weddings suck

predictably, i have come to really recoil from the idea of weddings and marriage...

i recently found it necessary to attend one, since my boyfriend's brother married.  i found the experience to be like suffocating under a pile of heavy wool blankets.  bearing witness to this 'commitment' that these two people were making together, observing all the effort they made to create their special day, watching them celebrate with their loved ones, made it very difficult not to think back to my own wedding day...

when i think about all the many hours, and the many, many dollars, that were spent planning and creating that day, it makes me nauseous.  none of it meant anything, in the end.  all the tiny details i labored over, the fancy private club, the flowers and pumpkins everywhere, the Italian silk gown, the platinum rings, the vows written and spoken for all to hear, it was all folly.  we were two people, clinging to one another out of fear -- nothing more -- and we engaged willingly in this charade of commitment.  it was like, the bigger and more elaborate the affair, the more we believed it was true and right.  it wasn' really never, ever was, and yet, onward we marched.

despite my realizing that i was not meant to be with my ex husband, its difficult not to allow myself to become incredibly jaded about marriage...and even love.  my experiences thus far have demonstrated to me how fickle it all is, how love can be turned on and off like a light switch, even in two people who really do care deeply for one another.  any day, any moment, one of the two can decide it no longer suits them...that its easier to run away, than to stand by one's heart.  it doesn't seem fair.  i think its the universe's cruelest joke...

maybe its why i ended up being drawn into the BDSM lifestyle...i wanted to be truly considered by my partner, deeply understood and appreciated for who i am.  a Dominant or Master chooses his submissive or servant, and not for just any old reason.  she is selected for her obedience, her ability to serve, her willingness to please, her impressionable nature, among other things.  she is cherished...and yes, she is used.  there is a contract, and a collar, and the bond is not dissolved unless it is agreed upon by both parties.  the more i explored the various dynamics within the culture, the more it appealed to me.  

discovering my submissive qualities was no surprise to me, but it was thrilling to me, because i felt as though i had finally found looking in the mirror for the first time and really seeing who you are.  i understood myself within the context of BDSM almost immediately: i was a type A perfectionist, overachiever who's parents directed her every move in her early life.  the only physical affection or contact i ever got from them was an exasperated grab of my arm, a spanking, or a slap across my face.  my experience of love was that it was violent and extremely conditional.  it came as no surprise to me that i responded so strongly to these kinds of expressions of all made perfect sense to me.

my ex husband is a submissive, but not for the same reasons i am.  he is merely weak and lacking any will.  his submission is automatic and natural.  mine is complex, and almost paradoxical -- i've spent my life waving the flag of feminism and striving to be an independent woman in a patriarchally oppressive world, and here i am, getting moist because a big strong man could come along and tell me to drop to my knees in such a way that i can not help but obey.  and its not just any man who can trigger such a response in me.  he must be worthy -- of me, and of my submission.  my ex husband was never worthy, of either, and to be fair, he never asked or demanded my submission outright.  instead, he found subtle ways to exert control over me, manipulating parts of my life or my psyche so that i had no choice but to rely upon him.

i hated him for that...for all the little ways he tried to keep me underneath him somehow.  it is what i look back on and have the most acrimony about with him.  for instance, the household maintenance was my job, naturally.  getting him to participate in the upkeep of the house was like battling a child to clean his room, only this was a grown ass man with a mortgage.  i was not allowed to use the bank card, and therefore had to rely upon him for almost every necessity.  he would go to the store with a written shopping list, and he would purposely return with only half of my requested items, or the wrong ones entirely.  repeatedly.  sex, of course, was expected.  i could be fondled and accosted at any moment, in the midst of any task, so that he could take five minutes to get off and go back to what he was doing.  i would have to beg for money for the smallest things, and yet he would go out with other girl friends for expensive dinners at Left Bank.  and then, there was the way in which he would emotionally beat me down, any goal i set, any task i set out to do, was derided for some reason.  it was clear that i was not good enough for the good old, Doctor Kxxxxxx.

so why did he marry me?  i never pressured, in fact i invited him to move along if he wasn't sure about me or any of it.  i made it clear that i did not plan to have children, and so he should part ways if that was important to him.  he and i came to so many crossroads over the years, and each time, we chose to move forward together.  

