a later date), I have found that one person who is meant for me, and I am meant for him. We have a fantastic relationship, and don't mind being poor as long as we are together.