Thirty Years
Thirty years ago, today, I woke at my parents’ house full of dread. It was my wedding day. I was 18. It was one month after my high school graduation.
I had slept in the bed with my sister, Audra. She was eleven and to be one of my bridesmaids. I “‘nuggled” with her, all night, as we had when we’d lived in colder climates, and it would be so cold that cuddling was a necessity. I wasn’t ready to let go of her, or my childhood, or my life.
Everyone around me bustled with excitement, except me. I was numb. I was simmering with anger that I didn’t understand. Why wasn’t I excited? Why wasn’t I happy?
I knew I didn’t want to go through with it, but I felt like I was in a speeding car with no brakes. I’d bought the dress, the shoes, the cake. Grandma was waiting.
I’d already had my honeymoon, 265 days before, and that was the whole reason for all of this. I’d failed. This was supposed to make it right.
There was no turning back, now. I’d given up my virginity, under extreme pressure. Now it was time to give up my identity. To give up my name. The price of being the “weaker vessel,” I suppose.
When we had sex, that night, in our empty apartment, it was the usual all for one and one for all. I wept when it was over. I thought being married would make it feel right, finally. But it didn’t.
Eight years.
Divorce.
Suicide.
Gaping wounds that have healed, leaving scars as eternal souvenirs.
Thirty fucking years.
Will this day ever stop being a day of dread?
Click here for SOUL THERAPY Table of Contents
(hugs) sorry you still have pain over this
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HUG
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“Now it was time to give up my identity. To give up my name. ” I so relate to this, but I was 21 in 1963, had been on my own for a few years. In 1964, the Civil Rights Act was passed and much has changed… and much has not.
The word, suicide, makes me cry for my own reasons.
My heart goes out to you.
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Sorry you had to go through with that…..But you looked really pretty in that dress….
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I’m so sorry for the pain that you feel – I’m glad that you have lived and grown away from it, but I’m sure it will always hurt. The picture really does tell the story, I think 🙁
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I want to make sure I’m getting things right and I’m sorry if you explained this in some of the previous entries that you included in the email. Was this a forced marriage because you had sex and were pregnant? Or just because you had sex? Or did I read that wrong? It reads like it was a forced marriage. If I got that wrong, I’m sorry.
I just had this conversation with a friend, about changing names when you get married. I had a male friend who actually took his wife’s last name when they married. People think it’s so weird of him, because it’s uncommon. The reason why is because he hated his family and was happy to be rid of the last name, to lose the connection. I think the changing last names is an outdated thing, If I got married and my wife wanted me to take her last name, I’m pretty sure I’d do it.
I got rambling. I’m sorry that this day is still difficult for you. It sounds really unpleasant. Hang in there, maybe there will be a time when this day stops being a painful reminder. I’m sorry
@heffay It was not a forced marriage. I was not pregnant. It was self-imposed because I’d let him pressure me into sex before marriage. The church to which I belonged at the time were obsessed with virginity, as was my great-grandmother. It’s all in this diary somewhere. That’s why I’ve created a table of contents for mine. Because it all builds on something else.
No need to apologize. I always appreciate my readers and commenters.
@oniongirl Oh! Now I remember. I’m sorry, I had a dumb moment. You were trying to please people and the desire to be a virgin before marriage. Okay, I’m sorry I forgot about that.
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Sorry that you have to deal with this pain *hugs*.
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