better yet, why did i stay?  what was i so afraid of?  because surely, being alone had to have been better than what i endured for so long with him...

i want to believe that love is real, and it can be pure and good.  i want to believe that it is possible for two people to come to regard and care for each other so deeply that no force can tear them apart.  i want that bond with someone.  i want someone to wake up each day with me, just wanting to make each other smile and laugh, even when life is shitty...because how shitty can it be if we're together, right?  i want to be someone's reason, and i want our love to be epic and eternal.  i don't want to have to kneel and beg for it, or be humiliated into it, or degraded for it.

and i certainly don't need a wedding, or even a ring, to know that i have it.  

let's talk in law's...

my ex husband's parents are a special kind of evil...

these are people who are concerned only with appearances, with status, and with themselves.  i've never met more superficial, duplicitous people in my life.  they live in a big house on the lake, but it is old and worn.  they have the money to make it really beautiful, but my ex father in law's idea of fixing a hole in the wall after plumbing work is taping the wallpaper back over the hole, and my ex mother in law can't help but compulsively paint every room some shade of blue.  they are dyed in the wool cheapskates, and they are incredibly tacky.  they drive nice cars, and they have a boat, and they take vacations, and generally, they live way beyond their means, but don't want you to know about that...

upon meeting my ex husband's parents, i was immediately struck with how overly saccharine his mom was, as if it were a forced farce.  his dad barely looked in my direction.  they were always polite, but they had a way of staring through me with condescension.  his younger sister was a manufactured brat obsessed with keeping up with her friends at all costs.  i knew i was unlike anyone their son had previously brought fact, i can safely say i was his first real girlfriend, rather than a female friend (of which he had in droves, especially after that kidney rejection and transplant).  

it was not long into our relationship before i found out what my ex father in law, a philanderer himself, thought of me.  see, during our freshman year of college, my ex husband and i had driven to toronto to see a concert, and after refusing to safely spend the night at my parents' home rather than drive the thirty miles back to his house, he predictably crashed his jeep at the foot of his driveway.  he lived, obviously, and i felt horribly and to blame.  my husband thought it a wise idea to share with me the 'lecture' he got from his father, wherein he called me a 'stupid polack' who 'was no good'.  this was an alcoholic irishman from south buffalo, a  gleefully racist man who enjoyed old Amos n Andy reruns and nasty jokes,  who had stacks of horribly demeaning pornography in his basement office,  a man who showered his son's friends with more attention and affection than he did to his own son.  from that point forward, facing my father in law and trying to play nice was excruciating.  i wanted to defend myself, but knew that it would only convince him further of what he had already set his mind to.  i endured his demeaning glances and his refusal to look me in the eye when speaking to me for fifteen years...

it killed me to have to bite my tongue all those years, as i watched them reveal their true selves.  these are people who chastised my husband and i when we opted to take a higher level french class our first year of college -- "Why do a stupid thing like that?!" his mother, the teacher, snapped at us.  "You should be taking the easiest classes you can so that your grades stay up."  i could not believe what i was hearing.  this woman, who had dedicated her career (the few years she actually chose to have a career between raising her brats) to educating and shaping young minds, was trying to convince me that choosing to learn and challenge myself was a 'stupid' idea.  uh huh...

perhaps that is why when it came time for their own daughter to apply to high schools, they had to BUY her way into the private one she so desperately HAD to attend.  all of her more well-to-do friends were going to Nardin Academy, and she just had to be a part of the group.  she was rejected handily.  as a response to her emotional crumbling, her parents went back to the school's administration and had to make a donation to get her reconsidered.  i shit you not.  

or how about the time my ex husband happened to be 'snooping' around his parents' bathroom and he came across a prescription to treat a sexually transmitted disease?  we couldn't determine if it was prescribed to his mother, or his sister (who just began college), but in either case, EWW.  however, looking back on it now, and considering the knowledge i now possess, i would say it was likely meant for his mother.

when i met with my divorce lawyers for the first time, and they inquired as to my story, i found out just how reprehensible my ex father in law really is.  when my legal team heard that this man was actually my father in law, they looked at each other and let out a sympathetic chuckle.  you know why?  it just so happens that my ex father in law is a KNOWN adulterer amongst his peers in the local legal community (and also somewhat of a joke).  so that means, all those years i watched my poor ex mother in law sit on the couch all weekend because my father in law was 'out with clients' or 'traveling for clients', he really was fucking around on her as i suspected.  little boys sure grow up to be their daddies, don't they?

my family, while most certainly not without our own bullshit and flaws, in contrast, treated my ex husband like they birthed him themselves right from the get go.  it was why i pursued him -- he was the first thing i did that they emphatically approved of and adored.  his parents would abandon him each year on his birthday, so that they could vacation.  they would leave him behind because of school or his health, and my family would make sure he had his favorite birthday dinner, a cake, and gifts.  he was loved warmly by my family.  his parents tolerated me like a cold, and made me feel as welcome as one...

my ex husband's family played a huge role in the demise of our marriage, undoubtedly.  i would try to implore my ex husband for some help, some defense, some good words on my behalf, anything.  i was, afterall, his wife.  but Dr. K doesn't roll that way, never has, likely won't ever will.  there was no bond there, no sense of being on the same team or in it together, and it was not for my lack of trying.  he just couldn't stand up for anyone, let alone his parents.  so how could i expect him to stand up for me in this case?  it is why i stopped going to his family functions altogether, especially after his sister completely marginalized me from her wedding.  i was so happy for her, but my help was not welcomed.  the big fat momma nurse from Children's that my husband clung to, however, she was a huge part of the day.  

that was my last straw.  it was the last time i was going to allow his family to make me feel outside and inferior, especially when it wasn't even close to the truth.  not these hypocritical assholes, no way. i didn't even go to that bitch's wedding...skipped it altogether.  and when i finally showed up an hour into the reception, and had to answer to their fake concerns about 'where were you?', i  simply walked away laughing...

and i'm still laughing.

you can tell a lot about a person by how they fuck

i'm going to begin by warning you right now that this post is going to be dirty and vulgar.  if your delicate sensibilities cannot handle it, i welcome you to move along to some other waste of your time...

if you have been following my story from the beginning, you know that i have not kept it a secret that the abhorrent sex life i shared with my ex husband, the good Dr. Kxxxxxx, was one of the primary reasons for our demise as a couple, married or otherwise.  when i was in the thick of my miserable marriage, trying desperately to reconnect with my sexually frustrating husband, i had a good friend advise me that if things were not good in the bedroom, they were never going to be good outside it either.  i remember balking at that idea, that a marriage would sink or swim merely because of the quality of a couple's sex life; but now, looking back, i see the wisdom in such a tenet.  if there is no intimacy, no bond or connection beyond playing house and paying bills, there isn't really a marriage, is there?  its roommates.

sex between my ex husband and i prior to our marriage was decent, somewhat plentiful, and vaguely satisfying.  after more than a few years together, a little boredom was to be expected.  i was always the more adventurous half, and so i was always seeking ways to keep things fresh, like lingerie and toys and role playing.  my ex husband had different ways of tackling the issue, i suppose, by seeking the attentions of various other women behind my back.  however, that was prior to him developing his speedy 'little problem' in the bedroom.  i always wondered how he handled that with the other women he bedded down while with me, because surely, he didn't suddenly gain control and endurance simply with a new pussy.

after we married, the sex we did have, those few and far between occasions, became increasingly strained and strange.  my ex husband began to develop certain obsessions and fetishes that became  increasingly more difficult for him to hide or suppress.  for instance, he had always loved and enjoyed my breasts, but in the last few years we were intimate, his fixation on them turned somewhat uncomfortable for me.  he seemed to enjoy suckling, like a child...and he would even call me 'mommy'.  it was strange to hear, but in the midst of our passion, it was accepted.  it was weird and unsettling, but i understood it on some level -- his mother is a very cold woman, very impassive.  i have never seen her display anything but uncomfortable intimacies when she must.  she is restrained, with a smile always forced across her face.  Freud would have chalked my ex husband's sudden 'mommy' fetish up to his mother's lack of affection during his childhood.  i learned to rationalize away a lot of aspects of my husband and his behavior this way.

it's why i was not the least bit surprised that my ex husband went out and got himself a 'best girl friend', in the form of a large, motherly nurse who worked with us at Children's Hospital.  she was one of those nurses that kissed his ass right away, and she tried desperately for a while to befriend me (she even made some sexual advances toward me on more than one occasion while we were out socially).  when my husband wasn't getting the emotional mothering he required from me, he went straight to her.  no surprise, she had huge breasts.  she tended to his every boo boo, physical and emotional.  if he got a sniffle, she swooped in with IV fluids and would confer with his mother by the hour.  they spent a great deal of time together, no doubt recounting all his dissatisfactions with me and plotting his escape.  you could always tell when he had been talking to her, because he would grow bold and more insolent.  she was his main confidante (makes me wonder how she's coping with his new wife).  they would travel together, and then he would try to tell me that 'there was nothing sexual' between them.  right...and i'm sure her husband believed that too.

sometime during residency, my husband came to me asking for anal play -- not for me, but for him.  he admitted that he enjoyed doing it to himself, and because he knew i was sexually open minded, that i would be open to joining him in the experience.  my ex husband was right, i am open minded, and i accepted these desires of his and even happily indulged him;  it was the neurotic, shameful, and self loathing parts of him that these things elicited that i despised.  he expected me to accept these parts of him, but he could not accept them about he would come to me begging for me to fuck him in the ass, but he would be riddled with shame about it.

after a while, sex was only acceptable upon my husband's terms -- when he wanted it, where, what position.  it always began with some overt and cheesy pick up line, accompanied by an aggressive groping of my breasts.  he became sexually bold, but in a sort of condescending manner.  when that stopped working on me, he resorted to demeaning me or making me feel shitty about myself in regards to our sex life, as if this would somehow convince me to fuck him.  sex became another power play between us, another factor to be manipulated and controlled.

there was a time, very early in our relationship, before all of his philandering, before all of his neurotic, narcisstic abuse, when fucking my ex husband was an enjoyable experience.  he may not have been the kind of guy i was into, but he was cute and he was equipped, and back then, he enthusiastically engaged in our escapades with this sort of 'sweet' vigor and passion.  of course, according to him, i was his first, so it explains his genuine eagerness.  the longer i shared a life with my husband, the more i got to know him, the less i wanted to fuck him.  he began to feel like my brother and an authority figure, not a lover.

i stopped fucking my ex husband for a couple of reasons...
  1. he continued to show more affection and consideration towards other women, even right in front of me, and i just decided it was time to take my dignity back.
  2. he admitted to fucking a girl in my architecture program, a girl i asked him specifically NOT to go near or get involved with because it would make going to school every day extremely difficult for me.  he fucked her in my house, on my couch, in our bed, all weekend long when i was out of town.
  3. he persisted in refusing to address his premature ejaculation problem that left me frustrated, demeaned, and unsatisfied.  he would orgasm in two minutes or less, and then descend into a self deprecating, tearful rant about how he wasn't satisfying me.  this, instead of just relaxing and tending to my needs too...
  4. he became increasingly mean and nasty toward me, and his passive aggressive behaviors made me literally cringe and avoid him on a daily basis.  there was no way i was going to lay on my back for him and spread so he could get off and then go back to treating me like shit.
as our relationship inside and outside the bedroom continued to degrade, he seemed farther and farther away from me, and any hopes i had for rekindling and strengthening my marriage began to fade. 

doctors are just like you...

i'm always puzzled when i come across folks who still put doctors up on some golden pedestal.  i find it to be a funny psychological remnant of our Victorian past, this idea that physicians are somehow 'better' or 'more godly' because of the knowledge and skill they have collected.

so i'm going to let you all in on a little secret:  doctors (and sometimes especially doctors) are NO different than the rest of y'all.  there is absolutely no reason to elevate the egos of doctors everywhere, and in fact, the more humble you keep us, the better.

for the most part, we are a highly refined group of basket cases (please note that this is an obvious generalization, and does not apply to each and every physician.  there are many, many good people doing good doctoring out there, and i sincerely hope that each and every one of you is lucky enough to find one.), pushed to our intellectual, emotional, psychological, and occasionally, physical limits.  my years in medical school were like the co-ed high school experience i missed out on -- it was catty, judgemental, clique-y, full of large egos and weird personalities, and was often very regressive.  it was difficult for me to look around at my peers from day to day and think that in a mere couple of years, they would hold the fate of lives in their seemingly immature hands.

of course, it was a pressure cooker environment, meant to really weed out those who could adequately complete the training and take on the job from those who just could not cut it.  presumably, everyone there is considered smart enough, otherwise they would never have made it past the admissions process.  its the other, more taxing, parts of the job that they need to make certain we can handle...the stress, the grueling hours, the anxiety, the ability to perform ethically at all times, the inevitable failure felt when a life is lost, the neglect of one's own health and well being, the abandonment of one's own personal desires and agenda.  i could go on, but i believe you get my point.  i used to believe that anyone, as long as they had the mental acuity and the determination, could go to medical school and become a doctor like i did.  i still believe that, but only partly...

i guess it depends on your definition of 'doctor'.  if you're of the mind that doctors have a great and grave job to do, and they should approach their work like a vocation, then you and i are in agreement.  but, if you're of the opinion that they have a great, grave vocation and should be treated like rock stars who's egos are pampered and who's wallets are fat, then i'm sorry, you lose me there.  there was a day, not too long ago, when a doctor hung his shingle out over his door, set his own prices, and administered his 'care' with full independent authority.  those days, much to the disappointment of a lot of the older physicians who i found to be my teachers, are long over.  managed care and insurance systems have obliterated that mode of practice, but it seems they haven't erased that old mindset, from the populace or the doctors being cranked out of medical schools from year to year.

my ex husband is a pediatrician, not even a specialist, and he believes he walks on water daily.  he has been known to literally stomp his feet in tantrum over the fact that other 'lesser' professions can produce a higher salary or more recognition than his.  he has been overheard proclaiming that he 'saves lives every day' on more than one occasion. he does not believe, however, that the rules apply to him.  for instance, he is a routine violator of HIPAA regulations that have been created to protect patient confidentiality.  there have been countless times over the years, dating way back to medical school, wherein i have had to remind my husband that he should not be talking openly (or at all) about that patient or his/her case here at this family party or here at this restaurant.  he enjoys bragging about who's children he sees, especially if they are in the sports community.  on another most recent occasion, he openly recounted details of a very high risk case involving the child of a common friend in front of people who knew her -- details that she would not have wanted people to know -- all because he was the treating physician.  Doc Kxxxxxx's ego is his first priority, most certainly NOT your child's care or your privacy.  

this kind of arrogant narcissism is absolutely toxic when it is inherent in a physician.  it will harm, and it will kill.  there is no doubt that physicians should categorically be held to a higher standard, in all aspects of their life as well as their practice.  they begin to drill this fact into our heads from the first day of med school -- don't even accept something as simple as an ibuprofen on the ward from a nurse, because that can be perceived as a future dependency issue;  don't go out for dinner on your night off, have a few drinks, and then drive home; don't screw around with your superiors, for it will demonstrate poor ethics.  yes, if we want to enjoy the high esteem of the populace we treat, we must uphold ourselves to a more honorable life.  

and i wholeheartedly agree with what i was taught.  the rules must apply.  you all see what happens when doctor's behave badly and get away with it (Dr. Corasanti, anyone?)...i can promise you that my ex husband will be amongst that group of bastards.  and then all those nurses who shower him with adoration, all those peers who think he's just a super stand-up guy, all those unknowing patients' families, will finally see who he is under his contrived facade.  this is a man who routinely goes out with friends for drinks, and then gets behind the wheel of his car and drives.  where is the higher standard in that?  this is a hypocrite with a kidney transplant, who routinely binge drinks himself into a stumble and then a stupor.  this is a man with extremely questionable morals who is a repeat adulterer, and he sees and treats YOUR children, Western New York.

listen, smarts doesn't make a doctor.  if there is an M.D. after their name, yes, you can be assured they have the knowledge and the training to treat you or your loved one, but it most definitely does not guarantee you a good doctor, and that is unfortunate.  it really is a personal choice for each of us, the kind of physician we want to partner with for our own care, and to those amongst you who find it is just as important the kind of person your doctor is outside the clinic when he/she is not wearing their white coat, i say good for you.  take control of your own care, and be sure you know who your doctor is and what they espouse.  and, if you should ever suspect that your HIPAA rights have been violated by your physician, the nursing staff, or support staff, i encourage you to seek recourse with the Department of Health and Human Services.  you can find a link to their HIPAA violation page, along with information on how to file a complaint, below...


the list...

1.  Morrissey
2.  Hugh Jackman
3.  Liev Schrieber
4.  Clive Owen
5.  Elvis Costello
6.  Richard Tompson
7.  Bob Mould
8.  Joe Strummer
9.  any member of The Hold Steady
10.  various Boston Red Sox

this is my ex husband's, the Good Doctor Kxxxxxx's that is, self proclaimed and self affirmed list of "men he would go gay for in an instant' -- his words, NOT mine.

he never openly admitted he was homosexual, or even bisexual, though there were plenty of indicators that i chose to ignore while others around us did not (like a penchant for inserting things into a below the belt orifice...yup, you read that correctly).  i routinely had acquaintances or friends inquire as to whether he might 'go that way', but i always poo poo'ed the idea, if only because his ego could never handle the shock of that kind of life.  and, he would never, ever be able to face his father, who's opinion and estimation were worth more than gold. he lived his life each day trying to impress his father, who only seemed moved by Jxxxxx's more successful friends.  i used to feel so sorry for him, because i knew what it was like to be desperate to make a mark with one's own parents.

but this list?  this is something he would talk about openly, whenever it came up and in front of all kinds of friends.  he thought it was a lark...he celebrated it.  now, don't get me wrong here, there is nothing wrong with the motivation behind such a list, i would have accepted this part of him openly and warmly, i assure you -- this is not just me hurling nastiness out there out of hurt and anger.  and it was the duplicity of his nature that bothered me day after day.  he assumed roles and endorsed sentiments only if they made him look good for others, or if they helped make him feel superior.  

if my ex husband thought for a second that kissing another man, or more, would garner him more adoration, he would have dropped to his knees in a heartbeat...of that, i am certain.


i do not miss you.

i do not miss your boorish face and that stupid, tired and crusty old goatee that has been hanging off it for literally decades now...

or your wannabe dark framed glasses that you think make you look like Elvis Costello.  they don't, they just make you look like an old man trying way too hard to appear young and hip.  the same goes for all your ridiculous hats you like to've been a poser from the day i met you, and you'll be one til the day you go into the ground.

i do not miss that giant bald head of yours.  it left greasy marks on everything it touched...the pillow cases, the back of the couch cushions, your hats...disgusting.

i do not miss that smug smile you like to flash, full of arrogance and self importance.  you're fooling no one.  everyone sees how you crack at the first sign of pressure and stress, and your meltdowns are never pretty...oh, and get yourself to a dentist!  the plaque is literally dripping off of your yellow teeth.  kissing you was never a pleasure...

i do not miss watching you preen and prance around in the mirror, taking more time to compose yourself than a self obsessed teenage girl before a date.  the obsessing over which tie to wear, when you end up wearing the same three week after week.  the way you couldn't pass a mirror without stepping back to admire yourself in the reflection was nauseating, because you care so much about how others estimate your appearance, yet...

you don't care that you burp and fart unapologetically in front of anyone, and take a shit with the bathroom door wide open (by the way, i'm sure the new wife must love this).  you're disgusting, and the smells and sounds that emanate from your carefully composed body are like a metaphor for who you are...a sack of shit trying to hide itself in J.Crew and Brooks Brothers.

i do not miss your prima donna antics, especially when it came to your salary compared to someone else's.  the way you carry on because 'you save lives everyday' (really doc?  wiping noses and cleaning up puke and shit is saving lives, huh?), and should therefore be celebrated with fanfare and obscene amounts of money is absolutely ludicrous, and you need to get over yourself.  besides, if that is what you expected out of your career in medicine, you chose the wrong the field, buddy...and the wrong town.  yes, my brother the car salesman, can and does make twice as much as you in a year easily, and if you don't like that fact, well, as they say, 'tough titties, my friend'.  stop your fucking whining, go do the job YOU chose, and be thankful that you still have it.  because, sooner or later, that big mouth of yours is going to break HIPAA laws YET AGAIN, and this time, someone is going to report you.

i do not miss spending time with you.  you became boring so quickly, i don't know when it happened, but it made you as dull as a rock.  it wasn't just that we had so little in common anymore, you really had no passion or interest in much of anything.  except buying another aging hipster wannabe.  living vicariously through the talented expressions of others rather than your own.  you became sad and pathetic...flat.  i encouraged you so often to find things to make you happy, don't just be your job, but you ignored me.  it wasn't that we grew in different directions, it was that you chose to stop growing or evolving at all... 

i do not miss the way you would take the stress of your day out on me.  it was a never ending roller coaster that rode the waves of your emotional lability from day to day.  one moment you were giving me the cold shoulder and refusing to open up to me, and the next you would be lashing out at whomever was, your mother, your friends.  your passive aggressiveness knew no bounds.  i would give you a grocery list, and you would purposely bring home the wrong things time after time.  you would hold money over my head, like i was a child begging for an allowance.  there was a time when i wanted to be your solace, but you were as inconsolable as a child always.  i wanted a child, but i was damned if it was going to be a spoiled, grown ass man...

i do not miss your neurotic, histrionic personality, or your need to be coddled at every turn.  i am not your mother, and no matter how badly you wanted me to be, i wasn't going to treat you as if i were.  i was not going to greet you at the door each day you came home from work wearing an apron and handing you a beer.  i was not going to feed your flaws, the way everyone else around you did.  you can't conduct yourself and behave like a child, and then expect me to respect you like a man.  its just not how it works.  your constant worrying about everything, your inability to cope with the slightest obstacle or challenge, your inadequacy to make decisions for yourself, were all what led me to lose all respect for my husband, as someone trying to be a man, as a doctor, as my friend.  

i do not miss your judgements or your criticisms of me or anything that i held important.  any effort i made, any challenge i took on for myself, any dream i wanted to pursue, was always accompanied by your very vocal doubts and denigration.  when i began my business from scratch, you told me not to bother going out and trying to sell anything, no one would buy.  you always had a 'yeah, but...' to give to me whenever i tried to take control of my own life.  both of us never perceived you to be a Dominant in our relationship, but you most definitely wielded your psychological and emotional power over me.  you aimed to make me feel so worthless and tiny, less than you, lucky to have you.  what was it, Jxxxxx?  were you just so damn afraid that i would be better than you at anything?  so good that i would eclipse who you are, and leave you?  was it your way of keeping me under your thumb?  because it worked...for years.

i do not miss feeling like i would be the one to have to protect us if we were in any kind of peril.  i do not miss being the only one who could properly swing a hammer.  i do not miss your widemouthed snoring that echoed through the house, driving me into another bed just to get some rest.  i do not miss the way you showed more affection to every other woman except for me.  i do not miss how you gave gifts only to receive recognition, or how you only helped others when it meant something good for you.  i do not miss having to beg you to pick up your messes or spend time with our dog.  there is so much, Jxxxxx, so much...

but most of all, i do not miss watching you put yourself up on that pedestal, Doc.  you, and everyone else around you who doesn't know any better yet.  i know there will be a day that one by one, they will.  they will see what a superficial fraud you are; what a self centered, narcissistic child you really are...and they're going to wonder, just like i did, how they went so long suffering your bullshit.


Honeymooning with the Boston Red Sox

my ex husband and i had a storybook wedding...

we chose to marry in the fall of our intern year of residency, because the season and halloween was our favorite time of year (and it is to this day for me, at least he didn't ruin that on the way out).  we knew what kind of affair we wanted to have to celebrate the occasion:  something classic, elegant, and very 'us'. 

my ex husband was quite actually an eager participant in the planning from the very beginning, choosing song lyrics for programs and putting together our wedding favors (a cd compilation of 'our' songs).  we even re-wrote the entire civil ceremony, including our vows, so it was a true reflection of us and what we wanted for our marriage together.  there were tons of little details that were uniquely expressive of our very long relationship up to that point, and he was there participating every step of the way...

we took a full year to plan our wedding day, handcrafting each and every detail.  we created our own Trivial Pursuit cards for each table, with questions that highlighted our story for all our guests (it was a game we played a lot, especially with his family.  in fact, every one of his family gatherings was not complete without a long and heated game of Trivial Pursuit amongst family members, and Jxxxxx loved brandishing his smarts whenever he could.  and if he lost, it was always accompanied by a little temper tantrum and some snarky excuse for why someone else on his team brought him down.  he is the worst of sore losers.).  we carved tons and tons of pumpkins, for the tables and the bars and the mantles of The Buffalo Club where we were married.  we had a special first dance to Dean Martin's 'You're Nobody til Somebody Loves You'.  the entire day and evening were filled with magic and excitement, and neither of us demonstrated any doubt that we were embarking on a very long, and happy life together.  i remember those moments standing in front of everyone we knew, looking deep into his eyes, and feeling like if we could just capture this moment of earnestness and affection between us, we would be successful.  

the day was a huge success, our families and guests were so impressed with what we did, and i still hear about how beautiful the day was from people whenever i bump into them.  i should have known it was too good to be true, because the tone seemed to change immediately once it was over.  when the night ended, we walked next door to our suite at The Mansion, where he proposed to me, and i recall that he didn't even reach for my hand when i went to hold his.  it was odd and i know i recognized it, but i let it go to the back of my head, thinking that it had been a long day, we were both tired, and maybe i was just looking too hard at what was really nothing.  by the time we arrived up to our room, that barely noticeable quirk was hard to ignore, because all he wanted to do when we got back to the room was count the envelopes and go to sleep.  NOT go to bed so that we could consummate our marriage, but go to bed so that he could sleep.  i stood there in my wedding gown, my veil still attached to my head, and i wasn't sure what to think.  i had read somewhere that no wedding night sex is not uncommon amongst newlyweds, simply because of the stress of the day, but we weren't your average newlyweds...we had been conducting our life as a common law married couple for many years prior to our nuptials, the ceremony and party were just formalities, at least for me.  

as we prepared to leave the next morning for our honeymoon, my heart could not help but sink deeper and deeper, from my chest into my gut.  my 'new' husband was all sweetness, basking in the glow of being a newlywed to be sure, but the occasional touch of hands and a peck on the cheek was as far as our intimacy went.  there was no signal from him that he was at all interested in getting me into bed.  there was great interest, however, in the World Series that year, since his precious Boston Red Sox had finally beaten their century long curse by making it to the finals.  the days and nights of my honeymoon revolved around the viewing of Sports Center and catching innings of games.  we would be out walking, and he would be fixated on finding the latest score or standings.  i tried to be as understanding as i could, not wanting to ruin the week with whining or frowning on my part.  i was a new wife, so i softened my attitude and realized what a big deal it was for him.  i smiled and even feigned happiness for him as the Sox got closer and closer to their trophy.

on our first night of honeymooning, i was determined to make it impossible for him to ignore me.  as he settled into a chair near the tv, i slipped into the bathroom and into the silkiest and most suggestive of lingerie, made sure to spray his favorite perfume behind each ear and between my breasts, and back out to introduce him to his new Wife...when i slinked up next to him, he barely turned his head.  i was met with a quick glance and a smile, and a plea to let him finish watching the scores.  i kept my cool, and tried to maintain my mood, and settled back onto the bed to wait for him to take me.  

when my eyes opened three hours later, the room was dark, the television off, and my husband was sound asleep across the bed from me.  he never woke me.  he hadn't even pulled the covers up over me for the night. 

i hid my disappointment, shoved it waaay down deep, as we boarded the plane to return home to our 'new' life as Man & Wife without consummating my marriage to the Doc.  i unpacked the hundreds of dollars of lingerie i selected for him, and placed it gently back into the tissue paper, and shoved it to the back of a drawer.  i smiled for my family and for his as we went through picture after picture of us doing everything but actually making love.  i tried to nurse my self esteem, and tell myself that we were 'not your average couple', and that we would find our groove again.  i tried not to wonder why our nuptials prompted such a change in his motivations toward me sexually, for we had a very healthy sex life prior.

i woke up each morning, and i tried to squash the little voice in the back of my head that kept whispering to me that i had just made the biggest mistake of my life by trusting my heart to this boychild that stood next to me.  it was more than two months later that we finally consummated our marriage.  soon thereafter, my previously healthy husband, sexually vigorous and fun in bed, began to have problems prolonging his climax, and he stopped even trying to satisfy me at all...

post script.  when i embarked upon my divorce, upon hearing this story, my lawyers wanted to know if my husband could be metrosexual and obsessed with his appearance as he was, i had never once really considered it possible, mainly because we had never had a problem connecting sexually, and in fact knew how to satisfy each other rather well.  it can be quite disorienting when a stranger holds a mirror up to your life, and you suddenly see something in a totally different light.  the more i considered it, the more it seemed a credible theory, though it is one that warrants its very own post, and therefore, you'll have to wait to hear all about the emotionally closeted Doc...